His eyes were the worst to see yet also the most revealing as to the state of this man.
One had the milky appearance of a very dead eyeball, as if a thin layer of white paint had been applied directly to its surface.
Its counterpart would probably have looked the same were it not for the fact that the eyeball itself had been burst and leaked its gory contents down his pale cheek. A great portion of the front of the man's skull had been smashed downwards, crushing and bursting the orbit.
A pale, almost grey hue tainted his skin, his bloodless lips were a purple shot through with blue and the tongue that slightly protruded from his slack jaw was a pale shade of its former colour. As Dumar watched, a small fly landed on the tongue and crawled inside the open mouth in hitching little jumps.
"He is dead!" Fultard shouted, making the pair of Royal Guards and Vilt jump. "What possessed you to kill him?" The Commander's anger was visibly great as his face became red.
One of the men approached and blanched at the sight of the cadaver tied to the chair.
"Sir, we did not kill him! We grabbed him from behind and subdued him. He did not offer much resistance, yet he was able to move and we just walked him in here."
Fultard stared at his guardsman for a great deal of time, flicked his eyes to the other man who was also visibly shaken and ordered.
"As you were," he commanded.
Dumar had dropped to one knee before the tied body and was looking closely at it. He could not put a finger on what had attracted his interest, however, the big man could tell there was something very wrong.
It was obvious from the smell issuing from the body and the general state of decay this man had been dead for quite some time. It was, therefore, impossible to believe he had walked in here minutes before they had arrived, it was also as unlikely he had just been killed by the guards.
He was half paying attention to Commander Fultard cursing their poor luck when he noticed the hand move.
It was not the spastic jerk of which the dead are sometimes capable, not some residual chemical or electrical process causing the hand to twitch. Rather, this was a conscious movement, a feeling around with one hand, examining the bonds that held it and the wood of the chair to which it was tied.
"Shit!"
He shot to his feet extending both his arms to shove Grethron and Fultard back from the corpse.
"It just moved," he explained as the two old men stumbled and cursed him.
Six pairs of eyes glued themselves to the now mobile corpse. Swords were drawn and Vilt stepped back towards the door uttering a high-pitched keening sound of fear.Dumar noted the corpse slam its jaws closed before raising its head, the fixed grin of madness plastered across its face.
Its remaining eye rolled, unseeing, in its socket to point uselessly downwards at the floor.
"Release me," the whispered command was almost impossible to resist and Dumar noticed one of the Royal Guards actually took a step forwards before halting once more. "Release me now."
Dumar looked at Grethron and Fultard, the latter of whom had a look of shocked recognition on his face.
"I know this man," he told Grethron. "He worked in Saruline's apartments."
The old Necromancer looked at the horror tied to the chair.
"That would explain how numerous assassins were smuggled into the palace," he surmised. "Ordinary people have probably been lured into a trap, slain and their corpses reanimated after death." Grethron's tone left no doubt as to his disgust at this discovery.
"There are few ways to do this and even fewer people have the capability," the necromancer explained. "Given the information I have come across, however, I'm almost certain this must be down to my brother."
Dumar's head snapped from the corpse to Grethron in shock.
This brother Grethron wanted him to kill was capable of controlling dead bodies? Even if Dumar decided to, how was he even supposed to begin to tackle someone like that?
Fultard was talking to the corpse.
"Who do you serve?" He demanded of it.
With no change to the insane grin the dead man whispered his reply.
"We serve the master."
Fultard shook his head.
"Revealing," he muttered sarcastically. "Does this master have a name?"
"Yes," the corpse whispered before uttering a gurgling laugh that chilled Dumar to the bone.
He noticed the Royal Guards making a sign above their breastplates and muttering a prayer to Dawa, some deity, he assumed.
"Well, who is it?" Fultard shouted in the face of the corpse.
Dead it may have been and sightless, yet the corpse's head snapped toward the shout as if it had heard perfectly and the grin plastered across its face widened.
"Saruline," the whispered name was dragged out into another nasty chuckle.
Grethron threw his hands up.
"This thing will render us no secrets, Fultard, let us find Celouise."
At the mention of the queen's name the corpse's body jerked as if attempting to escape.
