The Eye of Winter's Fury (63 page)

If you manage to defeat these multi-legged monsters, turn to
390
.

448

After a frantic battle, you finally stand over the zombies’ remains. Instead of feeling elation at having survived another battle, your mind is troubled by yet more nagging doubts. You prod one of the bodies, noting the grey pallor of its dead skin and the black blood that pools around your feet. Their condition is not unlike your own – bodies without a life, without a heart. You squeeze at a cut along your arm, watching as a similar black blood oozes between your fingers.

‘Perhaps I will share their fate,’ you whisper to yourself.

Anise steps past you, shaking her head. ‘What magic could have done this?’ The blue light from her torch illuminates the true extent of the grisly scene. ‘These men should have been left in peace, not made to live like animals.’

You look away from the cadavers, not wishing to be reminded of what you might become. Instead you focus on the rest of the room. Next to the right hand wall is the broken remains of a table and what might have been a chest. Amongst the debris, you discover a black-bladed axe – its edge still sharp and untarnished – a wand fashioned from bones that hum with magic, and a pewter tankard with an inscription on the bottom that reads:
Sore head, like lead, come morning I’ll dread – now drink, don’t think, another let’s sink.

You may now take one of the following rewards:

A door in the opposite wall creaks open of its own accord. From the room beyond you hear a man’s voice, raised in anger. ‘No! I will not serve you, Zabarach! I will not!’ There is a cry of pain, then the sound of metal scraping across stone. Gripping your weapons, you edge slowly into the next room. Turn to
548
.

449

With a deafening screech, the wraith’s body shatters into a shower of ice crystals. You step back, watching as the tiny fragments splinter across the floor, joining the jagged pieces of stone from the broken mirrors. Caul whistles through his teeth, shaking his head.

‘I don’t want to say I told you—’

‘Don’t.’ You fix him with a cold stare, pushing your weapons back into their bindings.

Caul’s lips slowly twist into a smile. ‘Just glad you’re on my side.’ He steps around the debris, where you notice a number of items glowing faintly with magic. ‘Least this detour wasn’t a complete waste. Now these I certainly ain’t touching, but I’m sure it won’t stop the likes of you.’

You may now take one of the following rewards:

With nothing else of interest in the chamber, you head back along the tunnel and take the stairs down to the cave. Turn to
474
.

450

‘It’s late and I got duties to attend to.’ Jackson gives a snotty-sounding sniffle. ‘Me good lassie’s waiting for me, all sweet and promisin’ like. Sleek black body, ’87 vintage.’ A hacking laughter resounds from behind the wall. ‘One of the perks of the job. Highland Black. Whole crate right next to me and it ain’t getting drunk on its own. So, wag that tongue of yours and get on with it.’

451

You attempt to confuse the guards. ‘But today isn’t Dilain,’ you complain, frowning. ‘What was yesterday again?

The half-goblin looks to his young companion, shuffling his feet nervously. ‘You remember, Hub? I dunno, think that was Sol. But that would make today Ullir.’

‘So what was the password for Ullir?’ you ask quickly, hoping to catch them off guard.

To fool the confused duo, you will need to pass a
speed
challenge:

If you are successful, the bumbling guards provide you with a password allowing you into the prison (turn to
33
). Otherwise, they are not fooled by your ploy. You promise to return at a later date. Turn to
426
.

452

‘Look around you.’ Skoll gestures to the ruined hall and the crevasses running through the glacier. ‘Jormungdar is an ancient demon, trapped beneath the ground. With every passing winter the magic that holds the serpent prisoner is weakening. What we have seen is only the start – one day, it will break free.’

You close your eyes, trying to stem the sudden tide of memories – the images, the faces, the many lives that were lost that fateful day at Bitter Keep. ‘We never knew . . .’ you rasp hoarsely, the words sticking in your throat. ‘We were never prepared . . .’

‘Our people are the same. We wake each morning to know the land is ours. We believe it will be here for our children and their children, and those that come after . . . ’ Skoll casts his eyes across the blue-washed ice. ‘It has always been the witch’s plan to free the serpent. She wishes only to destroy; to break the land and leave it to ruin.’ He steps to the edge of the glacier, the wind tugging at his fur-trimmed cloak. ‘Look and remember, Bearclaw. This is all we have. When the land is gone, we have nothing.’

Return to
602
to ask another question or turn to
326
to end the conversation.

453

You push the stones aside, freeing the banner. As you lift it up, you see that the cloth is still bound to an iron cross-piece. Searching amongst the rest of the debris, you find a rusted support, bolted to the stone. The wind continues to pound against you, making every effort twice
as hard. It is several minutes before you are able to get a flame to catch – and then to grow, lighting up the frayed banner fabric.

Anise helps you to lift the standard, pushing the end of the pole into the old support. Then you step away, watching as cinders swirl up into the night sky, the standard slowly engulfed by the roaring flames. Turn to
580
.

454

For defeating the captain, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
479
.

