Legion of Shadow (97 page)

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778

You are surrounded by the steaming corpses of the ghouls and their packmasters. Searching the bodies you find 50 gold crowns and may take one of the following rewards:

You barely have a moment to catch your breath before you hear another force approaching up the hill. Turn to
768
.

779

‘Fool!’ snarls Sharroth, fresh ooze billowing from its mouth. ‘I promise you power. Why do you fight for their cause? What have you got waiting for you through
that portal? They distrust you – they despise you. You are, and always will be, one of us.’

‘Do not listen,’ gasps Avian, struggling to stand. ‘It isn’t true.’

‘Look at you,’ hisses Sharroth. ‘Look at what you have become, Nevarin. You thirst for power and reward. I can give you those things. I can give you whatever you desire. Here,
with the shadow legion, you will not be judged. You will only stand proud, at the head of your very own army.’

Your eyes flick between Avian and Sharroth.

‘Prove yourself to the legion; strike down this mortal fool and take your rightful place at my side!’

‘No, don’t listen.’ Avian summons flames into his hands. ‘Come, apprentice. If we die here, we die as heroes – with honour.’

You look around at the regiments of shadow spawn, line after line of them, trailing back as far as the eye can see. What force could ever hope to overcome such a vast, monstrous army?

‘Make your decision, Nevarin,’ hisses Sharroth. ‘Death or power, it is your choice.’

780

You meet up with the riders at the edge of the rubble-strewn gardens.

‘You’re alive!’ laughs Nyms, jumping down from his saddle. ‘Which life is it this time? I’m losing count now.’

You stop and take a deep breath of fresh, morning air. ‘I feel alive for the very first time, my friend.’

‘Your arm,’ he leans back in surprise. ‘What happened?’

You look down at the mark, which now glows like veins of silver beneath your skin. ‘Avian’s magic. Somehow I think it fused with the mark.’

‘So, a Nevarin no longer, eh?’ he grins. ‘Come, you’re to be the guest of honour at the king’s feast.’

‘We won then?’ you ask, arching an eyebrow.

‘All thanks to you,’ nods the swordsman, patting you on the back. ‘All thanks to you. Look.’

Above the jewelled spires of Talanost, a squadron of mages soar through the skies, their magic carpets trailing rainbow hues that sparkle in the sunlight. As they pass overhead, bright fireworks
burst from their raised staffs. The dazzling shards rain down across the liberated city, while in the distance the blare of horns sing of a triumphant victory.

Congratulations, hero! You have overcome the challenges set before you and have earned yourself the title,
The Champion of Light.
Thanks to your efforts and decisions,
you have helped save the kingdom of Valeron from the sinister Legion of Shadow! (Bonus: A special quest has now been unlocked! turn to
798
to join the resistance and help
rid Talanost of the last remaining shadow spawn.)

781

The ghouls are everywhere, filling the passageway like a swarm of ants. Some have leapt onto the walls and ceiling, using their powerful claws to dig into the earth.

‘Watch out! Above you!’ shouts Nyms.

Almost too late, you dodge aside as one jumps down, its claws missing your shoulder by inches. Even as you fend off its continued attack, you can see more of the spindly creatures out of the
corner of your eye, skilfully using the walls and ceiling to outflank you.

Special abilities

If you defeat the ghoul pack, turn to
756
.

782

Sharroth rears back, its shell-like armour crackling with magic. ‘Then you have chosen death.’ From the creature’s mouth, a series of black drooling tentacles
spew forth. One slams into Avian, knocking the mage to the ground. The rest attempt to wrap themselves around you, their lengths dripping with acidic venom.

Special abilities

If you win a combat round, you can choose to strike Sharroth or one of the tentacles. If you defeat Sharroth, all remaining tentacles are also defeated.

If you are victorious, turn to
657
.

783

(If you have already met Waldo, turn to
830
. Otherwise read on.)

There is a commotion at the edge of the camp. You lower your weapons, tired from the morning’s sparring with Nyms.

‘Trouble?’ you ask, peering past the swordsman.

