The Eye of Winter's Fury (77 page)

If you manage to incite a mutiny and take over the ship, turn to
745
.

557

The slope curves round the bluff, exposing you to the freezing bite of the cruel north wind. You ascend several hundred metres before arriving at a high wall of iron mesh topped with barbed wire. Beyond the wall is a dark stone building, looming ominously against a rust-stained sky.

Ryker’s prison.

Two guards are standing outside a padlocked gate, wearing the same red-cloth armbands as those on the outer wall. One looks like a half-goblin, short of stature with a pug nose and a jutting lower jaw. His companion is a gangly youth with a dark fuzz of beard and a ring through his nose. Both look nervous as you approach.

‘Gotta gi’ us the daily password,’ croaks the half-goblin, pointing a clawed finger at you.

‘Wha’ day is it?’ asks the youth, his face twisted with concentration.

‘I dunno, make one up. Don’t matter, does it?’

‘Third day o’ of the week – password for Dilain,’ proclaims the youth brightly, looking pleased with his decision. ‘Either tell us or you can’t come in. Plain and simple, just like us, eh, Zurg?’

558

Sensing victory, Skoll throws himself into a barrage of blows, screaming out a guttural cry with each savage swing. You catch them against your weapons, boots scraping the very edge of the rock. A couple land, the runed blade scolding like hot irons. But you keep your focus – watching, feeling his rhythm.

The axe lifts – ready to swing one final time. You dodge aside at the last moment, using your speed to twist round behind him. Angrily, he swings blindly, the weight of his axe carrying him after you. His momentum leaves him staggering off balance, closer to the edge . . .

He catches your eye, the anger gone – replaced by a frightened shock. Stone crumbles, he teeters back . . . Instinctively, he reaches out, grasping for you.

‘Bearclaw!’

Dropping your weapons, you go to grab his hand. But you are too late. Your cold fingers brush against his own, which then slip away before you can form a grip.

He disappears from sight in a rustle of leather and cloth.

You are left holding a ring: a knotted braid of white hair, banded with twists of iron and ivory. If you wish, you may now take:

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
626
.

559

‘Earthquake . . . yeah, let me think . . .’ You can hear Jackson sucking at his lips. ‘Rings a bell. Thought I just had a bout of the shakes. Or was that the day I cracked open the crate of Assay Brandy? Hmm, perhaps so.’

‘You mean you didn’t even feel it? It took down the whole keep!’

‘I had to mend a few shelves. Some broken bottles. Think my ceramic duck got broke. That was a present from a sweetheart. Or was it my mother? Hmm.’

You shake your head in exasperation, realising that you are unlikely to get much out of Jackson’s drink-addled brain.

560

What might have once been an iron brazier is now a twisted length of iron, rolling back and forth in the wind. Desperately, you look around for an alternative – your eyes finding a tattered banner, pinned down by chunks of stone from a ruined section of wall.

Perhaps you could light the banner and use it to signal the guards.

If you have the keyword
flame
on your hero sheet, or are carrying
flint and tinder
, or have the
Atataq
wand equipped, turn to
453
. Otherwise, turn to
429
.

561

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

You have also gained a
sasquatch pelt
(simply make a note of this on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space). When you have updated your sheet, turn to
631
.

562

Heads and vines go spinning away into the mist as you hack and slash through the barbed jungle. At last, weapons dripping with gloopy sap, you stand over the trampled, broken remains of the creature. Where the original seed had landed you discover a glowing black sphere, still pulsing with magic. If you wish, you may now take the following item:

Your attention shifts back to the tree – and the agonised screams still rending the air. Of the scurrilous rodent there is no sign – you assume it must have scrambled up into the thick canopy of branches. Sheathing your weapons, you start to ascend the knotted bark once again, determined to reach the tree’s summit. Turn to
597
.

563

The corridor turns a ninety-degree corner, leading you down another line of squalid cells. If you have the book
Hergest’s Hauntings
in your backpack (and haven’t already used it at this location), turn to
436
. Otherwise, you continue along the corridor. Turn to
661
.

564

Flickering orange light spills from the cracks in the walls, illuminating the fleshy tentacles that snake like roots through the rock. They are everywhere now, some so large that they block off entire passageways. Each one gives off a torpid heat, forcing you to tread warily, avoiding their touch.

You pass through the shattered remains of buildings, their walls and floors tilted at unnatural angles. You cannot be sure if they fell here from the surface, dragged to these depths by the shifting plates of earth, or if they have lain here for generations – relics of a bygone age.

At last, squeezing out of another tunnel, you find yourself on a ledge, overlooking a vast gulf – almost as wide as the great rift in Skardfall. Your eyes scan the sheer walls, where more tentacles wind over each other, reaching down towards the fire-flecked darkness below.

A scream.

Further along the same ledge, you see another opening – and a black-robed acolyte crawling on all fours, blood soaking his robes. ‘Please no,’ he begs, looking back fearfully. ‘I will help you – please . . .’

