THE WHITE KING
It was sunset. The sun had plunged into a sea of indescribable colors, from the red orange that reverberated on the foliage of the trees of the haunted forests to the pale gold of the uncultivated fields that stretched to the horizon, where a fine silver mist blurred the contours of the village of Ulis. The whole expressed a poignant beauty. The sun"s rays, sad and dying, struck like so many arrows a castle close to an imposing and jagged rocky wall and entered a small window, illuminating the faces of the ten people sitting around a table.
Deneb rolled the empty mug between his fingers and scanned the horizon thoughtfully. Suddenly he spoke, in a low but firm voice, interrupting the bickering of his companions: "The soldiers took Fansrog. They are leading him to the Whit
