Legion of Shadow (117 page)

If you wish, you may change the ability of any one of your items to:

Usurper (mo)
: (only usable in hero vs. hero combat). Use any time during a combat to steal a speed or modifier ability that your opponent has already used. You may then
play this same ability against them during the combat, based on the ability’s description.
Usurper
can only be used once per combat.

Searching the treasure vault, you may also help yourself to one of the following items:

You also fill your pockets with gold, before leaving the vault (you have gained 150 gold crowns). Turn to
846
.

893

Searching Daarko’s remains, you find a leather pouch containing 100 gold crowns. You may also help yourself to one of the following special rewards:

When you have made your decision, turn to
811
.

894

‘A wise choice,’ nods Lansbury. ‘I’m glad to see someone listens to my counsel.’

Nyms starts past you, rolling his eyes as he does so. You grin back at him as you follow, with Lansbury and Caeleb bringing up the rear.

Moving quickly, you take a wide arc around the paved courtyard, keeping to the shadows of the smaller outbuildings. Most are grey and crumbling, their stonework clogged with weeds and thorny
brambles.

As you pass around the side of the domed building, Nyms suddenly halts, dropping down for cover behind a fallen column. He waves for the rest of you to do the same.

‘What is it?’ you whisper, crouching beside him. ‘I don’t see . . .’

Nyms puts a hand on your sleeve to silence you, and then nods towards a smaller tomb over to the left. As you scan its weed-choked stonework, you suddenly hear voices amidst the drumming rain.
They appear to be coming from the other side of the tomb, obscured from view by a mouldering statue.

895

Lansbury lowers the shield, moving quickly to Nyms’ side. The swordsman lies on his back, cursing as he kicks at the ground in pain.

‘Stop struggling. Let me see,’ insists the medic, bending close.

Nyms lifts his bloodied hands away, his breath rattling in his lungs. ‘Got . . . any miracles . . . left?’ he rasps.

For the briefest moment, you see surprise on the medic’s face as she looks upon the full extent of the wound. Then she is lost in her art, pressing palms tight to his chest, weaving the
skin and muscle back into place.

It takes only a few moments. Then Lansbury leans back with an exhausted sigh. ‘It is done. Blessed be the light.’

With a groan, Nyms sits up on his elbows, looking down at the torn shreds of armour. Where there had once been an unsightly gash, there is now newly healed flesh. ‘You know, Lans, I think
I could become a believer.’ He pushes himself back to his feet, retrieving his swords from the dust. ‘That’s almost as many lives as you now, Nevarin.’

‘Well, don’t grow too attached to your latest one,’ you reply wryly, ‘we’re not out of this yet.’ All around you, the shadow spawn are starting to regroup,
their snarls and hollers rising once again.

‘At least we won’t be facing them alone,’ states Lansbury, pointing. You follow her gaze to the battalion of magic carpets, sweeping over the battlefield. One of the riders
looks familiar.

‘Avian Dale!’ You cry, waving a hand in the air. ‘Over here!’

He breaks away from the others, gliding closer. ‘We’re heading for the doom orb,’ he shouts. ‘Are you with us?’ Across the other side of the square, the rest of the
airborne regulars are gathering in formation, preparing to take on the monstrous orb. Avian offers out his hand. ‘If your magic is strong, I could use your aid, apprentice.’

If you have a
magic
score of 24 or above, you may accompany Avian Dale. (Turn to
921
.) Otherwise, you decline, wishing to focus your efforts on the ground battle. (Turn to
905
.)

896

It is Mathis. The inquisitor’s armour is raked with black scars, his hair plastered to his face by blood and sweat. ‘Nevarin,’ he drawls, stumbling dizzily
through the haze. ‘I swore to the One God, the maker . . . that I’d destroy all shadow spawn this day . . .’

‘Mathis?’ You frown, taking a step backwards. ‘You are not yourself . . .’

He raises his warhammer. ‘Oh I am perfectly myself, demon!’

Suddenly, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. A man is standing on the edge of a rooftop, his scarlet coat billowing in the wind. He raises his hand and suddenly you feel the
strange force closing in around you once again. You try and struggle, but the invisible bonds hold you fast.

Then the man is moving, running through the air as quickly and deftly as if it was solid ground. And like a dog on a leash, you find yourself being dragged after him, floating in a magical
prison.

‘I’ll find you!’ screams Mathis. ‘I’ll find you, demon!’

You are pulled across a broad plaza, its fountains and pathways now charred and cratered, towards an officious-looking building clinging to a rise of grey rock. You try and discern its purpose
– but the invisible bonds shift, spinning you around. Then something hard strikes you across the head, plunging you into darkness. Turn to
928
.

897

Determined not to allow the mysterious assassin to escape, you dive across the tomb in an effort to reach him. As black lightning streaks from his fingertips, you know you only
have seconds to spare. Frantically, you grab hold of the man’s robes, bunching the soft material in your fists.

‘No!’ You hear Lansbury cry out.

