The Eye of Winter's Fury (48 page)

320

You are rolling and crashing over sharp rock. Oddly, there is no pain, your dead body little more than a rag-doll, poked and punched, cut and sliced. You hear a bone crack, a pressure against your throat; an arm bends awkwardly, not responding to your efforts to move it. Dust fills your nostrils, pushing its way into your dry throat.

Blinking, you look around. Everything is a fine powdery dust, forming thick clouds hanging in the air. Through it, you glimpse ragged shapes – stumbling, staggering. A horn rings out in the distance.

You manage to struggle to your feet, one arm hanging useless at your side. A rib is showing through your jerkin, coated in black blood. It is an odd and bewildering sight.

I should be dead.

As if in response, your body’s numbness is replaced by a burning
cold, rushing along the length of your spine. It prickles down your legs, across your shoulders, pushing its way beneath your skin. You sense a powerful presence feeding you with its strength.

Nanuk.

Your arm snaps back into its socket, the bones scraping together beneath the bruised flesh. The exposed rib splinters and then crumbles like chalk, the tiny fragments lifted away on the chill wind. Beneath the remnants of your clothing the open wound closes, the black blood replaced by a puckered scar.

Then the coldness subsides, leaving you numb and empty once again.

You stumble through the haze, your foot knocking into the body of a soldier. He stares up at you vacantly, his pale face freckled with blood. A jagged stone protrudes from his chest, having pierced straight through his breastplate.

Looking round, you see a smoking mound of rubble where there had once been a building. Everard had boasted that Bitter Keep could endure anything – standing proud until the ending of the world. Perhaps that time has come. Turning away, you set your sights on the far-side of the courtyard and the ringing sounds of battle. Turn to
376
.

321

A number of turns are played, in which each opponent discards a stone from their hand and takes another one at random from a black pouch. Finally, the guard nods to himself, as if certain of a win. Nervously, he places his stones face up on the table, revealing his hand. Then he sits back, awaiting his opponent’s response. Turn to
570
.

322

Mech leads you into his workshop, which is little more than a rundown wooden shack overflowing with junk. After kicking away some of the mess, the man proceeds to fish out a number of items for
your inspection – a box of torn metal plates, some vats of gloopy whale grease and a pot of bright yellow dye, faintly glowing with magic.

If you have a sled, you may purchase any of the following upgrades for 40 gold crowns each:

An upgrade can only be applied to each sled once. (Note: If you replace an existing sled with a new one, all upgrades that have been applied to the old sled will be lost. Each sled must have its own set of upgrades.)

You may now view the available sleds (turn to
432
) or explore the rest of the compound (turn to
106
).

323

Your newfound strength is a bonus, but not enough to make up for your lack of climbing experience. You have barely made it five metres before you lose your footing and fall, plummeting back to the ground in a flurry of dust and stone. It seems you have no other choice but to fight the hunter – hoping that the narrow tunnel shaft will give you an advantage against him. Turn to
402
.

324

The muttok elder lies dead at your feet. Crouching next to the body, you begin cutting away at the beast’s magnificent antlers. After considerable effort they finally come free in your bloodied hands. Rising to your feet you hold up your trophy, revelling in Desnar’s look of shamed defeat.

Congratulations, you have bested the Skard in the challenge of the hunt. If you wish, you may now equip the following item:

Stag’s crown

(head)

+2 brawn +2 magic

Ability: barbs, charm

You have also gained a
muttok pelt
(simply make a note on this on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space). Record the word
triumph
on your hero sheet, then turn to
578
.

325

The balcony is surrounded by a waist-high wall, punctuated by thin crenulations. In daylight, you imagine the view over the rift and the surrounding country must be spectacular – but now, on this moonless night, you are presented with an inky impenetrable darkness. You look back towards the keep walls, noting the small bobbing lights moving back and forth – the guards walking the battlements. They seem to hang suspended in the blackness, tiny and small against the great cold expanse.

A flutter of wings jolts you from your thoughts.

Before you can turn something slams into your back, knocking you into the wall. For a second you are half-blinded by a sudden bright light, your ears filled with a loud buzzing.

‘Get away from him!’ screams a voice.

You see blue flames trail through the air as Anise waves her torch at your assailant, forcing them back. The intervention buys you time to gather your wits, although you are still convinced your eyes are playing tricks on you.

Through a glittering cloud of dust, you see a giant moth hovering over the balcony. The creature’s wings are translucent like veils, but seem to glow with their own inner light, illuminating the silver veins that bulge from the creature’s body – and the sharp teeth glittering from its skeletal head.

The moth’s kicking legs knock the torch from Anise’s hands, sending her scurrying back into the tower. Before you can follow, the creature swoops towards you, a dusty powder showering from its wings. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Spectral dust : Each time your damage score causes health damage to your opponent, you are blinded by the moth’s dust. This reduces your speed to zero for the next combat round only.

If you manage to overcome this winged horror, turn to
163
. 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.

326

Aslev emerges from the hall, bowing his head to the both of you. ‘My Drokke. There is the matter of the einherjar. We should choose a new Seff to lead us.’

Skoll slaps you between the shoulder blades. ‘I believe this is our Seff.’

