The Eye of Winter's Fury (52 page)

‘I can,’ you reply defiantly. ‘And I will. All I ask is that I am given a chance to prove myself. I think I’ve made a promising start, don’t you?’

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

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
119
.

355

You choose to fight, digging your heels into the ground and preparing to meet the Skard in battle. His companions hold back, watching with a mix of amusement and interest as their burly companion bounds straight into you.

There had been a plan in your mind – a set of moves, a feint to the left, a low blow to the right, wrong-foot him, then quick slices to the chest and arms, where his defences seem weakest. Perhaps Nanuk will pour his magic into you, giving you the fatal edge . . .

But such plans are quickly smashed out of you as the Skard sends you flying back into the rock shelf. You don’t even get a chance to recover. A dagger punches through your shoulder. Another into your stomach. You hear a sickening ripping sound – then smell something foul. Another blow across the face, perhaps an elbow.

He clambers off you, snorting back snot and spittle. ‘Fegis,’ he grunts, shaking his head. He turns and gestures to the shaven-headed hunter. ‘Slur den.’

The other Skard saunters towards you, his axe resting back on his shoulder.

Add two
defeats
to your hero sheet. Then turn to
656
.

356

The bird is relentless in its attacks, driven by a natural instinct to protect its eggs. But luck favours you, as a wild swing pierces its feathered body, delivering a killing blow.

The bird crashes down onto the nest, narrowly missing you by inches. It seems the pursuing Skard was less fortunate, however. From the rocks below, you hear a momentary scream, then a loud bone-cracking thump. He must have been trying to climb out of the shaft when the bird hit him.

From this height, you don’t rate his chances.

For your victory over the giant roc, you may now take one of the following rewards:

If you are wearing the
tarred shoulders
, turn to
415
. Otherwise, turn to
205
.

357

The hand dashes between your legs, disappearing amongst a stack of crates. For a moment, you contemplate hurling them aside – anything to get at that annoying limb – but Anise’s sigh of impatience draws you away.

‘Chasing hands . . .’ The girl gives you a wearisome look. ‘Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to get us out of here, is it?’

358

Night has fallen – and with it comes a frigid wind, blasting across the camp, forcing you to stagger against its fury as you follow Sura into one of the ice homes. Inside, you are surprised by its immediate warmth. A number of stone lamps flicker on a bed of leathers, casting golden shadows across the tight-packed walls.

You suspect this is Sura’s home. There are charms and other magical trinkets set out on ice shelves. In one corner you see several carved staffs half-wrapped in bear furs. A simple pallet bed, some horned cups and a leather sack filled with clothes complete what you assume are the woman’s worldly belongings.

‘Sit.’ Sura motions to one of the furs spread across the ground.

You take your seat, awkwardly aware of the tightness of the space.
Sura lowers herself with a groan onto the pallet bed, a hand to her back. When she catches your look of concern, she gives a wheezing chuckle.

‘Not seen an old lady before, son?’ She settles onto the bed, setting her staff aside to rub at her legs.

‘You speak common . . . well,’ you stammer, wondering if you might cause offence. ‘I mean, the Skards I have met – they have difficulty . . .’

‘Think us all savages, then?’ The woman grunts, putting a hand beneath one of her fur sheets and pulling out a bag. ‘Might surprise you, but we’ve taken your kind in before, in times past. They taught us the tongue. We don’t gut
all
you southlanders on sight.’

You grimace, not entirely comfortable with the compliment.

‘Why?’ you ask, watching as the woman opens up the bag.

Her eyes fix on you, then narrow. ‘Why what?’

‘Why bring me here? I am an outsider. Who was that . . . that warrior who challenged me?’

‘That was Desnar, who made himself leader in Taulu’s absence. They were brothers.’

‘So he challenges me?’ You snort, shaking your head. ‘I don’t want to be part of these games. I’m not after power. He blames me for Taulu’s death – but he can have the stupid necklace. I don’t want it.’

‘You don’t?’ Sura sounds disappointed. She tips the contents of the bag into the palm of her hand. A black flaky herb that gives off a sour smell. ‘But Nanuk has chosen you. One of the great ancestor spirits of our tribe.’

You roll your eyes, giving the woman a pained expression. ‘Please, I told you – I am not interested. I am not a leader, look at me . . .’

Her eyes remain fixed on your own. ‘I am. And I see the bear spirit in your eyes. Unusual for a man to have the magic, and so strongly. You are a shaman, like myself. You could lead, but you need to find your strength. You need to find . . .’ She leans forward, prodding your chest with a gnarled finger. ‘Your heart.’

‘It’s dead,’ you snap, brushing her hand away. ‘I’m dead. Can’t you see that?’

The woman shrugs her scrawny shoulders, then proceeds to push
the herbs into a small bone pipe. ‘I see you have questions, southlander.’ With a flick of her fingers, she sends a green flame dancing from her fingertips. It ignites the herbs, filling the shelter with the aroma of cinnamon and wood smoke. ‘So ask away, and let Sura answer.’

