The Eye of Winter's Fury (38 page)

248

You manage to hold your position, the treacherous edge drawing further and further away. With your attention still locked on your fellow racer, you almost fail to spot another of your competitors sweeping in ahead you. It is a dark-skinned woman with long snow-white hair billowing from beneath her spiked helm. With one hand on the grip of her sledge, she leans back to flip open the lid of a basket.

‘Your funeral, pal!’ The racer you were tussling with suddenly swerves away – just as the woman pushes over the basket, scattering its contents wide over the snow and ice. The black shards of metal are
plain to see, their barbed points threatening to lame your dogs and ruin your sled.

To navigate through the caltrops, you will need to take a challenge test using your
speed
racing attribute:

If you are successful, turn to
179
. Otherwise, turn to
647
.

249

‘A witchfinder? Gosh no!’ You are astonished the woman would even consider you a member of their order – a group of feared swordsmen, renowned for their bloodthirsty methods of bringing witches and other sinners to justice.

‘Please,’ you beg, determined now to press your advantage. ‘You can take the sword – it’s yours. Inscribed by a White Abbot. It’ll fetch a good sum of money – and the diamond too. Please, just some food and shelter – please?’ Hearing your own desperation shames you. Lowering your eyes, you let your shoulders slump.

Stupid fool. This sword could buy this whole damn cabin – a thousand cabins. And I offer it willingly for some supper and a blanket . . .

The woman gives a chuckle. ‘Indeed, how could I resist such a generous offer?’

You glare back sullenly, wondering if she mocks you. But her beaming smile seems genuine enough. ‘I am Sylvie and this – as you have already seen – is my humble abode.’ She crosses to the table, pushing empty plant pots aside to make room for her basket. ‘Your sword,’ she states, meeting your gaze. ‘Will you take it out of my home? Just leave it on the doorstep, if you would.’

You nod quickly, unstrapping the scabbard from your belt and placing it outside the door. When you return, Sylvie has removed the blanket from her basket, revealing freshly-picked mushrooms.

‘Here, take a seat.’ The woman pulls out a chair, then quickly removes the spiked plant that had been left there. ‘Unless you’d rather change first. Those clothes must be wet through, you’ll catch your
death.’ She nods to the side-room. ‘I have some old clothes . . .’

‘I’d rather eat,’ you smile ruefully, eyes fixed on the pot heating next to the fire.

‘Dinner it is, then.’ Sylvie pulls back her hood and removes her coat, hanging it next to the fireplace. She then proceeds to busy herself by taking mushrooms from out of the basket and chopping them to add to the stew. Turn to
191
.

250

Resting inside the jaws of a giant skull, you find a man huddled in fur blankets. You hurry over, believing him to be still alive. It isn’t until you kneel beside him, noticing the vacant eye sockets and half-missing nose, that you realise the man is dead. A coating of opaque ice covers most of his body, preserving much of his flesh and clothing.

A silver hipflask is clutched in one of his gloved hands. You manage to break it free, turning it round to discover a small inscription near its base. It reads:
Bullet. Aim true and stay lucky.
You realise this must be the trapper that ‘Jitters’ Jackson told you about. (Replace the keyword
tracker
with the word
hunted
.)

If you are a rogue, turn to
547
. Otherwise, return to the quest map to continue your adventure.

251

There are cheers from the nearby soldiers as your weapons slice through the mage’s robes. For a moment you glimpse the creature’s face beneath the hood – a snake-like visage, decayed and scabrous as if plagued by some disease. Then the body crumples to the ground, the once animated stones pattering down around it.

If you are a warrior or rogue, turn to
90
. If you are a mage, turn to
346
.

252

Before the spirit fades, you reach out and take the medallion. The chain is cold to the touch, its gold and ivory disc displaying an insignia of a griffon, carved in high relief.

‘Leave it behind,’ insists Anise, still grimacing with disgust. ‘I’m not about to trust anything in this tower.’

You lift up the chain, letting the medallion spin back and forth, catching the light from the torch. (If you wish to wear
Mott’s medallion
, simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it does not take up an item/backpack space). Then turn to
195
.

