"I am not sure what triggered it, sir," the young guard reported to Fultard as he, Grethron and Dumar arrived at the barricade.
Vilt was slowly making his way towards them with a look on his face that said he would rather be anywhere else. The young guard who had spoken to Fultard continued.
"Just before I called for you, Prince Saruline and several of his new guards made a dash for the throne room, sir," the young woman looked panicky and Fultard clapped her on the shoulder.
"Well done, lass. You keep watch here and send word if anything else happens," the Commander turned as if to leave but the guard stopped him.
"But sir!"
Fultard turned his attention back to the young woman who was now hesitant to speak.
"Well out with it lass!" He ordered.
"Well it is just that the prince, he seemed to be..." Commander Fultard made an imploring gesture with his hands. "It was as if he was being taken against his will, sir. Like he was a prisoner."
Fultard turned to Grethron with a questioning look only to find the old man was already moving.
Dumar followed the necromancer down a wide flight of stairs and along a pair of stone corridors like the throats of ancient monsters, eventually arriving at a wide reception hall next to a pair of golden doors.
Fultard, in the company of about ten Royal Guards, arrived soon after with a drooping Vilt in tow. The youth had a desperate look in his eyes as if he were about to bolt at any second.
Still. Dumar thought. He's probably never had a day like this, filled with carnage and remote controlled corpses. Neither have I.
Fultard and his men seemed more than happy to allow Grethron to take the lead, a fact that Dumar once again wondered about. Everyone seemed to defer to the old man and he wondered if he would ever find out the truth about the necromancer's influence here.
Grethron stepped up to the doors and grasped one of the large, iron handles in order to turn it.
With a shocking hiss, a blade thrust through the gap between the doors in an attempt to skewer whoever was on the other side.
Luckily Grethron had stood to one side as he tried the door and was unharmed although Dumar wondered if his ageing heart could take many more shocking surprises today.
"Is this the only way in?" Dumar asked quietly as he and Grethron re-joined Fultard and his men.
"No," Fultard replied. "However this is the only entrance we have access to, all the others are in zones held by Saruline's men."
Grethron swore and started tapping the ring he wore against the staff he held.
"We must gain access to the throne room and liberate Saruline. If he is indeed a prisoner," the old man stated. "It would seem to be the best course of action to ensure the remaining members of the family stay safe," he added once he noted Dumar's puzzled expression.
"What about you?" Fultard asked Dumar in a shaky voice.
"What about me?" Dumar wondered.
The Commander made a face.
"Well, you have that...that...thing," he flapped his hands towards the semi-automatic. "I saw first-hand what that weapon can do, they will be digging pieces of spine from the walls in there for days."
A retching sound came from Vilt as Fultard said these words.
"Could you smash a hole through the doors with that?"
Dumar nodded.
"I could," he replied.
Fultard looked pleased.
"But there are a few problems that might crop up."
Fultard's face fell.
"Problems?" He asked.
Dumar nodded again.
"Depending on what the door's made from, a round might not penetrate fully, although that's really not likely. Then there's the problem of what happens if it does go through. If someone's standing just on the other side, they're as good as dead and if the doors are thin or flimsy, any number of people in there might get wasted. Including this prince bloke Greth seems to want so bad."
"If those black clothed buggers are all like the one upstairs," Fultard retaliated, "They are already dead anyway! What does it matter?"
Dumar felt no inclination to explain himself to this man whatsoever, so merely replied.
"Exactly. If. If they're the same. What if they're not? What if they're alive?"
The expression on Fultard's face dropped like a stone to become a cold mask of anger.
"Such is the price of invading this palace and taking my queen hostage," he growled.
Dumar took a deep breath and sighed before a brazen idea tickled over his consciousness.
Making his way back to the throne room doors, watched by all present, he rattled the handle while making sure he was clear of the gap between them.
As he expected, the blade was once again thrust through the gap. This time, however, Dumar anticipated the event and wrapped his arm around the blade, leaning into it and effectively trapping it between the doors.
He could feel the wielder on the other end attempting to pull the blade back through the doors, and leaned more of his weight against the blade pushing it against the wood of the door.
Dumar shouted incoherently, screaming as if he had been impaled. He was able to hear voices from inside yet could not make out anything they said.
The big man beckoned to Grethron and Fultard to come quietly over to the doors as the sound of bolts being slid back could be heard. Having made sure there were no hinges on this side, the big man set his body against the wood.
At the first sign of movement from the door, Dumar shoved as hard as he could, flinging them open and slamming them into the black clad figure who had stood on the other side sending him sprawling across the polished floor, fingers scrabbling for purchase.
What caught and held the attention of Dumar, however, was not the opulent surroundings yet rather the bloody scene that was unfolding before the raised dsais on which sat what he assumed to be a throne.
Two of the black clad guards, who were supposedly faithful to Saruline, held down a struggling, shrieking figure while a third had one of the living, cylindrical creatures held above a slash in the prostrate man's chest, a bloodied knife gripped in his remaining hand.
Dumar halted in fear and disgust as he witnessed the tube like creature come alive on the struggling man's chest and begin to burrow its bundles of nerve fibres inside his body.
Revulsion quivered through Dumar as he helplessly watched the man's flesh heaving and moving as if a mole tunnelled through his body, the lower ribs expanding in order to make room for the vile thing to re-home itself.
Dumar became vaguely aware of men rushing past him from behind, Royal Guards entering with long, spike ended weapons. They had obviously been briefed by Fultard as they aimed unerringly for the chest area of each of the black garbed men, butchering them as fast as they could.