There is a flash of bright light and suddenly the room falls away into nothingness. Your stomach gives a lurch as you feel yourself rushing forwards at great speed . . .

Another flash.

Freezing cold water splashes against your face, forcing you to recoil. As you stumble backwards, you see that your surroundings have changed. All around you, water pours over jagged black rocks,
spilling out from a gorge high above you.

‘What the . . .?’

You look around frantically, having lost all sense of your bearings.

There is hard rock beneath your feet – a ledge, jutting out like a giant’s tooth from a mossy cliff side. A few metres away a curtain of water breaks against its pitted edge, filling
the air with a fine white spray. For a second, all you can hear is the roar of the waterfall. Then, you catch something else . . . the scuffle of feet.

Spinning round, you see Fetch lunging for you with a knife. You react instantly, snatching his wrist and twisting it back, forcing him to drop the weapon.

‘Fool!’

You feel the air around you charging with static . . . the water roars loader in your ears, a deafening pain . . . then there is another flash of white light. You find yourself falling forwards,
hands flailing for something to hold onto. There is nothing to see – only a white light; piercing and cold.

Then a stone floor rushes up to meet you. Unable to stop yourself, you slam down hard with a cry of pain. Turn to
872
.

898

Nyms studies the trader with a frown. ‘I’ve heard of such things – charms that allow you to travel unseen or to confuse those that would seek to do you harm. I
suspect this cart of his,’ he taps one of the rickety-looking wheels with his foot, ‘strange though it might sound, could have such a charm worked on it. Although, why anyone would want
to give this junkyard that kind of attention . . .’

He tilts his head, regarding the trader with a half-smile. ‘In a camp full of the king’s own, he would be even crazier than me to cause trouble. And as you know. . .that is a whole
lot of crazy.’

The swordsman turns and pats you on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps you should find out what he has to sell. I mean,’ Nyms makes a show of looking you up and down, ‘you could really do
with the makeover.’

899

You expose your mark, dragging the spirit’s shadowy remains towards the waiting jaws of your branded serpents. You have gained the following special ability:

Banshee’s wail (co)
: Use this ability to stop your opponent rolling for damage when they have won a round. You can only use this ability once per combat.

Nyms shivers and looks away. ‘I hate it when you do that.’

You laugh as the newly absorbed magic surges through your body, healing your wounds and swelling your corded muscles. You close your eyes, feeling yourself drifting away on the euphoric currents
of magic, losing yourself to a void of darkness. . .

‘Nevarin!’

You hear a voice but it is distant, distorted. It belonged to someone you once knew – but perhaps that was another life. You see others now, bodies shimmering like stars against the
backdrop of night. Other Nevarin. Other faces. They slide past you, blurring into streaks of light. You try and focus but they are moving too quick, eluding you. All except one. . . standing alone,
burning brighter than the rest. A man. His eyes widen with surprise as he turns to face you. You catch a scar running down his left cheek and a circlet of gold resting on his brow.

‘Nevarin!’

You feel something tugging at you. Pulling you back.

With a gasp, you lurch forward, your eyes snapping open – to find Nyms’ gaunt face inches from your own. ‘Woah, you’re back!’ The rogue rocks back on his heels,
surprised. ‘What happened?’ he asks, looking you over with concern. ‘You just passed out cold.’

You try and remember, but the gossamer images are already fading from memory. ‘The mark . . .’ You look down to see its swirling runes humming with energy, their bright glow
shimmering across your body. ‘It . . . it was nothing,’ you state hastily, clambering back to your feet.

As your gaze falls on the double doors leading deeper into the mansion, you can’t help but feel that whatever lurks in this place, in this city, now knows you are coming.

‘I’ve got a new plan,’ says Nyms, his hands flexing around his weapons. ‘You lead the way and I’ll watch
your
back. How does that sound –
better?’

You stride towards the double doors and fling them open, their runes of protection fizzing and hissing in protest. ‘Do not worry, my friend. The time for skulking in shadows is
over.’ Turn to
936
.

900

The blood-smeared passageway opens out onto a large, rectangular room. In each of its corners is a stone pedestal, above which an orb of green light hovers in mid-air, casting
an eerie glow over the room’s cluttered contents.

At the centre of the subterranean chamber is a tomb, bearing the effigy of Valentine D’Azzuro. The lid of the tomb is still intact. At the foot of it, two necromancers lie sprawled in the
dust, their wounds coated with a bubbling green poison.

Around the edges of the room, smashed pottery and overturned chests litter the space. Several racks have been pulled down from the wall and their weapons lie strewn across the floor, joining the
tattered scrolls and discarded books that have been tipped out of their cases and trunks.

There is the sound of angry cursing. A figure, previously hidden by the tomb, suddenly straightens into view – the ghostly-green light catches their features.

It is a hooded man, dressed in velvet-black robes. His long, pale fingers are curled around an object, which looks like a sceptre or rod. With a snarl, he tosses it aside . . . then his head
jerks around, as your party enter the room.