253

You hand over the invitation for inspection. (Remove the
party invitation
from your hero sheet.) The guardsman nods then moves aside, pocketing the invitation. You pass through the doorway into a short corridor that opens out into a lavish room. It is full of smoke and chatter, and finely-dressed men and women.

As you pass through the room, you catch snatches of conversation. Much of the chatter appears to be focused around diamonds and an upcoming mining contract. There are also some concerns expressed over the recent quakes.

‘Everything was shaking,’ gasps a woman, fanning herself as if she might faint at any moment. ‘Even my necklace broke. Took poor Charles an age to find all those pearls.’

‘But it is something of an adventure, Lord Eaton,’ guffaws a young dandified male, his laced cuffs flapping through the air as he waves his arms. ‘Who’d have thought we’d be rubbing shoulders with whalers and other such low-lifes? It’s positively screaming scandal.’

You flinch at the man’s prim manner and flamboyant clothing, reminded of your own days back at court – back when you were a weak, sickly prince mollycoddled by a nurse.

Distracted by your thoughts, you accidentally bump into someone – a tall man in a blue velvet coat and high-necked shirt. His grey eyes regard you with disdain.

‘Who are you?’ he asks stiffly, leaning away as if from a bad smell. ‘Are you one of the servants?’

Before you can reply a woman slides her hand into the man’s arm and tugs him away. ‘Oh Fromarc, come and tell the others your story. The baron and the troll, it’s my favourite.’

‘Oh, if you insist, Lady Hawker,’ he grins, his eyes captivated by her own. They walk off together, leaving you to sigh with relief.

Next to you a man is slouched in a high-backed chair, clearly sleeping off his drink. He has a red strip of cloth tied around his upper right arm. You also note the sleeve of his jerkin is rolled up, displaying a tattoo.

Ahead of you is another doorway, with a tall dark-skinned guard blocking the way. He has his arms folded across his broad chest, eyes levelled ahead with a gruff obedience. An ivory plaque next to the doorway displays a carved image of a bottle.

254

Reaching into the snow, you pull out a glowing shard of ice. Its surface vibrates with a powerful energy, sending streamers of magic arcing around your fist.

‘What is this?’ You glance at Skoll, who is helping Anise down from the rock.

‘The heart of an elemental,’ he grins. ‘Take the magic. It will make you strong.’

You feel a sudden rush of numbing cold as Nanuk reaches into you, taking control of your body. Before you can stop him, you find your fingers tightening around the shard. The frozen glass begins to crack, its sharp edges cutting deep into your hand. Then the whole shard shatters – releasing a bright plume of magic into the air. The glittering motes are hungrily absorbed by your dead body, bolstering its strength and healing your wounds.

You have now gained the following bonus:

Elemental infusion:
You may permanently increase your
health
by 10.

You may also remove one death penalty effect. When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
617
.

255

‘Ah yes, I should thank you for bringing in the . . . specimen.’ Segg inclines his head, his bright blue eyes roving across the jars and bottles on a shelf. All appear to contain various organs and body parts, suspended in some kind of vinegary liquid.

You grimace at the grisly display. ‘Did you learn anything?’

Segg walks over to one of the jars. ‘My studies have only served to raise further questions.’ He lifts up the jar, shaking it to send a series of black scales spinning around the murky water. ‘These are drake scales – a sub-species of dragon. But I’ve not seen any creature like this. It is almost as if . . . it was made. Created somehow. I’d go as far as to say, this might have once been human. A Skard, perhaps.’

‘But why are they here?’ You glance back at the shelf – your gaze fixing on a large jawbone resting inside a bowl-shaped bottle. The teeth are almost the size of your hand. ‘Do you think there are more of these things?’

‘The Skards have many tales of the old times. There is one that refers to a Dwarf city, deep beneath the ice. They say the Dwarves and the ancient Skards were locked in a constant battle – a war against demons from the underworld. The only way they could survive was to take on the strength of their enemies, become the very demons that they sought to destroy. They became Nisse.’

