The outside world had not entered the castle, even in rooms where the shutters had been left open, exposing them to the elements. No birds had built nests, no leaves had been blown in. All was quiet and solemn. The dust was the only sign that the castle had not been built yesterday. Ballrooms and kitchens, studies and workshops, banquet halls and libraries full of books in the indecipherable A'ak script – all looked as if the A'ak had simply stepped out for a while. It put Adalon on edge, and he itched for answers. What if they decide to come back? he thought, then chased the thought away as foolish. Adalon was pleased when he found the armoury near the gatehouse, just inside the walls. The smell of oiled metal and rope reminded him of the hours Targesh and he had spent in the armoury at High Battilon. He took a halberd from a rack. 'There are enough weapons to fit out an army,' he said to Simangee. 'Of course.' The stone walls were lined with racks full of swords, pikes, partisans, maces and dozens of weapons Adalon did not recognise.
