The Eye of Winter's Fury (89 page)

If you manage to defeat this shadowy swarm, turn to
154
.

627

The light fades, leaving you jerking and kicking, a pained cry issuing from your lips.

Eyes snap open. You see a wall of black rock, inches from your face. You shift, trying to move, but your arms are tied. A rough blanket scratches at your chin.

Trying to remain calm, you wait for the spasms to pass, then quickly set about freeing yourself. The shield fragment is still in your hands, its sharp edge providing the perfect knife. Within minutes the cords are broken. You kick off the blanket and slide off the stone bench.

You are in a small natural cave. A few candles are lined on a rock shelf, casting the room in a flickering pale light. Thankfully, you are still dressed in your armour, and your weapons lie wrapped in furs nearby. You quickly retrieve them and stalk out of the cave.

Following the sound of voices, you navigate a short series of tunnels to arrive at a much larger cavern. Black-robed figures stand
around a blazing set of coals stacked in a shallow pit. The dancing flames illuminate the pale faces beneath the cowls – each one disfigured by runic markings.

Pillars of rock are scattered throughout the cave, an iron brazier burning next to each one. You use them for cover, moving from pillar to pillar until you are afforded a better view of the strange gathering. It appears they have prisoners – two bodies, chained to rune-carved boulders. A girl and a half-giant . . .

‘Let me go!’ Anise pulls against her shackles, kicking back with her feet.

There is still some fight in her, unlike Skoll – whose body hangs limply from his own manacles, blonde hair trailing over his face. The runes in the iron flash with dark magics. Dwarven magic. They remind you of the manacles the einherjar used to sap your magic and your will.

One of the robed figures steps up to the young girl.

‘Enough! Hold your tongue.’ A woman’s voice, cold and whip-sharp. ‘Be grateful, my love. I could have killed you while you slept. But I have other plans for you. I’m going to break you, like we did the dragons. Turn you into a willing servant.’

‘Arran, where is Arran?’ Anise tugs again at her chains, crying out as magic crackles across the irons, making her convulse with pain.

‘Do not worry about him.’ The female acolyte turns and motions to one of her followers, a younger man who is holding an iron brand in the coals. He lifts it out, its pointed tip glowing white with heat. ‘The witch has given your precious prince to Insidious, as a plaything. When that devil’s done with him, I doubt you’ll want to see what is left.’

The woman takes the brand, then steps closer to Anise. The girl whimpers, trying to draw herself away from the hot tip. ‘The runes cut deep, my dear. They’ll burn that weakness out of you, fill you with a new strength. Power. Yes, then you will be worthy – to join our ranks and stand at her side.’

You creep around the pillars, eyeing up your opposition. There are six acolytes in total, each armed with a dagger – and probably some magic to protect themselves. You contemplate your best course of action. Perhaps something you are carrying might aid you.

628

You place the ‘four of hearts’ on the discard pile and pick a new stone from the bag. You have gained the ‘two of moons’.

You have the following stones:

The monk opens out his meaty fist, showing you his five stones.

As you reveal your own hand, his look of smug elation turns quickly to one of surprise. ‘It can’t be, your Queen’s Wave beats mine . . . the three of crowns,’ he slams his hands on the table like a petulant child.

I hope you’re a man of your word,’ you grin, retrieving your gold (you have gained 50 gold crowns). You nod to the book. Grudgingly, the monk removes the chain from across his shoulder and hands it over. You have gained
Judah’s Book of Canticles
(simply make a note of this on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space. Also remove the word
scripture
from your hero sheet.) You are also rewarded with the following special ability:

Gambit (pa):
Each time you play a death move special ability, roll a die. On a
result you may also regain a
speed
or
modifier
ability that you have already played – allowing you to use that chosen ability again any time during the combat.

You bid farewell to the sulking monk, leaving him to drown his sorrows in ale. Turn to
80
.

629

You reach out and take the spear. Desnar grins, evidently pleased with your choice. ‘Victar!’ He turns and raises his arms to the crowd. There are some approving grunts from his men, but few others. You sense that Desnar is no more liked than yourself – or perhaps the Skards are not ones to show their emotions easily. Nevertheless, you worry that Desnar already considers the test won.

You are both handed bone javelins and a collection of barbed traps fashioned from hunks of bone and metal splinters. ‘What are we hunting?’ you ask Sura.

‘Whatever the land decides,’ replies the shaman. She bows her head. ‘May the ancestors be with you, southlander.’

‘You aren’t coming with us?’ You look around at the watchful crowd.

Sura frowns. ‘This is a test, a feud between yourself and Desnar. Only one of you will return with victory. This is a test of the hunter. The trophies you bring back will speak of your triumph.’

