The Eye of Winter's Fury (44 page)

You must defeat Syn Hulda and the three frost hounds to win the combat. If you are successful, turn to
568
.

293

‘Look, the dog’s come sniffing back,’ shouts Rutus, stepping out of line to face off against you. ‘Ready for another fight, or you just here to play maids’ lapdog?’ He jerks a thumb towards the straw target dummies.

The other soldiers halt their training, watching the confrontation with interest. The trainer folds his thick arms across his chest. His voice rings out loud and crisp in the chill morning air. ‘Well, I think we have ourselves a grudge match. Careful there, Rutus. This one looks hungry.’

The soldier grins, revealing several missing teeth. ‘Yeah, I’m beating this dog back down to the ground. Ready to eat some mud, rookie?’

You are both handed swords, then proceed to circle each other warily. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Training yard : You cannot use any special abilities or backpack items in this combat.
	I yield : Once Rutus is reduced to 10 health or less, roll a die at the start of each combat round. On a roll of or more, he yields to you, winning you the combat. Otherwise, the combat continues as normal.

If you manage to defeat this skilled soldier, turn to
147
. If you lose the challenge, turn to
258
.

294

Unable to break free from the growth, you are dragged inside its snapping jaws. You must immediately roll on the death penalty chart (see entry
98
) and apply the result to your hero. Remember, you may be given an opportunity later in your adventures to remove this effect.

You drop back to the ground, a shower of black blood spattering the dirt. It takes a moment to realise that it is seeping from your own wounds. Anise moves to stand over you, holding her magical torch above her head. The growth seems to recoil from the blue flames, its cruel mouth now emitting a pitiful whine.

‘Are you okay?’ she asks, her voice shaking with fear.

You pick yourself up, staggering as you find your balance. ‘I’ve been better.’

‘You’re bleeding.’

You brush her hand away. ‘I’m fine, please . . .’ Blood soaks your sleeve and your jerkin, and yet you feel no pain. It is as if the skin underneath is numb – dead, like a corpse.

Anise studies you a moment longer, chewing her bottom lip nervously. Then she raises her torch and turns away. ‘Okay, you’re right – let’s keep moving.’ Turn to
366
.

295

‘Tricked?’ Sylvie straightens in surprise, her brow creasing as if pondering the question. ‘Well, I suppose I did. But it was for your own benefit.’

‘My own benefit?’ Your hands grab the back of the nearest chair, gripping it tight to stop them from trembling. ‘Do you even know what it’s like when I sleep? You can’t possibly—’

‘You travel,’ replies Sylvie, matter-of-factly. Her attention turns back to the breakfast.

You start to sound an answer, but find yourself stammering instead, your thoughts tangling in a jumbled confusion.

‘The moment I saw you . . . I just knew,’ Sylvie continues. ‘And I can’t tell you why. I sensed the magic within you. But not like a mage – not one who chooses to use it, takes it and moulds it to their will. No, with you it’s different. It is like the magic is just a natural part of you. As it was with Randal.’

‘Your husband?’ you croak, still feeling sick.

‘It’s old blood,’ she replies, nodding. ‘He thought he was the only one. I thought it too, until I laid eyes on you. I had to be sure.’

‘You knew! Then that makes what you did . . . it only makes it
worse!’ You push the chair away, knocking it into the table. ‘You knew what would happen!’

‘I did.’ Sylvie breathes a guilty sigh. ‘But you can’t keep running from it. You have to learn to master that power, before . . . it masters you.’

296

You notice a number of treasures tangled up in the drake’s parasitic tentacles. If you wish, you may now take one of the following rewards:

You hope, with the death of the corrupted Titan, the explorers and Caul are now finally at peace. After giving the frozen trapper a final nod of farewell, you head into the glacial tunnels – following them back to the surface. (Return to the quest map to continue your adventure.)

297

As you near the tower, you are almost disappointed by its plainness. No grinning skulls or ghostly apparitions, just an expanse of grey, crumbling rock and dark empty windows. There isn’t even a warning sign saying ‘turn back now’.

‘It looks cold,’ says Brack, shivering in the wind.

You can’t help but agree. The wind carries a bitter edge, moaning and howling from the rift below. The torches sputter, sometimes
dimming to mere embers – but their magic somehow keeps them alight.

‘A shame they don’t give off any heat,’ says Anise, putting a hand close to the blue flames.

‘Quit complaining,’ snaps Harris, stepping towards the front door. He procures a small key from his robes and inserts it into the lock. There is a loud click followed by a teeth-grating squeal as the boy pushes against the heavy oak. Slowly, it opens inwards, then Harris is gone – swallowed by the darkness inside.

