It had been a month since Will and Evanlyn returned to Araluen from Skandia.
Halt knew that Will preferred not to talk about the time spent in Skandia, but that did nothing to ease the growing sense of worry Halt felt for his young apprentice, magnified with each fitful night the boy spent muttering in his sleep. He had been told an overview of what had happened when they had found Will and Evanlyn at the Temujai campsite, but there were still so many questions left unanswered about the miserable time they had spent in Skandia.
That was why, when the chance had arisen to travel to Castle Araluen and listen to the official report of what had happened, Halt was already packing.
Castle Araluen, the seat of King Duncan's rule, was a building of majestic beauty.
The tall, spire-topped towers and soaring buttresses had an almost lifelike grace to them that belied the strength and solidity of the castle. It was beautiful, surely enough, built in huge blocks of honey-coloured hardstone, but it was a surprisingly impregnable stronghold, that would hold under the strongest of attacks. That, however, did nothing to stop will from admiring its deceptive beauty as he and Halt arrived at the castle to be greeted by King Duncan, Princess Cassandra (or, as Will still thought of her, Evanlyn), Horace, Gillan, and Crowley. All the people who had anything to do with the events in Skandia.
Will smiled as he approached Evanlyn. 'It's good to see you.'
'You too.' She replied. And it really was good to see each other. They were friends, bonded by trauma, and it would be hard to ever sever that bond completely.
Halt and Will dismounted Abelard and Tug, and handed them to the stablehands to lead to the barn at the side of the castle.
'So,' said King Duncan, 'shall we make our way inside?'
The Throne Room was the heart of the castle, situated inside a series of walls and portcullises and drawbridges, which, in the event of a prolonged siege, provided defenders with a succession of fall-back positions. Like everything else about the castle, the throne room was vast in scale, with a vaulted ceiling that towered high above, and a paved floor finished in black and dull pink marble squares.
The tall windows were glazed with stained glass that glowed brilliantly in the low angle sunshine of winter. The columns that added immense strength to the walls were grouped and fluted to heighten the illusion of lightness and space in the room. Duncan's throne, a simple affair carved from oak, surmounted with a carving of an oak leaf, dominated the northern wall. At the opposite end, wooden benches and tables were provided for the members of Duncan's cabinet.
In between, the room was bare, with space for several hundred courtiers to stand. On ceremonial occasions, they would throng the area, their brightly colored clothes and coats of arms catching the red, blue, gold and orange light that spilled through the stained-glass windows, sending highlights sparkling from their polished armor and helmets.
Today however, the grandeur was forsaken for the long tables that dominated the room, where a stack of official looking paper was waiting for them as they sat down at one end of the oaken table.
'Thank you all for coming,' started Duncan, eager to begin, 'finally, the official report following the events in Skandia is complete, compiled from a combination of testimonials from Erak and his crew, some of the slaves and, of course, a few words from Cassandra. I'm sure we're all eager to hear, so let's begin.'