The crowd part, leaving you a clear path to the edge of the camp where the ocean of snow sweeps away in rippled waves. Desnar gives you a sly grin then breaks into a run, sprinting into the wasteland. You realise this is a race as much as it is a test of skill. Gritting your teeth, you narrow your eyes to the horizon and push forward into the snow. Turn to
738
.

630

You put the vial to the girl’s lips, watching as the viscous blood pours out, trickling scarlet trails across her cheeks. You tip it back until the vial is empty, watching and waiting.

Nothing. You feel your eyes burn as they stare upon hers, looking for some flicker of life. But they remain vacant, fixed on the heavens, where a chill wind howls past the broken ruins. It wails mournfully
around the chamber, beating at you with its bitter cold – but not cold enough to expel the aching pain.

‘No . . .’ You lower your head, admitting defeat – feeling cheated by your own foolish belief in the paladin’s faith.
I have failed everyone. Nanuk. Skoll. Anise . . .

A wet gasp draws you from your reverie. You look back at the girl, almost sure you saw her eyelids flutter.

‘Anise . . . ?’

You lean close, convinced now that it was a cruel trick of the wind. Perhaps a reflex action, nothing more.
I’m a fool. This isn’t some storybook—

Suddenly, the girl spasms, her body arching, legs kicking at the ground.

You draw back, startled and afraid; no longer sure what ill you may have caused by giving her the blood. You go to grab her hand, but the heat rising from it forces you away. A holy heat, like the sword that always repelled you. Like the paladin’s inscribed skin . . .

A white glow rolls across her body, softening its dark bruising to a pale unblemished white. You continue to watch transfixed as the hands of time are wound back – flesh folds over bone, limbs reset, wounds close. Her eyes sparkle, a sudden light blossoming from their depths.

She sits up, chest heaving as she sucks in great lungfuls of air.

You can only stare at her, feeling frozen in that wondrous moment, a flood of emotions racing through you. Relief, amazement . . . love.

The girl’s hands go to her throat, tracing the raised line of a blue-grey scar. The only mark to remain on her perfectly healed body. Her eyes meet your own. And her smile, crooked and wan as always, is perfect.

You have gained the title
The Redeemer
and the following special ability:

Salvation (pa):
Each time you use a
heal
,
regrowth
or
greater heal
ability you can increase its
health
benefit by 1.

You may now return to the map or advance to the final boss monster encounter by turning to
717
.

631

Searching through the wreckage, you find 60 gold crowns. You also discover a party invitation inside one of the guest’s waistcoats. The invitation is for a private function organised by Lord Edward Eaton, to be held at The Coracle on Ryker’s Island. You may take this
party invitation
(simply make a note of it on your hero sheet, it doesn’t take up backpack space).

As you turn to leave, you make another discovery – a small metal casket lying underneath one of the sledges. You quickly retrieve it, hearing the rattle of coins sliding around inside. If you have a
skeleton key
, turn to
413
. Otherwise, you are unable to open the chest. If you wish, you may take this item with you, in the hope that you will discover a means of opening it. (The
hunters’ chest
takes up one backpack space.) Return to the map to continue your journey.

632

You look back across the dusty plain to where the great serpent lies motionless – its scaled body stretching for over a mile until it is lost to the darkness of the abyssal rift. The edge of the world.

Aslev joins you, a smile turning his lips. ‘We won a great victory, my Drokke.’

‘No.’ You turn your head to the wind, letting the chill currents rush through your body, filling its emptiness with a familiar, numbing cold. ‘This is only the beginning. I am Drokke – but I am also king. The rightful king of Valeron. I will win back my throne, unite north and south. One people.’

You glance at Aslev, awaiting his response, expecting rebuttal.

The einherjar continues to grin back at you. ‘Then you’ll be needing this.’ He offers you the warhammer – the runed weapon that Skoll had given Aslev as a symbol of his return.

‘Surtnost.’ You take the warhammer into your spectral hands, feeling its weight – its power.

‘And you’ll be needing these.’ Aslev steps back, gesturing to the
assembly of Skards, still nearly a thousand strong, the sunlight sparkling and flashing off their spear-heads and axes. ‘We will take back your throne, Drokke. No army of southlanders can stand against our might.’

You raise the warhammer into the air. Magic sparks from your fingertips, coursing along the runed handle, awakening the trapped spirits that have been bound within it. A bear, and a wolf, an eagle, a stag – and others: muttok, seal, petrel, sabre cat. You feel them pressing against your consciousness, filling you with their primal energies.

Animal spirits. One for every Skard tribe.

Golden light bursts from the hammer, trailing bright ribbons into the azure blue sky. You lift back your head, eyes closed – listening to the cheers of the assembled Skards.