Read The Kingdoms of Terror Online
Authors: Joe Dever
Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Lone Wolf, #Magnamund
The door clicks shut behind you. It takes a few seconds for your eyes to grow accustomed to the dimly lit interior, but the room appears to be the antechamber of a larger hall. Following the faint sound of voices, you pass through an archway, along a corridor, and into the main hall. Gathered about a circular table of gleaming steel, a group of elderly men are poring over books, star charts, and astral maps, engrossed in discussion. Globes of blue-white fire hang motionless in the air above them to illuminate their work. The old men do not see you until you are close to their steel table. Their reaction to your sudden appearance is astonishing — they look as though they have seen a ghost. There are yelps of shock and startled expressions; sweat forms on their brows. The sight is too much for one old man, who swoons and faints, falling limply across his books and maps. Only one man remains calm and collected.
If you have ever visited a hut on Raider's Road in a previous
Lone Wolf
adventure,
turn to 233
.
If you have never been to this place,
turn to 6
.
Blood is pounding in your ears as you hear the approaching Yawshath splashing through the ankle-deep slime of the passage floor. Hideous laughter echoes from all sides, building up in a deafening crescendo. Suddenly, you realize the awful truth — there are in fact two Yawshaths. You have unwittingly entered their lair, and now they have you trapped. You fight valiantly, but in the dark and fetid confines of the Yawshaths' den, the creatures overwhelm you and tear you to pieces.
Your quest and your life end here.
Suddenly, all hell breaks loose. Alarm bells ring, gruff voices bellow and scream and the crunching of boots on stone echoes round the town. A troop of soldiers surround you, their faces twisted and unnatural in the glare of their flaming torches. Your senses have been dulled by fatigue, and you are dragged from the saddle and disarmed before you have had a chance to react. Cold iron chains are wound tightly around your arms and body, and you are roughly pushed into a grey stone gaol. A wave of terror engulfs you as you catch a fleeting glimpse of a poster pasted to the gaol door. You see your own face before you; beneath it is written: ‘Death sentence — by order of Lord Roark, Highborn of Amory.’
Within the hour, your head is resting upon the executioner's block. As the razor-sharp blade of a two-handed axe whistles towards your neck, the last sound you hear is the malicious and vengeful laugh of the young lordling.
Your life and your quest end here.
When they realize who you are, their suspicion vanishes to be replaced by respect; your reputation, it seems, has spread far beyond the borders of your northern home. Eagerly, the three men offer you a seat and call for a fresh round of ales at their expense. They are clearly honoured by your company and keen to press you about your exploits. You try to answer their barrage of questions with polite caution, taking care not to reveal the precise nature of your quest. However, despite their surly features and rough manner, you sense that these men are genuinely friendly.
Your keen eyesight enables you to make out a line of dark shapes in front of the ship. It is a line of logs chained together: a boom lying directly in the path of the riverboat. Instantly you recognize the danger and rush to the bridge to warn the helmsman.
‘Look out! There's a boom across the river!’
Desperately, he spins the ship's wheel, but it is too late to avoid a collision. The screech of twisted metal and splintering wood tears through the silence as the
Kazonara
swings broadside-on into the chained logs. You brace yourself and hang on tightly as the boat lurches and rocks back and forth.
You recognize the small, flat-faced man: he was the umpire of the archery tournament. He asks you what is troubling you, and you explain your sorry predicament.
‘I'm sure we can find a solution to your problem,’ he says, obviously relishing the thought of profiting by your misfortune. He will accept either 2 Special Items or 20 Gold Crowns in exchange for his horse.
If you agree to his proposal,
turn to 212
.
If you cannot, or do not wish to, agree to his proposal,
turn to 176
.
‘You're looking at the “Hell-hole”,’ says an Ogron. ‘When the siege began, Prince Ewevin sent ten humans in there to find out where it leads. When they never came back he sent ten Ogrons in. Ain't seen none of 'em since!’
Another Ogron, who is splitting a log with his bare hands, overhears the conversation. ‘We've heard noises in the “Hell-hole” late at night,’ he says slyly, ‘horrible noises.’ He draws a fat finger across his blue-black throat before returning to his work.
If you wish to ask the Ogrons if you can use one of their pontoons to row across to the ‘Hell-hole’,
turn to 179
.
If you decide to swim across instead,
turn to 171
.
Beyond the Taunor valley, the highway twists and climbs across wooded hillsides, often plunging into narrow valleys where bubbling, trout-laden streams wend their way southwards to the Quarl. Butterflies gather in clouds above clumps of sweet-smelling flowers bordering the road, and the constant twitterings of bird song add a sense of tranquillity to the beautiful countryside.
