The Eye of Winter's Fury (71 page)

But the blow never lands. Instead the arm explodes, splintering into fragments of ice. Another explosion sends the troll staggering, a spear-tip protruding from its chest. You hear a man’s bellowing cry from the far side of the hall. A flash of steel whips past your face, clunking dully into the face of the Skard behind you. He is flung back, his grip loosening – just enough for you to break free, spinning round to deliver the killing blow.

You turn again, to see more of the statues falling and shattering against the ground. (If you have the keyword
repentance
on your hero sheet, turn to
36
. Otherwise, turn to
682
.)

515

The wooden guardian has been defeated. You may now help yourself to one of the following special rewards:

With little else of interest in the room, you decide to continue onwards. Turn to
13
.

516

You slip the robes over your armour, tugging the cowl down to hide your face. Then you step out from the pillar, moving forward with head bowed, arms by your side.

The acolytes’ attention is focused on the ritual. As you near, one of the men turns, glancing at you with dark eyes. ‘You’re late,’ he hisses, ushering you to take your place alongside the others.

You move past him, aware that you are now surrounded by the enemy.

Nanuk.
You open up your mind, letting the bear’s strength pour into you.

Spectral claws flash from your fingers. You punch through the two acolytes standing beside you, killing them before they even have a chance to react. The woman starts to turn, eyes widening. You drive both fists into her, retracting them in a shower of blood. She drops like a stone, the poker rattling across the ground.

Then you spin to face the remaining three acolytes: young and startled apprentices. For a moment, you wonder if they will run – but on seeing their mistress fall, a bitter fury overtakes them. They stand their ground, cruel daggers flicking into their gloved hands. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Dark mending : At the end of each combat round, each opponent will heal themselves for 2 health . This cannot take them above their starting health and once their health is reduced to zero, this ability no longer applies.
	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 villainous mages, turn to
523
.

517

You urge the guard to show his hand. He nods in agreement, placing his stones face up on the table in front of him. ‘There, beat that!’ he grins triumphantly. Turn to
570
.

518

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 purple energies crackle above the podium. For a brief moment you glimpse some creature trapped within the bright maelstrom – a writhing ball of shadow, with tentacles whipping out through the air – then it is gone. The energy sparks out and the runes dim.

When you walk over to the podium you discover that the elemental is now trapped inside the orb, filling it with a powerful magic. (Congratulations! You have now created a
shadow orb
. If you wish to
take this, simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it does not take up backpack space.) Turn to
684
.

519

You manage to shunt one of your opponents aside, narrowly avoiding the crevasse. Recovering quickly, you pull away from the other racers, passing the finish line in second place.

Congratulations! This qualifies you to enter the final race. You also receive a prize of 150 gold crowns for your second place ranking. (Replace the keyword
rookie
with the word
veteran
.) Return to the map to continue your adventure.

520

Blood and acid steam from the melted remnants of the tower platform. Behind you, one of the drakelings lies sprawled across the slatted tiles, its body speared on the roof spike. From between its curved serrated teeth, black bile continues to dribble – eating away at the stones and mortar.

For defeating the drakelings, you may now take one of the following rewards:

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
336
.

521

You feel a touch on your arm. It is Aslev. He nods to a pair of double doors at the opposite end of the room. You give Gurt a final contemptuous glare, then move to follow Aslev and the other Skards. When
the doors are flung open, you are surprised by the sudden bite of coldness that floods into the hall, sending the brazier flames flickering. You had been expecting another, grander chamber – instead the doors have opened out onto a wind-swept hillside, the banks of snow rising steeply into the flaky mist.

‘This way,’ says Aslev. He makes a sharp turn to the right, climbing a set of wooden stairs half buried by the snow. They rise steeply, taking you around a pinnacle of dark rock, which soon gives way to a rough wall of ice. The steps are uneven and slippery, forcing you to deliberate over every step, the chill emptiness to your left reminding you of the sheer drop to the ground below.

The stairway becomes a stippled ridge, carved out of what you assume is a vast glacier. You spy large root-like protrusions breaking out of the ice-wall above, their spindly lengths snaking away into the haze. It isn’t until you pass beneath an overhanging limb that you realise they actually are roots – their wood of the purest snow-white. As you ascend the last of the stairs the wind drives hard against you, howling across the vast plateau. Here the mist is reduced to a few ragged streamers, clinging around the tangled roots of the biggest tree you have ever seen.

