"This is remarkable," he said. "What kind of power makes this...thing operate?"
"Sunlight," Dumar said. "Basically."
An even more shocked Grethron looked at the little thing in awe.
"It's called a tablet. There's music on here too."
Grethron shook his head
"The magics on your world must make it an incredible place."
Dumar snorted.
"It's not magic, just technology and as for the world, the whole place is a shit hole."
Grethron reached for his flask and took a long drink.
"Surely on a world such as things like this can be made and powered by sunlight," the old man said. "Anything is achievable?"
"You'd think, but the people who can afford this type of thing keep it for themselves. They use it to make weapons to protect what they've got and ignore the weak and starving," noting Grethron's look of sadness, Dumar carried on with a shrug.
"People are selfish. That's what it boils down to. One bloke's got more food than he needs but he'll watch his neighbour starve on the off chance he'll need it in the future. By the time he's realised he won't need that extra food, it's rotten and his neighbour's dead."
Grethron nodded his understanding.
"We had a similar situation," he explained. "There exists a race of people we call Northlanders. War marred our people for generations until one man came to understand all they wanted was sustenance.
"We have had prosperous trade and excellent allies ever since he arranged to feed them," his ageing features took on a sad cast as if the memories hurt him.
"Better than my world, then. Whoever that was must have been a top geezer."
"He was, as you say, a top geezer? My older brother also."
"King Jarhine?" Dumar asked.
Grethron nodded.
"I was not aware you knew of him."
"Heard about him when the queen was tearing you a new asshole the other day."
Grethron blushed at the mention of the queen.
What's that all about?
"Celouise had more than good reason to do so, I cannot blame her for her anger."
Dumar shrugged.
"None of my business, mate," he said.
The pair fell silent for a few minutes before Grethron spoke again.
"How does your tablet know about your parentage?"
Dumar smiled at the way the old man said the unfamiliar word,
"Like I said before. It's like a book, someone's put it all down here, recorded everything."
Grethron nodded slowly as understanding came to him.
"Everything?" He enquired with curiosity. "Surely the device cannot hold all the information your world has."
Dumar shook his head.
"No. Everything about me. All the stuff they did to make me what I am."
"I do not understand," Grethron admitted.
Dumar drummed his fingertips on the arm of the chair.
What you gonna think if I tell you I was made? That I'm not human?
He paused for a while, thinking.
"Well, I was made in a laboratory," Dumar said. He searched the old man's face for any sign of judgement but only saw curiosity in his eyes. "They put bits of other animals in me so I'm not quite human either."
Bewilderment, confusion and worry vied for attention on Grethron face as he listened to Dumar speak. Leaving a few seconds pause to make sure the big man had finished before he replied.
"Dumar, I cannot begin to understand how someone could make someone else," the old man held his hand up when Dumar started to speak.
"Please allow me to finish. I do not think I could begin to even contemplate such things. Nor can I begin to understand how it might make you feel about yourself. Although I have had some experience in thinking I was one thing while I had become something different," Grethron paused.
"Is this the reason for your unpleasant manner? Is it your belief this will affect the way anyone here thinks of you?" Dumar shrugged and nodded at the same time. "Might I remind you of M'thar and Sherilee? Neither are of the same species as most of the citizens of Rothmury."
Dumar made a face.
"Yeah, but M'thar told me everyone hates him!"
Grethron gave a rude grunt.
"That is merely ignorant prejudice due to his appearance and the rarity of Pat'nathoor. You look no different from anyone here with the possible exception of your height." Grethron looked down at the floor.
"If it means anything, I am glad you are here."
It sounded to Dumar as if the admission was difficult to make and he leaned forward.
"Why?" He asked in wonder.
"My family...this country...the kingdom..." He trailed off, took a deep breath and continued. "I need you. It is as simple as that. I know I cannot beat Malthrom alone and if what Dawa said about you is correct, it is you who is most likely to make a difference in the end."
And here we go again.
"What exactly makes you think you'd be such a failure in a fight against this brother of yours?"
"I failed last time," the old man admitted with a guilty voice.
"Maybe so, but you lived through it and you know what you're up against now, so...?"
"I have considered such in the past," the Necromancer told him."However, after examining all the possibilities, I cannot see any way for me to defeat him alone. I swear I would not have brought you here if I could formulate any other plan."
"Dawa said he's been making himself tougher since last time you fought."
"Malthrom has?" Grethron asked. He sat forward and fixed his eyes on Dumar who nodded. "If such is the case, I fear even you might not be able to end him." Dumar lifted one shoulder.
"How bad can he be?" Grethron stared at Dumar aghast.
"Even though he is my brother and I loved him once, Malthrom has become something twisted and evil..." The necromancer thought for a moment. "May I show you?"
"Show me?" Dumar was intrigued. "How?" Grethron tilted his head.
"How does your magic box work?" He asked. Dumar thought for a second. "Well?" Grethron asked with one eyebrow raised. "Can you explain it?" Dumar shook his head, understanding.
"Go on then." He said.
Grethron stood and laid his staff against the chair, moving round to stand behind Dumar.
"Relax and make yourself as comfortable as possible," he said, before laying his cool fingers on either side of Dumar's head.
***
He looked out over a field of utter horror. Stood on top of a high stone wall that stretched off to both sides of him. Soldiers in the blue and silver of the royal guards lined the top and stared down at the harrowing sights below.
Dizzied by the abrupt change in height Dumar reached out to steady himself and found himself unable to move.
Relax, Dumar. These are my memories, you cannot affect them or be harmed. Grethron's voice echoed inside Dumar's head. Merely watch.
A pair of hands gripped the stonework before Dumar, staring down on the section of Hell that had somehow appeared below.
Hundreds of men and women were savagely butchering each other in the area that stretched away from the wall.
Dumar watched helplessly, as Grethron had when it had originally taken place, while people hacked at each other with swords, axes and in some cases farming tools.
What the fuck is this? Dumar thought.