‘It comforts me to know there is still one part of Lyris where war and death are unfamiliar visitors,’ says Cyrilus, puffing nonchalantly on a long-stemmed clay pipe. ‘Alas, nowadays, such peace is rare.’
The highway passes the ruins of a monastery and then descends steeply towards some log huts, clustered in a semicircle at the approach to a stone bridge. A tall gate, flanked by two mighty towers of stone, commands the access to the bridge.
‘The Denka Gate,’ says Cyrilus. ‘The toll is 3 Gold Crowns to cross the bridge, unless, of course, the gatekeeper is your brother.’ He gives a sly wink and smiles. ‘This may take a while — I haven't seen my brother Esmond for over a month, and he is bound to want to hear all the latest gossip from Quarlen before he lets us cross.’
Cyrilus points out two of the log huts where wooden signs, carved in the shapes of an ale tankard and a loaf of bread, hang above the doors. ‘The best ale and bread in all of Lyris. Mention my name and you'll be treated like a king.’
You are feeling hungry and thirsty after your long ride, and the prospect of free refreshment is very tempting.
If you wish to enter the ale hut,
turn to 185
.
If you wish to enter the bread hut,
turn to 287
.
If you decide to stay with Cyrilus and approach the Denka Gate,
turn to 89
.
You ride between ranks of carved stone idols, whose mouths hold flickering torches, which illuminate this broad avenue. Mercenaries of all races and nationalities pack the street, talking, boasting, or simply dozing in the shadows. At the end of the street, you arrive at a junction where a woman in filthy clothes sits nursing a crying child. As you pass, she holds out a grimy hand and begs for Gold Crowns to feed her hungry baby.
If you wish to stop and give the poor woman some Gold Crowns,
turn to 333
.
If you wish to ignore her and continue along the street,
turn to 279
.
Your skill makes you sensitive to the faint aroma of gallowbrush. It is commonly known as ‘Sleeptooth’ in Sommerlund, for its crushed thorns make a powerful sleeping potion. You realize that, for reasons unknown to you, this man is trying to render you unconscious.
If you wish to draw your weapon and attack him,
turn to 66
.
If you wish to put down your goblet and hurry out of the taxidermy,
turn to 279
.
A peasant wagon and a merchant caravan bearing the toa-tree emblem of Casiorn are waiting in front of the town gate. You bring your horse to a halt and wait in line as the great door of rust-red iron slowly creaks open. A guard appears and gestures to the wagon and caravan to enter, but he lowers his spear menacingly as you prepare to follow. ‘The town levy is 3 Gold Crowns, stranger. Pay or turn away.’
If you wish to pay the levy, give the guard 3 Gold Crowns and
turn to 332
.
If you do not wish to pay the tax and wish to try to ride past the guard,
turn to 115
.
No sooner have the doors of the inn slammed shut than you find yourself face to face with the city watch patrol. Every night, as a matter of routine, they wait for the drunks and rejects from the Inn of the Crossed Swords to be thrown onto the street. The burly guards grab you by the shoulders and attempt to strip you of your belongings before bundling you into a waiting cart. Instinctively, you fight to break free, but the guards take this as a threat. They unsheathe their swords and attack. You cannot evade combat and must fight the city watch to the death.
Varetta City Watch:
COMBAT SKILL
18
ENDURANCE
35
If you win the combat,
turn to 34
.
You prise open the visor of the dead warrior's helmet, half-expecting to see the rough features of a bandit or highwayman. It comes as a shock to find the cold and empty eyes of a dead woman staring back at you. The shape of her body was concealed by the thick plates of armour and a clutch of magras reeds in the mouth-piece of her visor had effectively disguised her voice.
You find few clues to identify her: an Axe, a pouch containing 11 Gold Crowns, a Dagger, and a Silver Brooch are all she carries: hired killers travel light. You examine the Silver Brooch and decide to keep it. (Mark this as a Special Item on your
Action Chart
.) There is something vaguely familiar about her face but you cannot remember why. Suddenly, your thoughts return to the plight of your companion — his life is in danger. You mount your horse without further delay and gallop across the Denka Bridge in pursuit.
You press on diligently, counting the steps that take you along the sewer until you reach a narrow vault a little over one hundred and fifty yards from the previous junction. An iron ladder, its rungs pitted with rust, rises out of the water to an arched stone door. Beneath the door, the sewer continues into the darkness.
If you wish to climb the ladder and investigate the arched door,
turn to 259
.
If you wish to continue along the passage,
turn to 339
.