‘Me?’ you bristle with surprise. ‘I am not a Skard . . . I couldn’t . . .’

‘Neither was that half-man,’ sneers Skoll, waving towards the hall. ‘It is done. It is decided. Aslev, do you honour this?’

The warrior is already beaming with approval. ‘Of course! My men would gladly follow. If our Seff would learn our ways, then I will teach him.’

Skoll pats the einherjar on the shoulder. ‘Good. Now, enough talk. Warming a throne for a hundred years has left me with a hearty appetite. I declare a feast, then we may gossip like the crones – and make plans for war.’

He turns to you, his yellowed grin bulging an array of scars. ‘Will you share my table, Bearclaw? We cannot go to war on empty stomachs.’

You raise your hands in rebuttal. ‘Thank you, Drokke. But my condition . . . I fear I no longer have a taste for it.’

Skoll shrugs his shoulders. ‘Then attend to your business, my friend. Two suns from now, I will be heading north. To Mount
Skringskal. And I will need you at my side. You are a mighty warrior – and a shaman. The ancestors have chosen you above all others. It is a sign. Perhaps I see you becoming a Drokke one day. You understand this?’

A hand slips into your own, squeezing your fingers tight. You look round to see Anise, her pale skin freckled with blood. You push her tangled locks aside, meeting her gaze.

‘You will come back, won’t you?’ she breathes nervously.

You take a moment to unpick your thoughts, to settle your emotions. When next you speak, you know it is as a man – not the child you once were. ‘I have always been a ghost, Anise. Someone who never mattered. I was betrayed. The people I thought I could trust left me for dead by a roadside. They wanted to take everything from me – they
have
taken everything.’ You feel Anise’s hand against your cheek. The tenderness of her touch makes you flinch, your tortured visage mirrored cruelly in her eyes, reminding you of what you have become. ‘I am a monster now. I know that. Every day, I am losing my humanity – I do not know if I deserve saving . . .’

Anise goes to withdraw her hand, but you snatch it back – pressing it tight against your cheek. ‘But, I have been given purpose. You are my people now. And I will fight for you. Not as a prince, but as a Skard.’

‘Bearclaw,’ whispers Anise. She leans forward and puts her lips to your own.

‘Bearclaw!’ shouts Skoll, raising a fist into the air. ‘Winter comes to our land – but we still have fire in our hearts. Remember this day, my friends. This is the day of my return, when the Ska-inuin will rise and take our lands back from the witch.’ Golden light blossoms around his fingertips, forming a blazing beacon against the darkening skies. ‘Winter comes, and with it our vengeance!’

If you are a warrior, you may speak with Aslev and learn the einherjar career (turn to
215
). Otherwise, you may now return to the map. When you are ready to re-join Skoll and Anise, select the Boss Monster encounter (the skull icon) to begin the next stage of your journey.

327

‘What, suddenly yer a trapper now? You can’t trade with me unless it’s all official-like. I need to put you on the books, see, and issue you with a permit.’

‘Go ahead.’ You fold your arms, teeth grinding with annoyance.

‘There’s a service charge,’ replies Jackson, rattling his guns at you. ‘Five gold. Then yer can trade.’

‘I have to pay you so that I can . . . sell to you?’ You play through the statement in your head, looking for the logic.

‘Listen, brains. Where else you gonna trade – Ryker’s? You won’t get better prices for your fur than ’ere at White Wolf. And the bonus is, we won’t try to kill yer.’

You glance at the musket barrels.

‘Well, only if you do something . . . excitable.’

You may purchase a
White Wolf Hunting Permit
for 5 gold crowns. (If purchased, simply make a note of the permit on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space.) This item verifies you as an official trader and will allow you to sell items to the White Wolf Trading Post.

328

The heat in the room is stifling, forcing you to involuntarily draw back. Segg continues to stare into the fire, its dancing patterns reflected in his eyes. It isn’t until you draw a nervous cough that the mage blinks and appears to come to his senses. With a flick of his hand the flames diminish, becoming little more than thin bright tongues, licking around the coals.

‘Do come in,’ he smiles, gesturing to a chair by the wall.

‘It’s a little hot for me,’ you reply awkwardly, still feeling the heat of the room burning against your cold skin.

‘Ah yes, your condition. That would explain it.’ The mage rises from his seat, grimacing as he straightens his back. ‘I’m glad you came to see me, Arran – I want you to take a look at this.’ He walks over to a desk and pulls out a book from underneath a collection of papers. He opens the book to a certain page, marked by a scarlet ribbon, and then hands it to you.

The page is covered in strange glyphs and markings – magic, you quickly surmise.

‘Tell me what you see,’ insists the mage, stepping back and watching you expectantly.

‘Gibberish,’ you reply flatly. ‘I don’t really—’

‘Look harder!’ he snaps. His irritation causes the flames in the brazier to leap a little higher.

You stare at the runes – following the intricate spirals of their form, the way they interlink, the hidden patterns created by the lines and spaces. At the back of your mind you feel the tug of that other presence – that other place. From mere scratches of ink, the scrawls quickly become glowing sigils of green light, burning into your eyes, into your brain.

‘It’s a spell.’ You pass your hands over the runes, knowing instinctively which ones need to be made complete, tracing lines and shapes, forming a union.