‘Nisse.’ You repeat the word, struggling to make sense of it. ‘Is that Skard?’

The mage nods. ‘It means cursed.’ He returns the jar to the shelf, setting it between a floating forefinger and what looks like a blackened, human heart. ‘In answer to your question, Arran – could there be more of these? I fear the answer is yes. But what we should really
be asking is this – why now? After thousands of years, why would the Nisse choose this moment to return?’

(Remove the word
envoy
from your hero sheet. Return to
328
to continue your conversation with Segg.)

256

‘A witchfinder? Gosh no!’ You are astonished the woman would even consider you a member of their order – a group of feared swordsmen, renowned for their bloodthirsty methods of bringing witches and other sinners to justice.

‘Please,’ you beg, determined now to press your advantage. ‘You can take the sword – it’s yours. Inscribed by a White Abbot. It’ll fetch a good sum of money – and the diamond too. Please, just some food and shelter – please?’ Hearing your own desperation shames you. Lowering your eyes, you let your shoulders slump.

Stupid fool. This sword could buy her whole damn cabin – a thousand cabins. And I offer it willingly for some supper and a blanket . . .

The woman gives a chuckle. ‘Indeed, how could I resist such a generous offer?’

You glare back sullenly, wondering if she mocks you. But her beaming smile seems genuine enough. ‘I am Sylvie.’ She turns, gesturing to the log cabin. ‘And this is my humble abode. Nothing special, I might add, but it serves me well enough.’ When the woman looks back, her smile has faded. ‘You will leave your sword on the doorstep, understand me? Now, come – let’s see if we can’t put some meat on those bones.’

You nod quickly, unstrapping the scabbard from your belt as you follow her to the front door. Turn to
269
.

257

The ledge brings you to the entrance of a large circular chamber. Carved into the stone floor are a number of circles, arranged in an arcane pattern around the edge of the room. Lines and whorls twist
away from the outer motifs, snaking towards a central circle where a podium of black stone rests inside a ring of runes.

Caul draws back, sniffing the air as if detecting some unpleasant odour.

By contrast, you find the complex work fascinating. There is a residue of magic still locked in the circles’ design, one which you may still be able to put to use.

You follow the complex patterns, trying to ascertain their nature. Segg taught you some basics but the rest seems to come to you instinctively, as plain as reading words on a page.

‘These are used to call spirits,’ you declare, following the path of one of the spiralling whirls. ‘I think they are summoning runes and those,’ your eyes drift to the runes surrounding the podium, ‘are words of binding.’

Caul is still hovering by the doorway, looking shiftily around the room. ‘I don’t care what it does – is it safe?’

‘Oh yes,’ you reply, with a dark grin. ‘For now . . .’

If you wish to place a weapon or item of equipment on the central podium, turn to
403
. If you have a
plain glass orb
and wish to place it on the podium, turn to
1
. If you would rather not tamper with this strange magic, you may leave the chamber and continue on your way. Turn to
732
.

258

Rutus folds his arms, looking down at you with a smirk. ‘Had enough, dog?’

You are too busy rolling around in the slush, gripping your stomach where his punch had landed. Clearly, strength is no substitute for experience.

‘It’s the maids for you,’ snorts the trainer, gesturing with his crop to a line of straw practice dummies. ‘You can dance with them a while, until you’re ready.’

‘Could have gone worse,’ grins Rutus, offering out his hand. ‘Guess the fever took more than your looks, eh?’

You ignore his gesture, pushing yourself back to your feet. ‘Next time,’ you promise, meeting his gaze.

‘I’ll be ready,’ he replies guardedly. ‘You know where to find me, rookie.’

You watch him join the rest of the men, jealous of their comradeship and back-slapping. Feeling once again the outsider, you march over to the practice dummies, determined not to run and hide like you always have in the past. Straw and wood go flying as you hack and chop at your target, secretly wishing it was Rutus and the cheers were all for you. (Record the keyword
baited
on your hero sheet.)