The Eye of Winter's Fury (26 page)

If you manage to defeat the witch, turn to
706
.

155

You walk down to the banks of the stream, looking forward to washing away the grime from the past few days. However, as you kneel beside the waters, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. Further down the bank, a man is lying on his belly, splashing water on his face. He wears no armour, just a tattered white tunic and breeches stretched taut over hard muscle. Apart from a dagger in his belt, he carries nothing else of note. As you ponder what to do next, the man pushes himself back up and then looks your way. Surprise hits you both as your eyes meet and recognition dawns. The puckered scar, the hard chiselled features. It is Inquisitor Hort. The holy warrior who was meant to be your bodyguard.

He starts towards you, wincing as he shifts his weight, favouring his right leg. ‘Arran!’ he hisses, fumbling for the dagger. ‘May the One God curse you and your family! I will finish what I was sent here to do!’ He limps closer, his eyes gleaming with fury.

156

The rotted wood crumbles away as you break open the lid. For a second you are presented with a writhing mass of worms and maggots, pushing their way through hunks of rancid grime – then the overwhelming stench hits you, forcing you to reel away, your stomach heaving.

‘Ugh! What is it?’ Anise is already back in the corridor, covering her nose with her arm. She waves for you to join her as the room starts to fill with a foul-smelling green vapour.

‘I don’t know, but it smells bad.’ As you stumble half-blind through the cloud of mist, you are almost thankful that your body is still able to react to such a stench.

Some life left in me after all . . .

‘Come on!’ Grabbing your arm, Anise hurries back to the stairs that lead to the next level of the tower. Make a note of the keyword
methane
on your hero sheet, then turn to
111
.

157

(Note: You must have completed the orange quest
The bitter end
before you can access this location. If you have visited this location before, turn to
106
.)

The frozen ice creaks worryingly beneath your feet, offering a cruel and constant reminder that you are no longer walking over land.
Should the thin ice break, you would plunge through into the freezing depths of the ocean. It is an unsettling thought – but the trapper had assured you that this was the only way to reach Ryker’s, an island only accessible by foot when the waters are frozen.

Ryker’s Island.
It had been a penal colony once, where the worst criminals in the kingdom had been confined. The hangman’s noose should have been their punishment, but your father’s predecessor – King Hark – had been a church man. He believed every soul was worth saving.

Even mine?
you wonder bitterly.

According to Everard, there had been an uprising some time ago – the prisoners had broken out of the prison, but instead of fleeing back to the mainland they had remained at the island, forming their own ragtag community. You can understand why. As the ice groans beneath your feet, the heavy skies clouded with snow, you can’t imagine a more remote place to live. Far away from authority – far away from the church and the King’s army. Who would want to bother with a prison, out here in the middle of nowhere?

As you press onwards, the land turns from ice to hard-packed snow. Edges of black rock begin to cut through the customary whiteness: a comforting assurance that you have finally reached dry land.

Ahead, a dark shape looms menacingly out of the haze – a high wall of black iron. Torches flicker at regular intervals along its spiked length, their light catching on the barbed wire frills that curve cruelly against the bleak skies. This is truly a prison, built to keep the world out as much as to keep those within confined behind its walls.

Your eyes scan the expanse of smooth dark metal, looking for a gate or a doorway. Then you hear a voice from high above.

‘Who goes there? You a damn Skard?’

You look up to see a man leaning over a section of the wall. His long hair streams in the wind, a thick cloak bunched around his shoulders.

‘Not a Skard,’ you reply, raising your hands. ‘A trapper – come to sell furs. I seek shelter.’

You hear a squeal of rusted metal, then part of the wall swings inwards, revealing a previously hidden doorway. Relieved, you start towards it, but back away again when you see two men marching out, both holding oil lamps. One is short and wiry, stinking of drink. The other is taller and heavier, his wind-burnt face illuminated by the wash
of light. Both have bands of red cloth tied around their upper right arms.

‘He smellsh like a Skard,’ drawls the thin one, slurring his words.

They look warily around, as if expecting you to be accompanied by others. The man from the wall is still watching.

‘Just stick ’im and take his stuff,’ he shouts down. ‘Leave the body for the wolves.’

The smaller guard licks his lips nervously, his eyes flicking to your weapons. ‘Easy for you to say, Bert,’ he shouts back. ‘You wanna come down ’ere and try?’

You pull back your hood. Both men draw away with startled gasps. The heavier-set guard is the first to speak.