Nyms cocks his head, watching as soldiers hurry past. ‘Looks like something’s stirred up the ants . . .’

A wooden cart is rattling its way through the camp, led by a single piebald pony. The driver has removed his cap and is waving it through the air in greeting.

You fall into step beside Nyms as you head over to the new arrival. ‘Perhaps it’s a tinker.’

Nyms spins the grips of his swords with a smile. ‘Hope so. They may bring word from the south. And a lot more besides.’

Soldiers are jostling each other to get a better view inside the cart, but one by one, with much grumbling, they break away and return to their duties.

The driver pats his cap down on his head as he brings the cart to a squeaking halt. ‘Ah, some more discerning customers,’ he smiles, watching you approach.

‘Perhaps,’ states Nyms, sheathing his blades. ‘You come from the south?’ He nods towards the glittering dome of magic that surrounds the ruined city.

‘Yes, from Talanost,’ says the driver, hopping down from his seat.

‘Talanost? That’s impossible!’

You turn to see Lansbury, Redguard’s medic, striding towards the cart. ‘The city is taken. The mage’s have it guarded. No one can enter or leave.’

The driver shrugs. ‘Where’s there a will, there’s a way.’

‘Not when it comes to the Arcane Circle,’ says Lansbury suspiciously.

‘Ain’t that the truth.’ Nyms walks around the side of the cart and starts to examine its contents. You join him, scanning the clutter of objects.

‘This is junk!’ scowls Nyms.

For once, you find yourself in agreement. The wagon is filled with all manner of bric-à-brac, but none of it valuable – pots and pans, musty-smelling rags, a rusty spade, part of an
old cabinet . . . there is even someone’s front door in there.

The man shrugs. ‘Times are hard, what can I say?’

Nyms start back towards the trader, drawing one of his swords. ‘How did you pass through the city unharmed? The shadow spawn would have torn you to pieces.’

The driver shuffles round nervously, watching the swordsman warily. ‘Perhaps they took me for a fool, just like . . .’

There is the scuffling of boots as Nyms surges forward, grabbing the trader by the front of his coat and pushing him down into the grey-black ash. The tip of his blade rests against the
man’s throat.

‘Hey, I meant no disrespect!’ The panicked man raises his hands beseechingly. ‘My name is Waldo. I’m just a trader.’

‘Just a trader . . .’ Lansbury passes her hand along the side of the cart. At her touch, glowing runes and sigils blossom into being, revealing a dazzling pattern that covers every
inch of the dark wood. ‘These are not Dwarf runes,’ she says, pausing to watch as the symbols glow and then dim to nothing once again, ‘ . . .and certainly not the work of an
inscriber. What manner of magic . . .’

‘I found it!’ interjects Waldo quickly. He tries to sit up but Nyms forces him back with the edge of his blade. ‘Or it found me. I know nothing of magic. Just that it has its
uses. Makes me go unnoticed . . .’

‘Really?’ Nyms offers the trader a sceptical frown. ‘Not working now is it?’

Waldo looks to you pleadingly. ‘Talanost is in ruins. The legion destroys everything in its way . . . but they have no interest in the spoils of war. I have . . . things . . . items that I
found amongst the rubble. I got a knack for finding it, see’. He looks back, towards his cart. ‘It would be worth your while to see what I got for you. Could decide the fortunes of this
war.’

Nyms snorts dismissively, but steps back from the trader. ‘A cart load of broken junk is hardly what we need to win this war.’

Waldo stumbles back to his feet, brushing the dust from his weather-beaten coat. ‘Have it your way, swordsman.’ He gives you a sideways glance. ‘But appearances can be
deceiving.’

784

Your opponent is a wild-haired man, dressed in a mud-spattered coat. In one hand he holds a black short bow, its arched length glowing with purple runes. As he draws back the
bowstring, you see another bolt of black fire forming from thin air . . .

You roll beneath the shot as it goes sizzling overhead. Springing onto to your feet, you barrel into the archer, knocking the bow from his grasp and sending you both tumbling into a
fist-flailing tangle.