Geowulf, the Great Knotur of the united tribes, walked slowly through the stone halls of the Royal Palace of Sarlan. Each step echoed softly in the cold, empty corridors, the solid clack of his boots against the polished stone alien to him.
He had spent nearly all his life on the rugged, windswept white plains and mountains, where the snow was soft beneath his feet and the howling wind was a constant companion. Here, there was no wind. The thick, impenetrable walls kept out the biting cold he had known all his life, and though the stillness was unfamiliar, Geowulf found a strange sense of peace in it. These walls, once a symbol of the power of the Sarlan kings, now belonged to him.
