Dumar looked around the large courtyard he now found himself in. A cobbled roadway led towards what he assumed was the main entrance to the palace. A large set of wooden doors which, once again, were closed, sat in the centre of the main face of the palace.
A large, raised pool and fountain allowed the roadway to curl around it, leading back to the main entryway through which the small party had just come.
A smaller roadway led off around either side of the vast building. Dumar glanced up at the high walls that bounded the inner courtyard and noticed there was a walkway near the apex with several sets of stairs leading up to it.
Elegantly manicured lawns, shrubs and borders lay to both sides of the main roadway lending a surreal beauty to the place.
Although he had never been here before, even Dumar was able to tell there was something very wrong with the place. Whereas in Grethron's garden there had been numerous forms of wildlife flitting around the place, these grounds had an unnatural silence to them and were seemingly devoid of life altogether.
The silence rang in Dumar's ears as he strained all his senses in an attempt to detect any small clue as to what may be occurring. Sensing nothing, the big man looked to Grethron and raised one eyebrow in query, the old Necromancer nodded towards the palace and with a glance towards Vilt, set off along the cobbled roadway.
Dumar studied the large, circular pond as the trio approached, noting the statue in the centre, that of a beautiful woman holding up a single flower through which the water flowed, was exquisitely crafted.
He noticed also the flow of water appeared to be restricted and the few fish he was able to see were floating near the surface, mouths working in a futile attempt to get oxygen from the motionless water.
A colonnaded portico stretched out from the front of the building and covered the roadway, presumably to allow people to exit carriages while being shielded from the weather.
Dumar, Grethron and Vilt mounted the wide stairway leading up from the ground to stand before the doorway to the palace. Minutely crafted flowers and vines ran up and down the double doors that had been immaculately and painstakingly polished to such a high sheen Dumar could see his reflection in their surface.
Grethron reached for the handle but was stopped by Dumar grasping his wrist gently, the old man frowned yet allowed himself to be stopped. Dumar released the wrist and stepped to one side of the door where a small window had been set in the wall.
Glancing inside, the big man could make out a cavernous, shadowy room, a marble tiled floor stretching away into the darkness. Elegantly crafted and gilded columns supported the upper floors and ceiling while tapestries and statuary adorned the walls, some set in alcove.
The big man was just able to make out the lower few steps of what he imagined to be a massive staircase leading up into the gloom. Of life, however, there was no sign that he was able to see.
Dumar returned the few paces to Grethron and Vilt, making gestures for them to stand back from the doors.
"Can't see anyone," he whispered. "But it's dark in there, anyone could be hiding in the shadows, is there another way in?" He wondered.
"Several servant's doorways and delivery points," Grethron told him, nodding. "However, I would just as soon gain entry here."
Dumar shrugged.
"It's your call, old son," he whispered back.
Grethron looked surprised at the familiar name, but stepped back to the doors and twisted the shining handle firmly. Nothing happened apart from a small click and squeak as the door swung slowly inward.
"Servants and porters should be here to greet visiting dignitaries, there should be several pairs of guards, loyal only to the queen, and a loud voiced brute of a man who deals with the delivering merchants," Grethron pointed out.
Dumar frowned at this information then threw a glance towards the palace gate where a few of the more vocal members of the crowd were attempting to push their way past Corien, the red garbed man who Grethron had left in charge of crowd control.
"What's the immediate layout just inside here?" Dumar wondered.
Before the old man could answer, they heard the loud roar of booted feet stamping towards them. From the darkness under the massive staircases that led up either side of the vast entry hall, armed men and women poured from the shadows.
Swarming out to form three ruler-straight rows of blue and silver, people flooded the chamber, making it feel much more claustrophobic than it actually was.
In the front ranks were bulky men and women with interlocking, sliver shields and three-foot-long, double edged, silver swords. From what Dumar could see, behind those stood an array of similarly armed people with much smaller shields but it was those people who filled the rear that caught Dumar's attention.
Taller than most of their comrades, a line of men and women stood with their attention fixed on Dumar, Grethron and Vilt. Half of these carried six-foot wooden poles with a variety of evil looking, highly polished steel heads attached while the other half held fully loaded crossbows, aimed unerringly at their chests.
