The Eye of Winter's Fury (80 page)

A ghostly laughter fills your ears.

Then you are falling. It is as if the ground has been swept away from you, swallowed by a vast abyss of darkness. You hear Anise scream, but you cannot see her – wind batters against you as you are spun like dust in a whirlwind, spinning round and round, faster and faster . . .

You hit the floor hard. Bones crack. Your mouth fills with a foul-tasting bile and fragments of tooth. You spit them out, scrabbling to your feet, aware that the ground is wet and slippery. An acrid stench fills your nostrils – sharp and sweet.

Blood.

You are back in the entrance chamber. Your eyes follow the crimson streaks as they sweep away, forming a dazzling pattern of circles and runes. Standing at their centre is a man – or what might once have been a man, before death and time had their way. He is corpse-thin,
clad in cobwebbed robes, black as midnight. Of his face, there is little left – only a few tatters of skin sagging off yellow bone, a single eyeball.

Harris lies at the creature’s feet, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Dried blood and bruises cover his neck, where a chain looks to have constricted itself, choking him. On the end of the chain is the black prism.

‘What . . . what’s happened?’

A girl’s voice. Anise. You turn to see her lying near the wall, holding her head woozily. Not far from her are the remains of Brack. You look away in revulsion, the source of the blood now clearly apparent.

‘Welcome,’ whispers the robed corpse.

You draw your weapons – your first thought to protect Anise.

‘Ah, so impetuous.’ A chill laughter echoes around you. ‘Just like Harris. And he served me so well. I pulled the strings and he danced, brought me here so I could be free once again.’ The single, half-rotted eyeball twists in its hollow socket, gazing down at the prism resting on the dead boy’s chest. ‘And you will serve me too.’

‘Think again!’ You start to charge – then suddenly you hit something, hard as stone. An invisible barrier. It closes around you, pressing hard against your cadaverous body. Desperately you struggle to break free, but your limbs have become frozen; too heavy to move.

‘Interesting.’ The necromancer folds his arms, the bones creaking and scraping together. ‘You are already almost a corpse. Fit to serve me.’

At the back of your mind you hear a roar – a primal anger desperate for release. You try and move again, but your body is refusing. It feels like a dead weight, hanging cold and useless, a prison for your mind. You want to scream, but your jaw is clamped shut.

‘Perhaps a little display is in order,’ chuckles the dark mage, ‘to prove to me your newfound allegiance.’ His single eye flits to Anise, who is struggling to stand, her ragged dress streaked with soot and grime.

Your body starts to move, like a marionette. The motions are jerky and abrupt, legs and arms pulled painfully against your will as they snap into position, driving you forward towards Anise. As your arms are lifted and your weapons catch the ghost-light sparkling around the dread necromancer, you realise his intentions.

Anise backs against the wall, watching your advance with terror in her eyes. ‘No, please,’ she whispers, shaking. ‘Don’t do it. Fight it!’ Her words seem distant to you, like echoes rippling back from another time and place. But her face remains vivid, every detail pin sharp – screaming at you to stop. Anger . . . fury . . . fear.

These are emotions you know. You can feel them surging through you, pushing strength into your limbs, your mind pulling open in a thunderous snarl of rage. For an instant you glimpse the bear – the strange creature that you met in the dreamscape, your guardian. His amber eyes fill your vision, his vitality and power passing into you.

‘No!’ You spin round, your body now your own again, wrested free from the necromancer’s magic. Without hesitation you throw yourself against the mage, hearing bones snap as you crash together. Then a bolt of magic streaks into your side, throwing you back to the ground. When you look round the necromancer is hunched over, an arm bent back at an unnatural angle. The light that once glowed around him now seems diminished.

‘Fool!’ The mage straightens, his bones sliding back into place. With a wheezing breath he raises a hand, his wrinkled fingers distending towards you. ‘If you will not serve me in death, then you will suffer the same fate as I did. Imprisoned within the soul stone!’

There is a bright flash of light – and suddenly you find yourself surrounded on all sides by black panes of glass, each perfectly smooth, mirroring your anguished face into an endless infinity. Somehow, you know what has happened, even though your mind is still struggling to comprehend it. The necromancer has trapped you inside the black prism. Unless you can escape, you will never be able to defeat him. It is time to fight:

	Special abilities
	Prison break : You cannot attack or deal damage to the necromancer until you have broken out of the prison. Your attacks against the prison automatically hit (the prison has no speed ). Once the prison has been reduced to zero health , it is destroyed and you are freed.
	Soul surge : For each combat round you spend in the prison, the necromancer grows in power, gaining 5 health at the end of each round that you are trapped. Once the prison is destroyed, the necromancer no longer gains health – and you can attack him as normal. R Glass walls : The prison is immune to all passive effects, such as barbs and bleed .
	Guards, guards! : If you lit the tower’s banner, guards will join you in your fight against the necromancer, raising your damage score by 2 for the remainder of the combat. You only gain this bonus once you have broken out of the prison.