359

As you glance along the dusty spines, you begin to spot names that seem oddly familiar. You say them to yourself, repeating them in rhyme, trying to place where you have heard them before. Then you remember – the ghost in the tower, who scratched out the strange message on the table. The words are the surnames of various authors:
Pendegost
,
Frayling
,
Augur
and
Volst
.

You reach for each book in turn, surprised to discover that they are false spines, hinged on some sort of hidden lever system. As each book is pulled in sequence, there is a dull click. Suddenly the room starts to spin, as the section of wall revolves round on a hidden platform, taking you into a secret chamber. Remove the keyword
secrets
from your hero sheet, then turn to
278
.

360

Thanks to Mitch’s intervention, the barrels of tar were saved from the Skard’s fire. (You should have a note of how many barrels you managed to fill. Keep this, as it may be important later.) Turning the cart around, you prepare for home – and probably a lot of questions.

‘Guess those thieves got their just deserts,’ says Henna with a sigh. ‘Never thought soldiers would stoop so low.’

‘Hey, wait up! Can someone help me out here?’ You both turn, to see Mitch struggling after you with the sack of stolen equipment.

If you have the word
thievery
on your hero sheet, turn to
4
. Otherwise, turn to
383
.

361

The walls of the canyon part like grey-white curtains, presenting you with a vast expanse of ice and razor-edged rock. Ahead, through the haze of powdery snow drifting like smoke across the silent wasteland, you see what can only be ‘the caves’. They loom tall, a double-peaked mountain formed by two glaciers pushed together. Its uneven slopes are pitted with nooks and fissures, many of which bleed waterfalls of ice, their spear-like prongs glistening in the dawn light.

You approach with caution, acutely aware of the crevasses that zigzag through the ice. There are no snow bridges to hide them, but the crossing is still slow and treacherous. Beneath your feet, black rock can be glimpsed through the many inches of ice. In some places there is only a frozen emptiness; each pop and crack of the ice sets your teeth on edge.

After an hour of carefully navigating the fractured plain, you come to the foot of the mountain. A mound of tumbled rock covers nearly half-a-mile of its base. You wonder if the main entrance had been somewhere behind it, trapping the other explorers inside.

You crane your neck, shielding your eyes as you take in the ridges and ledges that protrude from the ice-covered walls. Above one area of rock-fall, about forty metres up the face of the mountain, you can see an icicle-dripping shelf and what looks like an opening behind it. The climb would be difficult, but the shelf appears to be the only reachable means of entering the caves.

Alternatively, you could trek around the base of the mountain, looking for an easier way inside.

362

For defeating the ancient wind demon, you may now choose one of the following rewards:

When you have made your decision, return to the quest map to continue your adventure.

363

You maintain your current heading, accelerating across the top of the island. The air hums and crackles around you as the towers charge up their blasts – then suddenly jagged strips of lightning surge forth, tearing towards your transport. In order to avoid these deadly strikes, you must take a challenge test using your transport’s speed:

If you are successful, turn to
711
. If you fail the challenge, turn to
44
.

364

With the cat gone, you are free to inspect the strange corpse. Whatever this creature was, there is no obvious sign of how it met its end. A box lies in the grass next to an outstretched claw. The lid has been smashed open and whatever was inside has been looted.

You hear the crunch of stones behind you. Turning, you are relieved to see Kirk and Lawson. ‘What you found?’ asks Kirk, stepping around
the body. ‘Oh, one of the scalies. Bunch of these attacked the Keep the other day. Tough as nails, gave us a real beating.’ He crouches down to pick up a feather from the ground. ‘Hmm, if there was anything of value, the birdman will have got it now. Nothing comes and goes around here without him knowing.’

‘Segg might be interested,’ you glance at each of the soldiers. ‘He could study it. Find out more?’

Lawson grunts. ‘Yeah, crazy fool would probably like that.’

‘All right, enough gawking.’ Kirk tucks the feather behind his ear. ‘Let’s get this back to the wagon and get those barrels on board.’ Make a note of the word
envoy
on your hero sheet. Then turn to
242
.

365

Tankards and chairs go flying as two ale-soaked men punch and grapple with each other, spitting drunken curses. Their boots scuffle back and forth across the sawdust-covered ground, neither able to land a decisive blow. The rest of the patrons continue to drink and converse, unconcerned by the unruly display of violence; clearly brawls and drunkenness are the norm around here.

You push through the fetid press of unwashed bodies, keeping your hands tightly clutched to your backpack and gold pouch. More than a few eyes and hands have moved in their direction, but quickly draw back when they catch your chilling gaze.

You find a space at the bar, a makeshift arrangement of planks and barrels soaked with ale and grease. Putting your back to the counter, you take in the size of the place. As its name suggests, the Jailhouse Rock has been hewn out of the granite peak, resembling more a vast cavernous chamber than a building. Wooden walkways form a haphazard web-work up and down the walls, leading to side rooms and alcoves. Most are obscured by a filthy haze of smoke.