Legion of Shadow (120 page)

‘Fine.’ You place a hand on the assassin’s shoulder. ‘I am ready.’

You wince as the air ignites around you, crackling with black lightning. It is followed by a blinding white flash . . .

A heartbeat later and you are lurching forwards into a cold dark room. Shapes whirl in a dizzying blur around you. Desperately you reach out, seeking to slow your momentum. Hands slide across
slippery stone.

Then your knees buckle and you drop to the dusty floor, gasping for air.

‘They’re back!’ shouts a voice.

You hear the scrape of metal and the rush of feet . . . somewhere amidst the spiralling haze you see figures moving. There is a loud crack and another flash of light.

‘He got away,’ snaps a female voice.

‘Lansbury?’ you croak hoarsely.

You feel yourself being lifted to your feet. Nyms’ face appears inches from your own. ‘You OK? Wake up.’ A gloved hand takes hold of your chin, lifting your head up and forcing
you to focus.

‘Just a little . . . travel sick,’ you grimace.

The swordsman chuckles. ‘Good, glad to have you back. Now, care to tell us what just happened?’ Turn to
908
.

916

Up close, it is apparent that this is no earthly knight. The man’s face is pale – almost transparent – the eyes burning with a dull red light. As you deliver
the final blow, you watch as the knight falls to his knees, his sword rattling to the ground. He looks up at you, eyes widening as if with a sudden recognition . . .

Then the body diffuses into motes of light, which flicker and then are gone. The empty shroud and the knight’s armour drop to the stone tiles.

You may now take one of the following rewards:

‘This was Jorvic,’ states Caeleb grimly, brushing the dust from the tomb’s inscription. ‘He was Arthurian’s standard bearer.’

‘Nut job if you ask me,’ says Nyms, out of the corner of his mouth.

At the other end of the chamber is an arch, leading through into a dark passageway. Lansbury raises her glowing staff and leads the way. If you have the word
vault
written on your hero
sheet, turn to
822
. Otherwise, turn to
831
.

917

‘Stop dancin’ around and let me hit ya!’ snarls the ogre, attempting to crush you beneath its wrecking ball. As the huge weapon smashes into the ground, you
leap onto it, racing up the rusted chain and hopping onto the beast’s hairy shoulders. ‘Wha . . . what yer doing?’

The ogre tries to knock you away, but your weapons have already found a vital spot at the base of its neck. You flip away as the ogre drops to its knees, its eyes assuming a cross-eyed
expression. Then it topples face down into the dust, its legs and arms splaying to either side. If you are a mage, turn to
876
. If you are a warrior, turn to
801
. If you are a rogue, turn to
847
.

918

Ravenwing’s men pursue the routed shadow spawn, slashing and blasting at their fleeing enemy. The battle is won. But at what cost? You look around at the men that have
remained behind – not only the wounded and the dead, but those who have simply hung back from exhaustion. Many have a haunted look about them, their bodies blackened by soot and grime. You
can’t imagine what devastation awaits beyond the walls of the city – where the doom orb’s magic was turned against the camp. The men’s expressions tell you enough.

Across the rubble-strewn square, you see Mathis lying on his side. The inquisitor looks badly wounded. Possibly fatal. Caeleb kneels at his side, his ear pressed close to the warrior’s
fevered ramblings. Nyms stumbles past, helping to support an exhausted Lansbury. As he passes by, he nods a silent word of thanks. You return the gesture, glad that your companions are safe.

‘Nevarin!’ You look up, to see Caeleb trudging through the rubble towards you. The cavalier’s armour is raked with black scars, his shield battered and dented.
‘It’s over for your kind,’ he sneers, hobbling closer. ‘I swore to Mathis . . . to the One God . . . that I’d destroy all shadow spawn this day. . .’

‘Caeleb?’ You shake your head in confusion. ‘What madness is this? I’m not your enemy.’

He raises his inscribed sword. ‘Mathis told me everything . . .’

