The Eye of Winter's Fury (11 page)

You step around the Skard, your gaze falling on the man’s face. The mouth is pulled open in a silent scream, nostrils flared, head leaning away – the ice having frozen his features in a fateful instant of death. And yet he is still alive. A single eye tracks your movement, wide and unblinking from the hollow of his frozen skull. You never thought so much pain and suffering could be writ in a man’s gaze. The other socket is empty; a pit of cauterised flesh.

Turning, you look into the face of another statue; this one a female knight, clad in plated armour. Through her visor you can see the same agonised expression – and a single eye following you from the depths of its icy prison. The other taken, leaving only a blank hollow.

Another soul trapped in an eternal nightmare.

You draw back, shaking with the horrifying realisation of what has been inflicted on these people. The sentinel’s wings . . . adorned with hundreds of eyes . . .

Do you like them?

The woman’s voice, scratching inside your mind.

You twist round, tracking the edge of the balcony. A hooded shape is moving there, the body slender, stepping silent as a ghost.

‘Melusine . . . ?’ You can barely speak, your mind still racing. Skoll had warned you about the witch and her power to turn flesh to ice.

From beneath the folds of her cloak a slender arm emerges, pale as
snow. Rings glitter on her long fingers, the red-painted nails tapping absently against the balcony rail.
I wasn’t sure you would get this far, Arran.

‘I thought you were a prophet,’ you snap, your anger returning.

A soft chuckle, like the tinkling of glass.
Oh, you have much to learn, fledgling. Nothing is certain, only possibilities. I work to ensure my own plans come to fruition. This ending is my choice, not yours.

‘Why . . . ?’

The woman ceases her pacing then turns to face you. In one swift motion, she pulls back her hood. You take an involuntary step backwards, your expression mirroring that of the tortured souls in the chamber. What had once been a face is now a bloated growth of pulpy flesh, distending into coils that curl about her slender neck. A crown sits atop a ridged brow, itself looking as if it was fashioned from skin, with bony hooks that grip like claws. A veil of shimmering light streams out behind her, surrounding her tortured visage in a gossamer halo.

You avert your gaze, fearing to look into the pits of her eyes.

‘You are . . . not human.’

Oh, dear Arran. I was beautiful once. A dancer. Every night I would perform the Red Masque at the Scourou Nave. Every night I would exit to a standing ovation, such rapturous applause! Men would shower me with their gifts, they would beg for my attentions. A dancer and a princess. No woman could match my beauty; no performance was ever as spectacular as my own.

You hear the tap of her fingernails as she resumes pacing.

I was traded like a piece of meat. The emperor chose me above all his other daughters to leave my homeland and marry the king of Valeron – all for a bargain, the sealing of a peace treaty; one that barely lasted past my wedding night. Father wanted me there, to spy on my husband – I was a tool, a weapon. For Mordland.

You lift your eyes, watching her move, noticing the graceful sway of her hips, the litheness of her step – the poise of a princess, and a dancer.

Understand this, Arran. Wars are never truly won. There is no end to it, no end to what men will do for power.

‘Power? Look at what you have done, Melusine.’ You scan the rows of statues, each one a cruel work of pain and suffering. ‘Look at what have you done!’

Silence. In the distance you hear another faint rumble. For a moment the ground shivers beneath you.

The woman grips the balcony with both hands.
I bring an end to all things, Arran. I have no regret. No pity. Such emotions were beaten from me, torn away, stolen like every other precious part of me. A ruthless father, a cruel husband. You look upon me with disgust, Arran, but this is everything your world has taken from me.
She pauses, letting the silence grow.
Tell me, prince of Valeron. Has life treated you with any greater kindness?

You glare back angrily. For a second, you meet her gaze – two pinpricks of light amidst the darkness of her deformity, blue and penetrating. You look away again. ‘I do what I must – to stop this madness.’

And what then – what next for the ghost prince? What will you do when you have saved the world, become the hero? What could possibly follow that – a throne, a kingdom, a petty act of revenge?
’ Melusine fills your head with her shrill laughter. Sharp and cutting.
Wars are never truly won. I told you that, Arran.

You pool magic into your fists, preparing to strike.

Melusine raises a hand, and snaps her fingers.
Enjoy the dance, my prince.

You hear a rustling to your right, a sharp crack, then an echoing thud of something heavy landing. Spinning on the spot, you watch in horror as the crowd of statues start to move, stumbling like zombies towards you. From the balcony you hear Melusine humming to herself, a sad and melancholy tune – in perfect timing with the swaying, erratic movements of the animated statues. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Smash it up : If you win a combat round against an ice tomb, instead of rolling for a damage score you can choose to smash the ice, reducing your opponent’s armour score by 4 each time.
	Outnumbered : At the end of each combat round, you must take 1 damage from each surviving opponent, ignoring armour . This ability only applies while you are faced with multiple opponents.

If you manage to defeat these tortured souls, turn to
514
. (Special achievement: If you defeat the ice tombs without lowering their
armour
, turn to
779
.)

50

You pick up the tile and push it into the square-shaped hole. Leaning back, you wait expectantly for something to happen. However, it appears that you have chosen the incorrect rune. As you hurriedly try and prise the tile back out of the grid, you hear a sudden crack of branches followed by another barking cry. If you don’t run now, the other fengles will find you! Frantically, you spring to your feet and sprint for the cover of the opposite treeline. Turn to
175
.

51

The bear thrashes wildly with pain. Another blow drives him to the ground, radiating a cloud of dust across the circle. For a moment you hesitate, weapons raised – frozen in the downward motion of a killing blow. Nanuk gives a mewling gasp, lifting his head to lock eyes with you one last time.

Pleading. Begging for life.

You let your weapons fall, screaming and crying all at once, vision blurred. The bear’s body evaporates into motes of green light. You toss aside your weapons, raising your arms to draw it in, leaving none of it to waste – knowing you will need all the bear’s spirit for what you intend.

You have gained the following bonus:

Body of spirit:
You are cured of necrosis. You no longer need to record defeats and suffer death penalty effects. All existing penalties are immediately removed from your hero.

If you are a warrior, turn to
396
. If you are a mage, turn to
643
. If you are a rogue, turn to
554
.

52

‘Is tha’ the password?’ asks the youth, scratching his chin. He glances sideways at his companion, who appears to be mulling it over with difficulty.

‘Yeah, yeah . . . sounds about right.’ The half-goblin shrugs his scrawny shoulders. ‘Okay. You’re in.’ He takes a key from his belt and unfastens the padlock. The gate swings open with an unsettling high-pitched squeal. ‘Have a pleasant stay now.’ Turn to
33
.

53

You clip a boulder, which sends you into a dizzying spiral. Quickly you try and reassert control of your transport, channelling your magic in order to break out of the spin. There is a worrying crunch as you slam into the side of a larger fragment of rock, the force of the collision almost throwing you into the rift. (You must lower your transport’s
toughness
by 2.) Luckily, you manage to pull away before sustaining worse damage, dodging the last of the debris to finally make it out the other side. It was a close call. Looking back, you notice that the dragons have also suffered; their large bodies now display numerous wounds. Nevertheless, they are still on your tail and gaining fast. Record the keyword
rocked
on your hero sheet, then turn to
773
.

54

You close with the wolf, hoping that your newfound strength will be enough to overcome this powerful predator. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Pack leader : The alpha rerolls all results, accepting the result of the reroll.
	Wounded : At the end of each combat round, the alpha must lose 1 health from the wounds that it has already suffered.