455

Raising your hands, you trace the circular patterns with your fingers, connecting the lines and whorls with the magic that now flows through you. The runes start to flicker and then glow, illuminating a trail to the centre circle, where white-blue energies crackle above the podium. For a brief moment you glimpse some creature trapped within the bright maelstrom – a thin and spindly humanoid, its pale limbs coated in jagged icicles – then it is gone. The energy sparks out and the runes dim.

When you walk over to the podium you discover that your item is now covered in a layer of frost, sparkling with hook-like barbs. (Congratulations! Your chosen weapon/item of equipment now has the
thorns
ability.) When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
684
.

456

You scrabble in the dust for the final key then lunge towards the door, ducking to avoid a snapping snake head. Pushing the key into the lock, you are relieved to hear a gratifying click. The blustery smoke vanishes – the snakes dispersing into harmless wisps. Then a crack of light splits the door, widening as the panels swing open, revealing a small cavity and three podiums of rock. On each one is a treasure and a glowing tablet of stone.

You may now take one of the following items:

You may also choose one of the following runes:

Once you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
444
.

457

The woman draws your attention instantly, her feathered hat bobbing above the heads of the nearby patrons. Likewise her coat of bright crimson, embroidered with golden thread, provides a striking contrast to the drab shades of grey and brown.

‘Talia! My Talia!’ A young man, his face flushed with drink, reaches out drunkenly to grab her waist. ‘Give us a song – a love song, what d’ya say?’

The woman is plump and middle-aged, her locks of brown hair
paling to grey. Nevertheless, she moves with a light grace, swinging her hips away from his groping fingers. ‘Not today, sweet thing,’ she chirps playfully.

His face sours. ‘Then come here and give us a kiss. I’ll pay yer a coin for it – and maybe you’ll give me a second for free once you seen what I got to offer.’

‘Save it for the docks, my dear,’ she winks, waving a hand dismissively through the air. ‘I hear they’re less choosy there.’

The crowd parts for the woman, a few of the men affecting a slow shuffle as they gawp at her ample cleavage heaving against her bodice.

‘Oh, put your tongues away,’ she jibes, stepping up to the bar. ‘At least let a lady have a drink in peace.’ Talia removes her hat and places it on the counter, then proceeds to arrange her dishevelled hair.

Eyes turn back to the young man, who has risen from his bench and is staggering towards her. Two of his mean-looking friends move to join him, hands on their knives. They spread out behind the woman. The young man affects a confident saunter as he edges closer.

‘Why you turn your back on me, honey?’ he drawls, putting his arms round her waist. ‘That ain’t no way to greet an old friend, is it?’ He presses against the woman’s back, his head nuzzling into her neck.

‘Oh, Wren. How I’ve missed your ways . . .’ Talia lifts a hand to his head, her long fingers playing affectionately with his long greasy hair. A heartbeat. Then her fingers tighten, pulling his head to the side and forcing him to yowl in pain. As deftly as before, she spins round, performing a pirouette, whilst a sword flashes out from the scabbard beneath her coat. Its blade is transparent, like glass, etched on both sides with silvery runes.

‘You’d like a song, would you?’ she smiles, her head tilted playfully.

Before the ruffian can reply, the woman has brought her sword to her lips. From her mouth comes a sound like a high reverberating hum. You notice the glasses on the table next to you start to rattle across the boards, their contents sloshing back and forth. Back at the bar the woman holds her sword aloft, its blade vibrating with a high-pitched whine.

‘Damn witch,’ hisses Wren. He rocks on his feet as he attempts to draw his sword. His friends watch in dismay, then slowly start to back away.

Talia moves quickly, her wrist flicking round in a dazzling blur of
brightness. You hear the ping of shirt buttons and a rip of cloth. The woman steps away, leaning her head to the side to admire her handiwork. The man’s shirt has been cut open, flapping around his protruding beer belly. Angrily, he draws his sword and makes a reckless stab in her direction. Somehow the woman is already moving, darting past his attack, her own blade still humming with energy. Again, a series of fast strokes cut the air, leaving a dizzying after-glow in their wake.

The man stumbles into the bar as his breeches fall down around his ankles.

Talia sheathes her sword, her gaze dropping to his soiled long johns. She cocks an eyebrow. ‘Well sweetie, that’s a real disappointment for a lady.’

The taproom fills with a raucous laughter. The woman takes a bow, basking in the applause, while her assailant glares at his companions, who are also hooting and applauding.

‘Bloomin’ bards!’ The young man stoops to pull up his breeches then staggers awkwardly away, muttering under his breath.

The barman slams a mug of ale onto the counter. ‘There you go, Talia. Good show.’

‘Haven’t lost my touch, dear,’ she grins, taking the mug. ‘And another for my friend.’

The barman glances round, confused. ‘Friend?’

Talia’s eyes scan the room, then settle on the alcove where you are sitting. ‘Over there,’ she smiles, pursing her lips. ‘I’ve a little business to attend to.’ She snatches up her hat then makes for your table, ignoring the inquisitive stares. Turn to
731
.