The Eye of Winter's Fury (50 page)

If you manage to defeat the enraged yeti, turn to
183
.

338

You don’t remember much of the fight, but you can still taste it. The blood clogs your senses, as does the presence pushing at the back of your mind. For an instant, a shadow wavers across the ground, a broad immensity of darkness – a silhouette of a bear.

You blink, not sure if what you are seeing is real or just one of the dreams. The rocks and the trees start to blur – smudged with a green luminescence.

I’m dreaming? No, perhaps I’m dying . . .

You blink.

Stones crunch and skitter away. You are stumbling through the forest, lurching from one tree to the next, a residue of your former strength helping to keep you upright. But you know it is a futile effort – with the wounds you have sustained, the blood you have lost, there is no doubting that you will die out here, alone in this vast, indifferent wilderness.

You blink.

Hands grope over black rocks and sand. You feel the icy cold of the other place wash over you. Painfully you lift your head to see a swirling maelstrom of cloud above, flecked with bursts of ghoulish lightning. The dream. You are back in the dream.

You blink.

The scene remains. A bleak wasteland of blackness. Columns of rock rise up to claw at the sky, forming endless corridors of clutching fingers. And between them, the stray shadows watch. The demons. They stretch closer, their wraith-like forms sweeping over the wind-tossed sand. You are too weak to run, too weak to defend yourself.

Let it end, just let it end.

Then you feel a sudden rush of air – a black body goes barrelling past you, swiping at the shadow demons, ripping through their bodies. A gravelly roar thunders back from the rocks, as the immense beast rears up on two hind limbs, the orange glow from his deep-set eyes shining like lanterns in the dark. The shadows recoil, screeching and crying, leaving you unharmed.

The beast drops onto all fours and turns his head. The wind tussles
through a thick mane of hair, rippling over broad shoulders and across his back. A giant grizzly of a bear.
Nanuk
. The word is whispered in your mind.

‘Nanuk. Is that your name?’

The animal edges forward, nudging his muzzle against your chest. You stroke the thick, dark fur, feeling its warmth – the first comfort you have felt in this cold, nightmarish place. The bear shifts himself beside you, curling around you protectively, letting you snuggle into his fur.

In that moment, you suddenly feel whole again – as if a broken part of yourself has been returned and mended. You keep a tight hold of the animal, leeching strength from your bond, wondering if you will ever awake from the dream – or if this is how it will be, for all eternity. Turn to
291
.

339

Searching through the graveyard, you find a
mammoth pelt
(simply make a note of this on your hero sheet, it does not take up backpack space) and the following item:

Bone dust

(special)

Use on a cloak, gloves, boots or chest item
you have equipped to add the
special ability
fear

If you have the keyword
tracker
on your hero sheet, turn to
250
. Otherwise, return to the quest map to continue your adventure.

340

Black smoke trails into the air as the fire takes quickly, snapping hungrily at the dry timber.

‘Min eld, Min eld in Gava!’ The Skard warrior raises his arms to the sky, his barking laughter an odd accompaniment to the roaring flame.

At the front of the cart, the panicked horse bucks and rears, pulling frantically against its harness. The fire is now eating along the leather cords, edging closer to the fear-stricken animal.

Suddenly, there is movement from the boulders to your left. A woman’s cry echoes back from the canyon walls as Henna runs out of hiding, her two-handed sword raised high above her head. Ignoring the Skard she charges towards the horse, bringing her sword down in a series of desperate swings, severing the harness. As the last cord snaps, the horse bolts for freedom.

The warrior strides towards Henna, presenting a mountain of muscle, his teeth bared. Somehow a javelin has made it into his hands, slipping effortlessly from the bindings at his side. He lifts it up, preparing to throw it.

You charge forward, calling out to divert his attention. He spins on you, his cold eyes narrowing to splinters of hatred – then you shoulder into him, taking you both spinning and flailing through the thick black smoke. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Watch my back : Henna adds 2 to your damage score for the duration of this combat.

If you manage to defeat this ferocious warrior, turn to
45
. If you lose the combat, remember to record your defeat on your hero sheet. You may then attempt the combat again or return to the map.

341

‘A-ha, our ice ghost returns,’ grins the organiser, patting you on the shoulder. ‘Are yer ready to get racing?’ (If you have the keyword
rookie
on your hero sheet, turn to
189
. If you have the keyword
veteran
on your hero sheet, turn to
529
.)

342

‘My father always frowned on magic – he was an army man, believed in steel and faith.’ You stoop to pick up the book, brushing the dust from its red leather cover. ‘He had an advisor, Avian Dale. He once told me I might have the talent, but I don’t think I really listened – perhaps I didn’t want to.’

‘Avian Dale,’ the mage nods, taking back the book. ‘Understandable that your father would want to shelter you from magic. He had the Church forever at his back, a formidable power and some might say, a domineering one – I doubt he would want a royal son to be practising the forbidden art.’