You follow, emerging in a large oval chamber. There are no windows, only plain stone walls scabbed with creeping mould. The torchlight continues to waver and dance, filling the space with an assembly of shadows, stretched and distorted like the ghoulish monsters you were expecting to find.

As the light shifts across the room, you are presented with a few mouldy sheets lying in one corner and an overturned copper pot in another. In the facing wall there is a door of wood and banded iron.

Anise hands you the torch, then proceeds to unfasten a small sack from her belt.

‘What’s that – you brought us supper?’ snorts Brack.

‘As a matter of fact, yes,’ says Anise. ‘What did you bring, just the empty space between your ears?’ She opens up the sack. ‘I got some cakes – and this.’ She throws a small flask to the warrior, who catches it, glaring at it as if it were a draught of poison.

‘You expect me to drink anything you’ve made?’ He removes the stopper then sniffs the contents. Looking undecided, he takes a drink, spitting it out a second later. ‘It’s disgusting.’

‘That’s two-hundred-year-old Assay brandy. Too strong for you?’

Brack sneers, then takes another gulp. Swallowing this time. ‘Hmm, it’s okay,’ he concedes, with a disgruntled frown. ‘Least it’s warm.’

‘Speaking of which, we should try and find some wood.’ Harris is standing in front of a disused fireplace, its recess filled with netted cobwebs. ‘If we could light a proper fire, the night will pass a lot easier. What do you say?’

You find his eyes looking straight at you. ‘Me?’ You glance towards the closed door that leads deeper into the tower.

‘I’ll go with you,’ smiles Anise, sensing your uncertainty. She tosses the sack to Harris, then takes the torch back. ‘I’m not scared of shadows and ghost stories.’

‘Wait,’ you raise your hands for attention. ‘Shouldn’t we stay together? I’ve read a lot of stories, and believe me – it’s always the ones that go off and leave the group that end up . . .’ You wince, leaving the sentence unfinished.

‘And what of those left behind?’ grins Harris. You notice that he is fiddling with something around his neck – a prism of black glass. Its smooth faces flash bright as they catch the torchlight.

Brack takes another swig from the flask, blowing out his cheeks. ‘This stuff should keep us all right, I’d say.’ He catches Anise’s jubilant smile. ‘Only drinking it out of courtesy, mind. Don’t think I like it, Skard.’

‘Come on,’ Anise tugs on your arm. ‘Let’s take a look around.’

As you move towards the door, you notice Harris is now wearing a pair of spectacles and is poring over one of the pages in his spell book. Around his neck the black prism starts to glow, suffused with its own inner light.

‘Hey, what . . .’ You go to question what the mage is doing, but Anise gives you another sharp tug. The next thing you know, she is throwing open the door and bundling you through into the narrow corridor beyond.

As she follows behind, the door suddenly slams shut with a deafening crack, hitting her on the back and throwing her forward. You catch her as she bumps into you, the two of you shaking in the corridor as you stare at the closed door.

‘Did . . . did you do that?’ you whisper.

Anise shakes her head, her breath escaping in short gasps.

A light flickers under the door, green then purple. There is a loud bang and a scream. You think it might have been Brack. You rush to the door, pulling against the handle – but it won’t move. It feels like some force, some pressure, has a hold on it, stopping it from opening.

‘Harris! Brack!’ You slam your shoulder repeatedly into the wood, but it is hard and tough – reinforced by studded iron bands. It stands firm, leaving you stumbling back, rubbing your grazed shoulder.

Another scream, then the door rattles. The flickering light grows brighter, then winks out.

There is silence. Anise stifles her sobs behind the palm of her hand.

For seconds, maybe even minutes, you both wait – ears straining to hear anything from the room. You think you detect footsteps, pacing back and forth.

‘Harris?’ you call. There is no answer.

You shift round in the tight passage, looking at the way ahead. In the glow of the torchlight you see the corridor continue for several metres before ending in another door. This one is hanging off its hinges, the shredded wood looking like it was ravaged by some beast.

To your left, an archway leads through to a set of stairs, leading up into darkness. From somewhere above, you hear a persistent banging noise, like a door being opened and closed.

‘There should be a signal fire at the top of the tower,’ says Anise, still trembling. ‘If we can light it, perhaps the guards will see it from the walls.’ She looks at you imploringly, then back at the closed door behind you. ‘I think we should do that – keep moving.’