Dumar's hand fell, unconsciously, to the hilt of the semi-automatic he carried.
One of Grethron's hands shot out to stop him.
"Even if they were our enemy, you could not hope to tackle them all," the old man spoke quietly so as not to cause the assembled troops to attack.
Dumar made a simple, quick calculation before whispering back.
"Yeah. Reckon I could," Dumar said without a trace of boastfulness.
Grethron looked sideways at him with wide eyes when a stocky man strode out before the assembled troops. In a tone of utter command, he called across to the three people who had just entered the palace.
"Halt where you stand and make ready to be taken prisoner!"
Dumar was shocked and Vilt paled when Grethron stepped forward and replied to the man.
"Surrender to us and we may spare your lives!"
Dumar watched intently as the two older men faced off against each other. The pair moved to within a few feet of each other before Grethron spoke again.
"Do you think that will satisfy all the rules of engagement?"
The stocky man tugged at his right ear, appearing to think before letting a massive grin split his face.
"Greth? Is it really you?"
Dumar let himself relax as the two men hugged each other like long lost brothers.
"It really is me, Fultard," Grethron assured the other man while clapping him on the back soundly. "What is going on here?" He quizzed.
The other man made a face and called out.
"Put your swords away, lads and lasses, it looks like we have just been saved," he ordered his troops, turning back to Grethron.
As the guards filed away to wherever they went, Fultard led them beneath the staircases and into an official looking room.
"I simply cannot believe you are here," Commander Fultard said for at least the third time since they had entered his office, "I cannot believe you are even alive."
Wood panelled walls surrounded the trio, who had been provided with a few refreshing drinks, apart from one wall featuring a set of open-ended square shelves in which scrolls and papers had been neatly placed.
Wooden flooring underfoot showed the wear of years of boots tramping across its surface and had a thin layer of dust once again settling on its surface after being churned up by their feet.
Dumar could smell polish, paper, sweat, wood, leather and the remnants of the dust which had yet to settle.
Appearing to be in his late fifties, Commander Fultard was a burly man whose dark blue uniform had once fitted perfectly. Now in his later years, his prematurely snow-white hair was beginning to thin allowing streaks of his pink scalp to show through.
Heavily bushed brows sat over a pair of dark brown eyes that took in every detail of each newcomer, a thick bridged nose, which Dumar thought had been broken at least once, shaded an iron grey and immaculately groomed moustache and thin-lipped mouth.
Possessed of a round, red face, Fultard stood approximately five and a half feet tall with a muscular build that had been further bulked out by fine living. He was, however, immaculately presented with uniform buttons and buckles polished to a high sheen, boots similarly well cared for and the sword that hung from a midnight black belt around his expanding waist was in excellent condition despite its obvious use.
"What has been happening here, Fultard?" Grethron grumbled, again, in his deep voice after taking a drink from his cup of wine.
The Commander made an embarrassed face tinged with anger and looked down at the floor momentarily before raising his head and replying.
"Crown prince Saruline."
Grethron rolled his eyes as if he expected that exact answer.
"Go on," he growled.
"About a month ago," Fultard began. "Saruline managed to find himself some new friends," the accent Fultard placed on the word 'friends' left no doubt as to how he felt about them.
"I cannot say where the shady little sod found them but they settled in and stuck to him like shit to a blanket."
Dumar smiled at this new man's colourful language.
"He ordered us away, stating he had new bodyguards and no longer wished contact from any member of the Royal Guards. Of course I immediately informed the queen who simply ordered me to have him discreetly watched.
"Not a great deal happened to begin with, Saruline holed himself up in his apartments with these newcomers and was barely seen. Food and drink went in and the remains of it came back out but no servants were allowed in.
None of my lads could even get a look at what might have been going on inside, he had some of the tapestries moved to block off the windows.
"A few days later, two of my lads went missing," Fultard looked down at the floor for a few seconds, revealing his feelings of loss. "One of Celouise's handmaids found their bodies jammed inside a linen cupboard," he rubbed his chin and scratched one ear. "Poor lass. When we got them out, we had the surgeon examine them. He said some of their internal organs had been...eaten."