‘Hel-fire, what happen’ to ya? How long yer been out there?’

‘A long time,’ you reply, knowing that your frost-bitten, deathly countenance must paint a ghoulish picture. ‘I ask only for shelter. I am no Skard. Please . . . ?’ It pains you to beg these men, but after days of solitude on the ice the sudden desire to be amongst people is almost overwhelming. Perhaps you crave a reminder of what life was like – news from home, the life you left behind.

‘Agreed,’ nods the thin man, moving aside. ‘Me head’s too pickled to be fightin’ and arguin’. Come on, Gupp, let the man inside.’

The giant complies with a surly grunt, leaving you free to enter the settlement of Ryker’s Island. Turn to
288
.

158

You remember Kirk’s words when you discovered the body lying in the grass – ‘if there was anything of value, the birdman will have got it now.’ Perhaps there is a secret stash of treasures hidden away somewhere in the eyrie.

It doesn’t take long to find – a large nest perched on top of a flat boulder, fashioned from mud and twigs, and other things you’d rather not think about. Inside, wrapped in the remains of a mouldy cloak, is an assortment of odds and ends.

As well as 50 gold crowns, you may also take any/all of the following:

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
177
.

159

The vines hook around your legs and waist, pulling you towards the gigantic plant. Angrily you tug your weapons loose and begin hacking at the thick tentacles. Just as you are about to be fed to the hungry mouths, you manage to sever the last of the vines – twisting at the last moment to avoid a lunging set of teeth.

The reprieve is short lived. A rustling crack alerts you to another growth of vines, spreading and twisting out of the plant’s bulbous stem. With barely a chance to recover, you are forced to duck beneath the flailing onslaught whilst your weapons swing blindly to keep the snapping mouths at bay. Clearly, this plant is gripped by a frenzy, and will stop at nothing to gobble you up! It is time to fight:

Special abilities

Spit it out! : If you win a combat round, instead of rolling for damage you can dive into one of Jogahh’s mouths and attempt to remove an acorn. Roll a die – on a result of or more, you have successfully removed the acorn, lowering Jogahh’s speed , magic and armour by 1. If the result is or less, you fail – and must automatically take 4 damage (ignoring armour ) from Jogahh’s acidic secretions. You may remove up to three acorns over the course of the combat.

If you manage to defeat this virulent growth, turn to
562
.

160

The svardkin have led you into a winding maze. The pathways are tight and narrow, twisting and crossing back on themselves in an infuriating manner. Soon you have lost all sense of direction. Of the svardkin there is no sign – and no tracks in the ice to follow.

‘We should go back,’ pants Anise. ‘Whatever they had isn’t worth breaking our necks over.’

Skoll gives a disgruntled snort. ‘Agreed, we didn’t come here to chase after svardkin.’

You try and retrace your steps back to the main cave, but the twisting maze has left you disorientated and lost. After several tiring hours, you finally emerge from the tunnels into a larger cavern dominated by a pool of melt water. You decide to make camp on its banks and resume your journey once the others have rested. Turn to
467
.

161

The trees eventually thin, giving way to hills blanketed with rocks and wildflowers. Back in the open, the wind now returns in force, buffeting against your stubborn advance. Its chillness lashes with a bitter sting, forcing you to hug your cloak protectively about your body. By now, there is little warmth or comfort to be gained from your sodden clothing. Instead their wet folds chafe and cut at your skin, while the blisters on your feet make every footfall an eye-wincing agony.

You swallow back the tears, determined not to give into despair. And yet, hope is fading fast, as is the grey sullen light. It will be dark soon and with it comes the dreadful prospect of another night spent out in the open. If only Lazlo was here, or Captain Tarlow. They would know how to build a shelter, make a fire, hunt for food. You know nothing of living and surviving outdoors. The dragon leaf will only last for so long. And when that runs out . . .

You clamber up a rise of boulders to get a better view of your surroundings. Part of you wonders if heading back into the forest would be a safer idea – at least there you have some shelter and a better chance of foraging for food. A night spent out in these bleak open
hills, especially if another storm rolls in, will offer nothing more than misery and hunger.

As you scan the hills, your attention is caught by a thin column of smoke rising into the sky. Its source is obscured by another ridge of boulders. Your first reaction is relief – surely it must be a campfire, and that means warmth and food. But then, you also realise it means the presence of strangers. Will they be friendly? They could even be Wiccans, sent to finish the bloody business they began on the road.