The King Beyond the Gate

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The trees were laced with snow and the forest lay waiting below him like a reluctant bride. For some time he stood among the rocks and boulders, scanning the slopes. Snow gathered on his fur-lined cloak and on the crown of his wide-brimmed hat, but he ignored it, as he ignored the cold seeping through his flesh and numbing his bones. He could have been the last man alive on a dying planet.

He half wished that he were.

At last, satisfied that there were no patrols, he moved down from the mountainside, placing his feet carefully on the treacherous slopes. His movements were slow and he knew the cold to be a growing danger. He needed a camp-site and a fire.

Behind him the Delnoch range reared under thickening clouds. Before him lay Skultik forest, an area of dark legend, failed dreams and childhood memories.

The forest was silent, save for the occasional crack of dry wood as thickening ice probed the branches, or the silky rushing of snow falling from overburdened boughs.

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