"The bitch queen is dead," the corpse stated.
Skin and flesh began to tear from the creature's wrists as it struggled against the bonds that held it yet no blood flowed from the wounds. Grethron blanched at the words the corpse said before understanding they were not true, the corpse was trying to bait them into anger.
"You will all be made dead," the corpse moaned once more before a trembling began throughout its body.
Dumar, Grethron and Fultard backed slowly away as the trembling increased, becoming a drum like tattoo which started the chair rattling. Eventually one, followed by the rest, of the bonds holding the dead man's hands and legs snapped.
Staggering slightly, the corpse limped forward, spilling a few jellied pieces of its ruined eyeball to its cheek and a jagged section of shattered skull to poke from the socket.
The dead man leaped with unbelievable speed at Grethron who threw up his staff in a protective stance, the two met in a clash of flailing limbs both dead and alive.
Grethron managed to roll as the corpse bore him to the floor and pushed the dead man clear, the old man remaining where he was as he had difficulty breathing.
The dead man was up and moving towards the two Royal Guards, attacking the first with its bare hands.
The guard attempted to bring his shield up only to have it contemptuously batted aside with the dead left hand.
With its right the corpse formed a cone with the fingertips together and smashed it forwards into the guard's throat.
Staggering and gasping for breath, the guard fell to one knee, unaware the dead man had stolen his sword and trained it against him.
The sword came up in a glittering arc, slashing down into the flesh between the kneeling man's neck and shoulder, smashing his collar bone and ripping into his lung before being jerked free with a scream of metal on bone.
Blood bubbled from the wound as the guard pitched forward to the floor, a pool of bright red quickly forming around his twitching body.
I never even knew his name. Dumar thought with a heavy weight in his chest.
The animated corpse spun on one heel, its form a blur as it engaged the second guard who was attacking in furious anger and fear due to the death of his partner.
Although the guard was fast, imbued with adrenaline fuelled reflexes and strength, he was still a living being and needed to defend himself.
The dead man had no need to do the same and simply attacked time and time again with no regard for his own safety.
Even though the second guard managed to land two wounds that would have downed a live opponent yet did not even slow the corpse, he finally succumbed to the dead man's repeated blows, the last of which cleaved the guard's head from his neck.
Blood spouted from the wound as the man's heart continued to beat for a few seconds, splashing the white walls with crimson gore. Spattering red drops printed themselves on the floor as the severed head drained its lifeblood while rolling across the flagstones.
Turning swiftly to face Grethron once more, the corpse was unable to fend off the chair that Fultard had thrown as hard as he possibly could.
Built from dense wood, the thick pieces making up the framework of the seat hammered into the chest and head of the mobile corpse stunning it momentarily and making it stagger.
That, however, was the only effect. Striding across the floor towards Commander Fultard, the corpse brought the stolen sword to bear.
Dumar watched with some concern as he dragged Grethron into a sitting position against the wall, the old man was unharmed, apart from his breathlessness and he was watching the fight as well.
Dumar looked to Vilt who had backed, pale faced and shaking, into a corner, his wide eyes glued to the gruesome sight of the dead man.
The big man turned his attention back to where the Commander was now engaged with the dead man.
To Dumar's surprise, Fultard was defending ably against the corpse's attacks and it only took a moment to see why.
Fultard had managed to keep his fear and anger under control and was only defending, allowing time for Grethron, Dumar or some of his men to formulate some kind of plan.
Dumar shrugged the backpack off his shoulders and drew the pistol holstered by his hip.
Grabbing the weapon, Dumar watched as Fultard parried and moved, dodged and parried once more and although his swordsmanship was excellent and his footwork superior, Dumar could see his age and level of fitness would soon let him down.
The door to the room burst inwards as the sounds of combat reached the ears of those without but Dumar held his hand up, knowing they would probably distract their leader and earn his death.
Instead of this, he raised the pistol, aiming at the dead man's chest.
Breathing slowly and evenly, Dumar waited, as Fultard was in the firing line too.
As Fultard moved to his left, the dead man circled around after him and Dumar moved his finger onto the trigger from the guard. He followed the movement of the animated corpse for a few short moments until he was sure where the bullet would hit then gently increased pressure on the trigger.