‘It’s not exactly forbidden though, is it?’ You gesture to the spell books, scattered across the desk. ‘Providing one learns to control it – then there’s no harm.’

Segg drops the book onto his chair, staring at it for a long time. When he speaks, the flames flutter wildly in the brazier, sweeping across him in bands of shadow. ‘The Church has strong views when it comes to magic. They believe it should be controlled, for all our sakes. Better for it to be seen than hidden away and go underground. That is why they permitted the University to be built in Talanost. So mages could learn to master their powers. Magic is dangerous, have no doubt about that. In some ways, I agree with what they did.’ His eyes stray to the fire. ‘But I fear times are changing. The shadow war – the destruction of Talanost, Wiccans ranging across our countryside, rumours of a new emperor in Mordland. All these are fuel for their holy fires, to condemn us all as heretics.’

‘You aren’t really selling the whole magic thing,’ you reply, smirking. ‘Do you want to teach me this or not?’

Your bluntness draws Segg from his reverie. A crooked smile twitches his lips. ‘The impatience of youth, eh? Just like Harris. Yes, you have a natural talent, boy – powerful, I’d say. But you’re not quite ready yet. Some careful study, and – yes.’ He nods approvingly. ‘I think I could make something of you, boy.’

343

The knight lifts his arms to his side, his heavy cloak writhing and flailing in the buffeting gale.

‘No!’ You start forward, looking to stop him. But you cannot reach the knight in time. He steps off from the wall, plummeting from sight in the blink of an eye.

You grab hold of the battlements, leaning over the edge to watch as the ghost’s light is swallowed by the darkness.

‘There was nothing you could have done,’ says Anise, joining you at your side. ‘They’re ghosts, reliving the past.’

‘Perhaps the medallion . . .’ You shake your head, torn with regret.

‘They will not find peace, not in this place.’ Anise turns back to the rooftop, eyes scanning the dirt and debris. ‘We must think about the living. Harris and . . .’ She stops suddenly, her words cut short. You look around, confused by what has caught her attention. Then realisation dawns.

‘No signal fire . . .’ The girl looks to you in bewilderment. ‘What are we going to do now?’ Turn to
560
.

344

You duck into the cave, the low ceiling forcing you to stoop. After several metres the tunnel mouth widens, lifting to form a dome-like impression. The surface of the rock is pitted with hundreds of holes and channels, some wide and dripping with water, others little more than narrow fractures. A few open out to the sky above, filtering shafts of pale light into the chamber.

The opening is cluttered with boulders and loose stone – but once past the rubble, the ground is smooth and even. On the other side you see another tunnel-like opening leading deeper into the rock.

345

You flatten out into a dive, putting arms straight, arrowing your fingers, trying to make yourself as small and sleek a missile as possible. Nevertheless, you hit the pool with a painful thwack, bones splintering and muscles ripping free of their tendons as you plunge into its dark bubbling depths. (You must roll once on the death penalty chart and immediately apply the effect to your hero. You must also lose one backpack item.) Then turn to
696
.

346

For defeating the mage, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
141
.

347

Desnar watches the frantic carnage with surprise and then admiration, barking encouragement as you decapitate the last of the abominable horrors.

Amongst the churned and bloody snow, you discover a number of treasures glowing with magic. You wonder if these strange objects may have been responsible for animating the ghoulish snow monsters. If you wish, you may now take one of the following rewards:

When you have made your decision, turn to
208
.

348

(If this is your first time visiting the training yard, then read on. If you have the keyword
brawler
on your hero sheet, turn to
780
. If you have the keyword
baited
, turn to
293
.)

The air rings with the dull thwack of wooden training swords as soldiers ebb and flow in lines through the wet slush, testing each others’ defences. The trainer is a head taller than any man there, his massive frame made more imposing by the polar bear pelt that hugs his broad shoulders. He flicks his riding crop at a soldier as he passes, baring his bright teeth in anger. ‘Tighter, Henson! I’ve seen goblins show more initiative. Read your opponent, watch their footing. But don’t dance. We ain’t maids a-wooing. See an opening and take it!’

You fold your arms, studying the warriors from the side-lines, admiring their dedication and endurance. When the trainer notices you, he cracks the riding crop, calling a halt. He strides towards you, a mountain of muscle and sinew.

‘What we got here, then?’

You feel all eyes upon you – and suddenly you regret coming to the yard. Too many questions, too many chances that you might be discovered.

‘This, my friends, is what I call a survivor.’ The trainer turns to address his men, his arm snapping out to level the crop at your chest. ‘The black fever. That’s an enemy that don’t care to dance. It don’t do anything but kill. And it does it well. Do you know how many survive the fever?’

He is met with blank expressions. A few are already glaring at you, as if your very presence is somehow meant to be an insult.