Legion of Shadow (119 page)

Lansbury purses her lips, her back straightening.

‘Now, now . . .’ Nyms steps around the medic, pointing to the archway with the tip of his sword. ‘Can we save the drama for camp?’

You rub your shadow mark, which has started to burn again, beneath your skin. ‘I have no mind to delay here.’ Turn to
793
.

909

You follow the corridor through into a wide circular chamber. It is nondescript save for a pattern of runes carved into the floor. Each one is surrounded by intricate lettering,
the characters flowing in a spiralling array of designs. The effect would be almost hypnotic, if it wasn’t for the dust and rubble that is strewn over most of the engraving. As you pass
through, you see that someone or something has smashed many of the flagstones, disrupting the detailed scripture.

‘The work of a fine inscriber,’ comments Lansbury. ‘Such a shame that its power has been broken.’

Caeleb has not halted, showing little interest in the runed tiles. Instead, he is intent on heading deeper into the tomb. As you follow him into a side passage, you hear a strangled cry from up
ahead, accompanied by the ringing boom of a voice raised in anger.

‘Looks like we’ve caught up with the necros,’ mutters Nyms.

Caeleb doesn’t slow, advancing down the corridor into the next chamber. Turn to
878
.

910

The robber spits on the ground. ‘What am I doing here?’ he growls. ‘Like you wouldn’t know, demon!’ He continues to circle you warily, the blade of
his dagger glinting in the lantern-light. ‘Did they send you? Are you here to finish what they started?’ He hisses like a cornered serpent, making a tentative lunge for you with the
knife. You dodge away, watching him intently.

‘Finish what?’ you ask, frowning.

‘Oh games – yes, your kind like games.’ The robber taps the side of his head with the hilt of his dagger. ‘Get inside my head, yes!’

‘I’m not here to play games.’ You raise your hands as a sign of submission. ‘I was brought here by some magic. Perhaps you were too.’

The robber shakes his head, sniggering. ‘Witch magic. Took my soul . . . stole my soul. If you cannot give it back, then you are no use to me!’

Before you can say anything, the robber comes running at you with his dagger. Turn to
816
.

911

While Caeleb battles with the tutor, it is up to you to defeat the young mage and his ghoulish companion:

Special abilities

If you defeat the apprentice, turn to
923
. If you are defeated, turn to
862
.

912

Your weapons clash together, scraping and sparking. It isn’t long before both of you are sapped of strength – exhausted, the fight becomes more of an uncoordinated
brawl. Amidst the flailing punches and desperate strikes, you knock the shadowstalker’s mask away, revealing a porcelain white face framed by curls of dark hair. The woman’s eyes are a
brilliant blue – both beautiful and cold.

At last, pinning your enemy to one of the sword-clipped pillars, you drive home a fatal blow. In those final moments you look deep into the woman’s crystal blue eyes, looking for some
regret, some hint of humanity. But there is only a bitter hatred, festering like a poisoned wound . . .

Then the face and body begin to change.

You jerk away in shock, watching with a mix of revulsion and fascination as the shadowstalker’s physique broadens out, the skin reforming itself over shifting bones. Within seconds, you
are looking upon your own face – staring back you with those same hard blue eyes.

The shadowstalker spits blood in your face.

‘You are one of us,’ your own voice growls with gusto. Then the eyes lose their fierce glimmer, the face becomes slack and the stalker’s body slumps to the floor at your
feet.

With shaking hands, you feel at your cheeks, tracing the familiar contours of your face. When you remove your hand, there is blood coating your fingers.

The air crackles with magic, as the stalker’s body becomes a swirling mass of shadow. Feeling tired and numb, you can barely raise your arm – watching with a hollow detachment as the
magic pours into your mark, healing your wounds and relieving you of the dull ache in your muscles.

All that remains of the stalker is their few paltry belongings. You find 30 gold crowns and can help yourself to one of the following rewards:

When you have made your decision, turn to
919
.

913

Your shadow mark flares bright as your grip on the assassin tightens. ‘Tell me about the book. The Grimoire of Naraghost. Why was it so important?’

Fetch gives a wheezing cough. ‘It does not concern you. Now release . . .’

‘TELL ME!’ you growl, shaking him angrily. ‘I deserve to know. I risked my life to find it.’

‘Very well,’ hisses the assassin. ‘It belonged to a navigator – one of the elves. My master had been searching for it for a very long time. Little did he know it had been
right under his nose all along.’

‘And your master? Who do you serve, Fetch?’

The man’s pale lips curve into a smile. ‘Avian Dale. I think you know him.’

You shake your head, scowling with contempt. ‘Lies, that can’t be true. Avian is a good man.’

‘Know him so well do you? Let me tell you something about Avian. He has a special talent – a talent for finding people like us. Those who are broken and need fixing; those he can
breathe new life into . . . give them fresh purpose.’

You release the assassin and back away, no longer certain if what he says is the truth or just more poison. ‘And the book,’ you ask, your voice little more than a whisper. ‘Why
did he need it? I thought it was evil.’

Fetch’s glittering eyes fix on your own. ‘It is evil, Nevarin. And that is why I lost it. To a demon.’

Your confused expression urges Fetch to say more.

‘The book is a set of charts, to navigate through the shroud. It is how the elves used to travel between worlds, before they built the gates.’

‘The shroud.’ The word is familiar. You sift through your memories, trying to remember . . . ‘Lansbury. It has something to do with old magic.’

Fetch snorts. ‘It is the birthplace of magic. It
is
magic. Anything that touches or passes through that place is changed . . . and not always for the better.’

‘And that’s what happened to the book?’ you ask intently. ‘It was corrupted by this magic?’

Fetch gives a rasping laugh. ‘You are learning fast, Nevarin. Yes, and before I could get the book to safety, something else – a demon changeling – took it from me.’

‘And there was me thinking you had a gift for speedy getaways,’ you add with a smirk. ‘So, what happened?’

Fetch sneers, as if the explanation is beneath him. ‘When I travel, I pass through the shroud, if only for an instant. The demon was waiting for me . . . and on this occasion, I was not
able to battle such a foe.’

You glance down at your shadow mark, burning hot beneath your skin. ‘Is this . . . part of that same magic?’ you ask grimly, studying the glowing runes. ‘Am I a demon, like
that . . . changeling?’

Fetch leans in close, his bright eyes narrowing. ‘Yes, Nevarin. We are both demons.’ Turn to
792
.

914

‘Yes, my special deals. Well let’s take a look . . .’ He reaches inside the chest and produces three items, which he lays out on the ash-covered ground.
‘For you, 450 gold crowns. I can’t say fairer than that.’

You may purchase any of the following items for 450 gold crowns each:

After you have made your decision, you can ask to see Waldo’s rare items (turn to
881
) or bid the trader farewell (turn to
789
).

915

‘Ah, tired of my company already,’ chuckles Fetch, with a mock expression of hurt. ‘I forgot how impatient your kind can be.’

‘I need to return to the tomb,’ you state firmly. ‘Zul’s mages are raising the dead. We believe they’re going for Arthurian next – the leader of the Tor
Knights.’

Fetch rubs his chin thoughtfully. ‘Yes, that would make sense.’

‘Well?’ you snap irritably. ‘Can you travel back there or not?’

Fetch is silent for some time, studying you intently with his bright, piercing eyes. With a shrug of his shoulders, he finally appears to have reached a decision. ‘My magic should now be
strong enough to take us back. But I will not stay. I must return to Avian at Ravenwing’s camp.’