Legion of Shadow (76 page)

636

The wounded man has started to drag himself up the stairs of the dais, leaving a trail of blood smeared across the stone. You hurry to his side, kneeling to offer your
support.

‘Jenlar? Jenlar Cornelius?’ you ask, tentatively.

The old man turns towards you, his pale eyes roving with fever. For a moment he struggles to focus, then he gives a strangled gasp, pulling away from you. ‘No! Why do you still hound my
steps, shadow spawn?’

‘But I’m not here to harm you,’ you protest. ‘I was sent to find you.’

As the old man continues to cower away, you suddenly realise why he is acting in such a manner. He must be assuming that you are the body-shifting assassin that was sent to kill him. After all,
the stalker had the exact same appearance as you, when you first arrived. If you have the
plain gold ring
from Jenlar’s cabin, turn to
436
. Otherwise, turn
to
441
.

637

You emerge from the lake, shivering in the cold evening light. As you pull yourself up onto the banks of the lake, you feel another painful twinge in your stomach. It must be
the lamprey worm, you grimace with disgust.

If you have the
jar of night creeps
turn to
663
. Otherwise turn to
696
.

638

You hit the ground so quickly that you lose your balance, pitching forwards onto your stomach. Putting out your arms, you try and cushion your fall as you slam down onto cold,
black sand. For several moments you can’t move, your head ringing with white noise. As the sickness and dizziness subside, you push yourself up off the sandy ground.

To either side of you, stretching as far as the eye can see, is a vast army, equipped and ready for battle. There is little uniformity to its ranks – beasts and monsters stand next to
mages and warriors, giant four-legged creatures tower over spindly, bird-like abominations – everywhere your eye settles there is something new, different and equally horrifying.

To your relief, they are making no move to attack you. Instead they simply stare ahead impassively, as if under some spell.

Suddenly, a pained cry shatters the silence.

You spin round, your eyes sliding along the ranks of shadow spawn, to finally come to rest on a grisly, grotesque monster. It has the appearance of a giant snail – its body bulging out of
a black shell that glows with purple light. From the gash that passes for a mouth, black ooze dribbles down over its pallid, rubbery skin.

Floating in front of it, bound by circles of black light, is Avian Dale. The mage is crying and whimpering with pain as lightning flickers over his body, spitting and crackling from the
surrounding bands of magic that hold him prisoner.

‘So you return,’ the snail-like monster speaks, spitting black drool onto the ground. ‘I see you still remember the way home, Nevarin.’

‘Don’t listen!’ cries Avian. ‘Just run! Run!’

‘Ah, Avian – let’s not be too hasty,’ spits the creature. ‘After all, we’re only just getting reacquainted.’ On the top of the monster’s head, two
giant eyestalks lean forward. ‘I am Sharroth, third of the seventh brood of Borellin-var. It is I who has been given the honour of leading the legion. When the pitiful mage shield falls, and
fall it will, we will march through the portal and lay claim to a new world.’

You raise your weapons and start forward towards the monster, the mark on your arm flaring with a hellish light. ‘You will not take my world!’ you growl challengingly.

‘Your world,’ hisses Sharroth, its bulbous sides shaking with laughter. ‘But this is your world, Nevarin. At least . . . it was.’

639

‘Guards, man the walls – move!’ orders Redguard. ‘Crossbows at the ready!’

The soldiers leap into action, bolting immediately for their posts.

‘We don’t have enough firepower to see off that many wyverns,’ states Mathis grimly. ‘The camp will be overrun.’

‘Oh wyverns are not your only problem, Inquisitor,’ says the witchfinder softly, leaning forward in his saddle. ‘Behind the wyverns is a band of undead, four-hundred strong.
Ghouls, wights . . . it’s quite an impressive sight.’

Redguard lets out a heavy sigh. ‘We’re finished. We can’t repel a force of that size.’

‘Yes – yes we can.’ All eyes turn to Lansbury. She clears her throat before continuing. ‘There is a statue to the south – an angel. We have already seen what they
can do. I suggest we ride south and attempt to head off the undead there. I can activate the statue.’

‘Those statues are weapons?’ asks the witchfinder, his blue eyes sparkling with interest.

Lansbury nods. ‘It’s our only chance.’

Redguard looks to be considering the plan. ‘It’s too dangerous. The wyverns would just rip you to shreds.’

‘They’re coming here to this camp,’ states Laine matter-of-factly. ‘They may not attack a few of us heading south. If we made it through then perhaps we can use this . .
. statue against the force that is following. I see no other alternatives. Mathis?’

The inquisitor spits on the grey, ash-covered ground. ‘Take Lansbury with you – the rest of us will stay here and defend the camp.’

‘I would like to go.’ Janna hurries over, sliding her bow across her shoulder. ‘I can hold off some of those wyverns if they get close.’

Redguard nods. ‘And you too,’ he says, looking in your direction. ‘You’ve had more experience than most against this foe.’

‘Yes, sir.’ You hurry over to one of the waiting horses, aware that Witchfinder Gull is watching you with a keen interest. Pulling yourself into the saddle, you take the reins.
Already, you can hear the shrieks and cries of the approaching wyverns.

‘Let’s not delay,’ says Laine, pulling his helm down over his face. ‘Good luck, Redguard. I hope when next we meet it is under better circumstances.’

With that he turns his warhorse and urges it southwards at a gallop. You follow his lead, joining the other four riders as they dash across the wasteland towards the thronging black swarm. Turn
to
624
.