It stretches into the blue, winter skies, its colossal branches sparkling with crystalline leaves. From the pale bark an icy slush oozes out of the cracks and fissures, forming a multitude of dripping candles, their tips hardened to icicles. The size of the tree would overshadow even the highest towers of Bitter Keep – its topmost canopy is almost lost to view, the bright leaves twinkling like distant stars.

‘Yggdrasil,’ states Aslev, glancing back at you. ‘And the Hall of Vindsvall.’ He motions you towards a building carved out of the tree itself. It is a longhouse, similar to Gurt’s at the foot of the glacier, but this is twice the size, the wood decorated with intricate gold sculptures. You can see arched windows and stairs cut into the trunk, suggesting that the hall extends back into the hollows of the tree.

The doors of the hall stand open. You are marched into a vaulted chamber, its floor, walls and ceiling all carpeted with a fine silver frost. An immense pit has been dug into the centre of the hall, where a fire crackles and spits around the base of a wooden statue. By all reckoning, the flames should have consumed the figure – a long-haired
warrior, brandishing a spear and a shield – but the pale wood appears untouched by the heat.

Past the fire you come to the foot of a set of wide stairs, which lead up to an immense dais. There, part of the natural tree protrudes into the hall, its sap funnelled into a vast teardrop that covers the surface of the dais. Inside the ice, distorted by the glistening sheen, is a high-backed throne – and seated on it is a half-giant, powerfully-built, with long hair spilling out from beneath a pronged stone-grey helm. A war-hammer rests across his knee, a shield propped against the chair. He sits frozen in the ice, looking perfectly serene – perfectly preserved.

You realise it must be Skoll, the leader of the Skards, whose spirit is lost in the Norr. The asynjur have frozen his body, to protect it from the ravages of time and starvation.

The sound of voices breaks you from your thoughts.

Your gaze shifts to a woman as she moves into view from around the ice-cropping. Her skin is as smooth and pale as that of the tree, a coppery silk gown clinging tightly to her lithe body. She steps gracefully in bare feet, the ground sparkling with frost wherever she steps. Her age is indeterminate, the face betraying no crease or wrinkle, but her hair is snow-white, falling across her shoulders in two woven plaits.

The Skards immediately fall to the their knees, heads bowed. ‘Syn Hulda,’ they intone reverently.

The woman’s attention is focused to the side of the hall, where you see another einherjar. His hands are clamped tightly around a young girl, struggling to restrain her.

‘No! I won’t leave,’ the girl cries angrily. ‘Why won’t you listen to me? My mother was right – the ice must be broken! Skoll is dead!’

You step forward, squinting from the brilliance of the enchanted light. The girl is thin, her skin tight to her bones, making her emerald-green eyes all the brighter. Matted strands of ginger hair hang over her face, partly covering the bruise rising on her cheek.

You blink. Your mind races.

The girl is wearing a coat too large for her, and baggy breeches tucked into seal-skin boots. As she kicks and struggles against her captor, your eyes meet hers.

‘Anise . . .’

The girl wriggles out of the Skard’s grasp, throwing herself
towards you. The next thing you know her arms are flung around your body, holding you tight – the firmness of her embrace taking you by surprise.

‘Anise.’ You gently brush away her hair, uncovering the smile that so captivated you back at the keep – the bright eyes, aglow with fire. Then her lips find yours. It as if your soul has been reawakened. Your senses bleed outwards, filling your dead body. Something flutters in your chest, coming alive if only for the briefest of seconds – your heart beating, lungs shivering. As you break away you suck in a long delicious breath, tasting the scent of her hair, her body, her warmth . . .

‘How . . . How is this possible?’ you gasp, searching her wide eyes. ‘The keep . . .’

‘I looked for you,’ she sobs, tears running unchecked across her bruised skin. ‘There was so much . . . death. I was lost. Then . . . Everard’s horse . . . I rode across the bridge, before . . . before . . .’

Rough hands close around her, dragging the girl away. ‘No!’ she screams, kicking and punching. The einherjar drags her back across the dais, ignoring her maddened protests.

The moment she is gone you feel your body shudder, the fingers of ice clenching around your heart once again, stilling it cold. Dead.

‘Take your hands off her!’ you growl angrily, drawing your weapons. You start forward but the woman intervenes, stepping between you. She regards you with sharp, cobalt eyes.

‘What is this?’ she asks politely, her gaze flicking quickly to Aslev. The Skards remain kneeling while Aslev recounts your audience with Gurt and your desire to help free Skoll.