He clenched his fists and pushed relentlessly through the snow, but now when he looked down at his feet, the snow was melting around them, turning the frozen water into slush. Under his heavy clothing, he suddenly found himself sweating, and his forehead felt burning hot. Liquid trickled down the back of his neck, and moisture made his palms clammy. He stopped, slumped with exhaustion, and gazed at the rows of bodies laid out in front of the cave.

They were the corpses of young boys and girls, old men and women. Deprivation and exposure always took the weakest first. The bodies were frozen solid, lips blue and hair brittle. Seeing the babes was the worst, but he forced himself to look at them.

Palemon again tried to call to his people, but still no sound would come out of his mouth. The sweat now poured from his brow, streaming down his cheeks like tears. Finally, with a great effort of will, he managed to make a moaning sound, and the people standing and looking at the bodies all turned as one.

Their faces were skeletal and their cheeks were sunken. Their limbs were as thin as sticks.

Horror sank into his stomach. ‘I’m coming!’ he cried. ‘I’m coming!’

‘—coming!’

Palemon choked the word as he woke gasping. He was covered in sweat and tangled in the bed sheets. The dream was always the same, but experiencing it over and over didn’t make it any easier. Each time, he came nearer to the corpses laid out in front of the cave. Each time, he screamed at the people he’d left behind that he was coming.

He didn’t know if what he was dreaming was a vision sent by the gods, or simply his own nagging conscience.

He shoved the sheets aside, glancing out the window to see that the sun was up. Heat rolled in from outside; despite the thick stone walls he felt like he was in an oven. The fierce temperature in this land was relentless; he didn’t know if he would ever get used to it.

Perhaps his years were starting to tell. He shook his head. No, he refused to allow this climate to weaken him. His people were strong, and he was their king. Compared to the faraway lands in the frozen north, this was nothing. Once, they’d ruled the world, and would do so again.

As he dressed – pulling on dark trousers, a bleached leather vest, and finally his high black boots – he tried to banish the nightmare, but the lingering sense of desperation stayed with him. He splashed water from a basin over his face and looked at himself in the polished silver mirror. Seeing his familiar features steadied him: his eyes were dark and determined; his long, graying hair and braided beard ensured no one could mistake who he was.