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 an invisible force closing in around you, pinning your arms and legs tightly together.

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

‘More demons!’ screams Caeleb. ‘Don’t think you can escape!’

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
.

919

You step out from behind the pillars, your body glowing with your newly absorbed shadow magic. The hulking creature is pounding its massive fists against a shield of light that
Lansbury has projected around herself and Caeleb. The warrior is lying on his back, injured. His shield rests several metres away, now a battered and twisted piece of metal.

Nyms is slashing at the monster’s back with his swords, but as soon as each wound is delivered, they are healing. The swordsman already looks exhausted and desperate.

‘What happened?’ he calls over his shoulder.

You stride past him, towards the brute. ‘Just grabbing a little pick-me-up.’ With a savage cry, you charge into the fray, your shadow mark burning with demonic energy:

Special abilities

If you defeat this mighty foe, turn to
880
. Otherwise turn to
862
.

920

‘I am Arthurian, the king’s son,’ he says brokenly, gazing down at the glowing shadow mark. ‘I was tricked by a Nevarin. He had some . . . some kind of
talisman.’ He looks up, his eyes cold with anger. ‘It was witch magic. It took my soul . . . I became . . . this.’ He scowls, raising his branded arm. ‘I became a shadow
spawn!’

You frown, considering the man’s words. ‘You mean, you swapped bodies somehow?’

‘These are matters for priests, not warriors. I am no scholar.’ The man retrieves his jewelled dagger from the mud. ‘I know what I saw. He became me . . . Arthurian.’ He
gives a bitter laugh. ‘And he led my men to their deaths.’

You blink, startled. ‘You mean, when your men rode against the legion . . . that wasn’t you?’

‘Why would I risk my men’s lives?’ he flares angrily. ‘They were butchered! I tried to stop them but they only saw this . . .’ He hits the pommel of his dagger
against the shadow mark. ‘I was chased out of the camp like a common beggar. They thought me the enemy. I could convince no one . . .’

You look around at the dark chamber, echoing with the storm.

‘What date is this?’ you ask nervously. You approach the entrance-way to the chamber, surprised to see that the mould-covered anomaly is still alive, its rotted body covering the
exit.

‘It has been seven months since the shadow war,’ says Arthurian quietly. ‘People have their freedom. They are rebuilding. But I . . . I have nothing.’

You turn back, eyeing the chamber once again. As you suspected, in the corner of the room, you see the web-like anomaly that brought you here. Its silken strands ripple gently back and forth,
glistening with droplets of light. ‘I have travelled back in time,’ you gasp, glancing up at the dark storm raging high above. ‘Magic makes all things possible . . .’

Your attention shifts back to Arthurian. ‘And you were dead . . . in my time. We thought you were a tomb robber. This is your tomb.’

The warrior pulls his coat back on, tugging the collars up around his chin. ‘I am here to put right this wrong; to take what is mine.’ He stoops down to retrieve his lantern.
‘I have to believe that the One God sent you here.’ He looks up, a sudden weariness apparent on his face. ‘I will not have my faith tested again. Are you with me?’

Fascinated by the man’s story, you agree to help him with his task. Turn to
840
.

921

You take Avian’s hand, joining him on the magic carpet. ‘I’ll pilot – you’re the cannon,’ he says, crouching down at the front of the
vehicle.

‘Do you even know how to defeat that thing?’ you ask, gazing up at the immense floating orb.

Avian glances over his shoulder. ‘No. But that’s never stopped me before. Here, you might need these.’ He flips you a pair of goggles.

‘Are you serious?’

Avian grins. ‘Hold tight.’

The carpet gives a sudden lurch as it jolts forward, speeding across the battlefield. The wind roars in your ears as it begins to pick up speed, accelerating over the rooftops of the city. Then,
everything is plunged into a thick, gritty blackness. You choke as you swallow a mouthful of the smog, the grime stinging your eyes. Taking the goggles, you quickly strap them over your face,
rubbing the dirt from their visor as you try and focus.