640

‘Oh those things. Yes, nasty.’ He glances down at your stomach, then his eyes widen in surprise. Quickly, he walks over and puts a hand to it, feeling around with
his fingers. ‘Well, shake me sideways with a length of seaweed, I see now why you asked. Got one suckered in there, good and proper. Now, let me see.’

You watch as the old man hurries across the room and begins rummaging through a pile of objects. After examining the insides of an old boot, a doll’s half-chewed head and a copper kettle,
he mutters something under his breath and then starts on a fresh pile. ‘Got to be here somewhere . . . ah yes!’

He lifts up a small glass jar, with what looks like an old sock as a stopper. Inside you can see a squirming mass of black maggots, wriggling to get free. You instinctively draw back,
grimacing.

‘Oh settle down,’ he grins. ‘They won’t hurt you – well, nothing like what that thing will do when it decides to chew through your insides.’ He offers you the
jar. ‘These are night creeps. Swallow a couple of ’em and your problem is solved. They’re covered in an acid that is deadly to lamprey worms but harmless to humans and merfolk.
Which is lucky.’

You take the jar and hold it up, watching with revulsion as the slimy maggots crawl around the face of the glass. ‘Now, I don’t advise you trying it until you’re good and
ready, or else you won’t be able to breathe water again and – unless I have the brains of a pickled crab – I’d say that’s why you swallowed one of those things in the
first place. Ain’t I right?’

You may now take the following item:

Return to
626
to continue your conversation with the merman.

641

‘That is the price of failure,’ hisses Sharroth. ‘All Nevarin wear the mark, to remind them of who they are; who they serve.’

‘I serve no one.’ You glower defiantly. ‘I am no slave.’

‘Oh, you are a slave to many things, Nevarin.’ The creature inches closer, its body making sickening, squelching noises. ‘You are a slave to yourself . . . to your thirst for
power. Look at you. Do you think you would be standing here, with armaments that reek with magic, if you did not desire power and reward.’

‘I’m here to end this . . . to end
you
.’

‘I would like to see you try,’ Sharroth sneers. Black tendrils of drool slip from the sides of its mouth. ‘You are Nevarin – and you are sworn to serve me!’

642

The mortician slumps to the ground with a groan of pain. Slowly, he drags himself across the stone tiles, to lie next to the remains of his zombie creation.

‘My beauty,’ he whispers. ‘My poor beauty.’ He rests his hand inside the giant palm of the monster, then finally lies still.

With the mad mortician defeated, you may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

When you have updated your hero sheet, return to the quest
map
to continue your adventure.

643

You cover your head as a deafening explosion rocks the chamber, sending fragments of stone showering across the room. Looking up, you see that you have blasted a sizeable hole
in the wall – and now torrents of churning water are pouring into the chamber. The force of its passage knocks you off your feet, hurling you backwards into the advancing army of golems. One
tries to take a swipe at you, but its own balance has been thrown by the rushing maelstrom of water. Unable to stay on its feet, it is knocked over, slamming into the golem behind it. In a tangle
of bodies they go careening past you, as the water continues to fill the chamber.

As the momentum of the water begins to dissipate, you start to swim against it – towards the hole. It is then, and only then, that you realise that you have dropped the crown. Frantically
you look around, but you can see no sign of it. The rushing water could have carried it anywhere. The stone giant, still staggering on its feet, sees you and advances through the swirling waters.
With no choice left, you swim out of the hole and into the lake, cursing your misfortune at having lost the crown. Turn to
629
.

644

To break through the sheets of ice you will have to take a
brawn
or
magic
test (using whichever attribute is highest).

If you are successful, you break through the ice and retrieve the chest. Turn to
492
. Otherwise, after many attempts you are forced to give up. The
chest is buried too deep for you to reach it. Return to the
map
to continue your journey.

645

As the giant crashes to the ground, there is a grating squeal from the statue. You look over to see the angel start to turn on its pedestal, grinding against centuries of dust
and dirt as it forces itself into motion.

Then there is a flash of light followed by an explosion. As the statue spins round, it throws white beams of light out over the hilltop and the surrounding plains. Each sizzling bolt finds a
target, punching through ranks of undead, hurling ghouls high into the air, slicing through shades and wights . . . everywhere the beams land the sky is filled with giant clouds of ash as mighty
explosions rip into the barren landscape.

You scramble over to Lansbury’s side. The woman looks pale and drawn, but she is smiling through her exhaustion. ‘We did it,’ she gasps. ‘We did it.’

You watch awestruck as the statue does its tireless work, destroying the undead and sending the scattered remnants of the force into a full scale rout. The battle has been won. If you are a
rogue, turn to
622
. If you are a mage, turn to
664
. If you are a warrior, turn to
727
.

646

You are led inside a small tent, filled with crates and boxes. The warrior walks over to one of the smaller boxes and pulls out a jar of wriggling maggots. You take a step back
in surprise.

‘These are night creeps. Harmless but the lamprey worms hate them. Swallow a couple of these and your problems are over.’

You take the jar and remove the lid. Then, holding your breath, you tilt back your head and deposit the squirming maggots into your mouth. Trying to ignore the slimy sea-salt taste, you swallow
them as quickly as you can. After several seconds you feel a queasy, churning sensation in your stomach, then a hot flush of burning pain as something shoots up through your chest, forcing its way
into the back of your throat. Your eyes bulge as you begin to choke, gasping for air. Then, suddenly you feel the pressure in your throat ease as your mouth is filled with something wet and
slimy.

Bending over, you watch in horrified revulsion as the lamprey worm drops out of your mouth onto the muddy soil. The creature is writhing from side-to-side, its skin blistered and raw.