A giant of a man strides from the darkness of the tunnel, and plants his axe in the man’s back. You hear a fleshy thud and the crack of bone. The robed mage doesn’t even give a cry or whimper. He simply slumps face down into the dirt.

‘Vadick lott, nefigger!’

The giant puts his foot to the man’s back, tugging his axe free in a spray of blood. Matted hair hangs across his face, a crowned helm hanging askew. He pauses, looking down at the dead mage, then he turns to face you, dark brows creased over his cunning, bright-blue eyes. In the crimson half-light, his face is like a demon’s – crisscrossed with livid scars, turning his skin into a grisly patchwork.

‘Skoll . . .’ You grip your weapons uncertainly.

The Skard blinks and leans forward, as if trying to see past some fog. Then he gives a bellowing laugh, lowering his axe. ‘Bearclaw.’

‘Where is Anise?’ You look past him to the tunnel that he emerged from. There are no voices, no footsteps.

Skoll shrugs his shoulders. ‘I left her. We haven’t time.’

It takes a moment for his words to sink in. ‘Left her? What do you mean—’

Skoll turns away, his eyes roving across the gulf. ‘We have to find the demon.’

Snarling, you surge forward, barrelling into the Skard and driving him against the wall. Such is the force and speed of your strike, the warrior is too surprised to retaliate.

Your faces meet, mere inches apart.

‘Where is she? Tell me where she is.’

‘I am Drokke. Take your hands—’

‘Where is she – ANSWER ME!’ you scream. The Skard grits his teeth as a dark frost starts to coat his body, spreading like an intricate spider’s web.

‘There was a rock fall. I pulled her free, but it did no good. She could not walk – she would only have slowed me down.’

You shake your head disgustedly. ‘She was hurt? Tell me how to find her.’

‘The tunnel is gone. There is no way back.’

The pain twists through you. ‘No . . .’

Gagging with grief, you stagger back. Your foot knocks into the dead mage. For the briefest of moments, you are distracted . . .

‘Nerock Ta!’

Skoll whirls, striking you with his fist. It catches your helm, knocking you sideways. Then the flat of his axe slams into your chest. You are sent flying onto your back, skidding across the rock.

‘I am a Drokke!’ he shouts, spittle flying from his lips. ‘Know your place.’

Still shocked, you take a boot heel to the side. The Skard towers over you, radiating anger. ‘She was nameless. No better than a southlander.’

‘Anise was one of us,’ you rasp.

‘Us?’ He bares his teeth in a snarl. ‘You are not of the Ska-inuin. I fight for my people. To save them. The many weigh more than the few. It is our way.’

‘I still fight for your people,’ you snap coldly. ‘As did Anise.’

Skoll growls.

You flinch, waiting for his next strike.

Instead, he offers out a hand. ‘Enough! Past deeds will stay my fury. Take it – time runs from us. We go find the witch and end this. The girl is gone. Forget her.’

565

Ignoring Caul’s protests you lead the way into the narrow passage, the trapper following reluctantly behind. The whispering steadily grows in volume, until harsh guttural words resound from the black stone walls. It reminds you of the Skard language, but distorted somehow – broken by pauses and strange inflections.

‘We should go back!’ hisses Caul angrily. ‘Can’t you hear it?’

You squeeze out of the passage into a round chamber of polished black stone. Hanging from the ceiling, by what looks like tendrils of leather or skin, are three triangular shards. They are crafted from the same black stone as your surroundings, but glow with a spectral light. You approach the nearest, the whispering now raised to an angry deluge of hissing curses. As you gaze into the stone’s mirrored surface, you see your pale visage staring back at you. The image quickly distorts – the face and body lengthening to become a ghostly white shroud.

Before you can draw back, a pair of hands reach out of the mirror. They grab hold of your cloak, bunching it tight, then drag you towards the stone. You flinch, expecting to hit its hard surface, but instead you feel a cold tingling as you pass straight through . . .

You find yourself in a mirror image of the chamber, its edges wavering as if they are partly illusion. The three shards now hang suspended around you. In each of their dark planes, a distorted image of Caul beats furiously against them – desperate to break in.

Vintern tar dul! Vintern tar dul!

The voice echoes around the chamber, louder now than ever before.

A cold blast of air. You look behind you to see a wraith-like
apparition coalescing at the centre of the room, its ragged body coated in wraps of tattered fur. From the creature’s attire and its long braided hair, you assume it was once a Skard – before some ancient magic trapped it in this arcane prison. With a shrieking howl the spirit drifts towards you, its taloned hands reaching for your throat. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Mirror, mirror : The wraith can add 1 to its damage score for each mirror that currently has health . (If you have the insulated ability, you can ignore this damage bonus.)
	Fractured spirit : (*) The wraith cannot be harmed until the three mirror shards are destroyed (but can still attack you if you lose a combat round). Once the mirrors are destroyed, the wraith can be attacked and damaged as normal. Caul will also be able to come to your aid, adding 2 to your damage score for the remainder of the combat.
	Soul glass : The mirrors are immune to bleed and decay .