If you manage to send this villain back to the grave, turn to
437
. If you lose the combat, remember to record your defeat on your hero sheet. You may then attempt the combat again or return to the map.

581

To your relief your dogs prove vicious fighters, whilst the sled itself manages to withstand the constant knocks and bumps from the other racers. Gradually, you manage to pull away from the pack and start to gain ground on the leaders. Turn to
471
.

582

Boss monster: Avalanche

(Note: You must have completed the red quest
The Hall of Vindsvall
before you can start this challenge.)

Skoll is standing alone at the foot of the glacier, his head tilted as if listening to the wind. Behind him, a full backpack rests against a rock – with various ropes, spears and knives bound to it by loops of sinew. A breeze stirs the fur of his hood, pushing it back to reveal a dark helm fashioned from rune-carved stone – the symbol of his status. The crown of the Drokke.

He shifts his stance as you approach, extending his forearm to the sky. Scanning the clouds, you spot a bird circling overhead. Its white feathers and jet-black crest remind you of a tern, but its size hints at a much larger bird of prey. With a hacking screech the bird sweeps down on its great wide wings, alighting gracefully on Skoll’s gloved arm.

‘Ah, Habrok,’ grins the half-giant. He scratches affectionately at the soft white down beneath the bird’s throat. ‘After all these years. I have need of you, old one. The time has come.’

The bird flicks its head, turning a single beady eye to the Skard. You feel a flow of magic between the two. Communication, you sense. Like your own bond with Nanuk.

‘Take my message to the chieftains of the tribes. They will come to Vindsvall and see the shattered hall; the broken throne that was my prison. They will know I have gone north and they will follow.’

The bird gives an answering caw, then spreads its grey-feathered wings and lifts into the sky. You watch as it wheels above you in ever-widening circles before streaking southwards.

Footsteps crunch, dragging your attention back to the glacier. Aslev approaches, his white horn and rune-carved axe bouncing at his hip. Beside him is Anise, wincing as she shoulders a heavy pack, its weight forcing her to bow her back.

You look to Skoll, startled. He reads your expression, answering with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders. ‘She would not listen to me.’ He regards her thoughtfully, the fondness in his gaze not going unnoticed.

‘I’m ready,’ she states boldly, glaring at you with a challenging stare.

‘Anise . . .’ You shake your head. ‘Please, stay at the hall . . .’

She rolls her eyes in exasperation. ‘And have me sing songs while I wait for my beloved to return? Is that what you expect of me?’

You start to answer, but she shakes her head. ‘Don’t. I’m stronger than you think I am – and I’m coming with you.’

Skoll slaps you on the shoulder. ‘See, she will not be turned.’

Aslev bows before you both. ‘Drokke. Seff. What is your duty for me?’

Skoll unstraps his hammer and holds it out to the einherjar.

‘Take it,’ Skoll insists. ‘For the chieftains will need to believe I have returned. This is my great-grandfather’s warhammer. He named it
Surtnost, the troll-bane, for it was the weapon to smite the mightiest of their kin. Surtnost has never left my side. It has a glamour, a magic. It will always return to its master. And you will bring it to me, with the chieftains at your side. Understand?’

Aslev takes the weapon in his palms, his eyes widening as he looks upon it with reverence. ‘A . . . a mighty gift, my Drokke. I will guard it with my life.’

‘No,’ grins the half-giant. ‘The hammer will guard
your
life.’

Aslev lifts his gaze with a worried frown. ‘What if the chieftains do not come? It has been many years. They may not believe . . .’

Skoll gives a surly grunt. ‘Then they are cowards and they will die nameless. All of them. Come, Bearclaw. We go north.’ He stoops to pick up his pack. As he hefts it onto his shoulders, you notice the fragments of the shield poking out of the top-flap.

‘What about the third piece?’ you ask. ‘Without it we cannot remake the shield.’

Skoll puts his hands to the straps, tugging them down. ‘The weaver will have the answers.’

You look to Anise, who appears equally baffled. ‘The weaver, right. And, where do we find this weaver-person?’

‘We don’t,’ grins the warrior. ‘They will find us.’

He nods to Aslev, then turns to face the newly-risen sun, its pale light edging the scars running down his cheeks. ‘When I see you again, Aslev, it will be the end of days.’ He glances back with a mischievous smirk. ‘Don’t be late.’

‘My Drokke.’ Aslev falls to one knee, head bowed. ‘May the ancestors go with you.’

Skoll flashes you the same smile, then together the three of you begin your long journey northwards. Turn to
703
.