The Eye of Winter's Fury

by Michael J. Ward

  ‘Miners used to have canaries with ’em. If there’s danger, bad air and stuff, then the canaries would keel over and die. That’s how the mages got their name. Ryker gets ’em to scout out the caves; they send in those yellow things, like eyeballs; they see what’s going on, then somehow what they see gets sent back to the mages.’ He taps the side of his head, rolling his eyes. ‘Crazy magic, eh?’

  You glance back at the white sheets tethered to the wall. ‘Interesting, but what’s that got to do with the sled races?’

  The man whistles through his black teeth. ‘Think we gonna watch out there in the cold?’ He shakes his head. ‘The canaries follow the racers, then we sees the pictures – just like a moving painting, right there.’ He points to the stretched sheets. ‘Like we said, Ryker’s calling it big sheet entertainment. Wouldn’t want to miss any of the action now, would we?’

  To continue chatting to the thief, return to 288. To explore the rest of the compound. Turn to 106.

  280

  With the dogs defeated and their pack mates struggling in the mire, you are free to cross to the other side unhindered. You pause at the mouth of the cave, looking back towards the shore. One of the Skard hunters is hurrying towards the first of the stones, an axe in one hand and a knife in the other. Of his companions, there is no obvious sign. Turn to 344.

  281

  Ignoring the strange ghost, you take the unlit lamp (make a note of the word lamp on your hero sheet) and then continue into the next passageway. Turn to 385.

  282

  Without speaking you head for the door, not wishing to remain here a moment longer. But Sylvie’s voice brings you up short, you pause on the threshold.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she says.

  ‘You should not have done what you did.’ You glance back over your shoulder, your eyes narrowed with anger. ‘You don’t know what it’s like.’

  ‘No, you’re right, I don’t.’ Sylvie steps away from the sizzling breakfast, her face etched with concern. ‘Randal had the gift also. And the moment I saw you, I just knew.’

  ‘How? How did you—?’

  ‘I sensed the magic within you. But not like a mage – not one who chooses to use it, takes it and moulds it to their will. No, with you it’s different. It is like the magic is just a natural part of you. As it was with Randal.’

  Anger turns to surprise. ‘Do you know what these . . . these dreams are? Why me?’

  ‘All I know is what Randal told me or I’ve managed to deduce from my studies. There’s an old Skard word, Norr. It means crossing, the state between waking and sleeping. Some minds are able to dwell there, to walk that place as a spirit body.’

  ‘Norr?’ You frown, trying to recall ever having heard the word.

  ‘It’s the thin line, the meeting place between our world and the shroud – the realm of magic.’

  You feel the cold in your stomach twist into knots of fear. ‘The shroud.’ You have always been forbidden to mention such a thing. To the Church it is a blasphemous evil, a hell where demons and other malign spirits dwell. ‘I . . . I never knew. No one ever told me. They can’t have known.’

  ‘It’s a rare affliction, boy.’ Sylvie meets your troubled gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

  You close your eyes to stop the room from spinning, still giddy from the dream. ‘This can’t be happening to me . . .’ Instinctively you reach for your pouch, relieved to find it is still attached to your belt. You have enough dragon leaf to keep the dreams away, for a while at least . . .

  ‘That won’t help you.’ Sylvie puts a hand to her hip, the other pointing with her knife. ‘That is the coward’s way. You need to become stronger, boy. The mind is like a muscle. It must be exercised. Avoiding the dreams will only make it worse.’

  Will you:

  Still insist she tricked you and leave? 261

  Agree to fetch water for breakfast? 78

  283

  Guards spill into the room, their torches pushing back the shadows. You raise an arm, shielding yourself from the sudden brightness, struggling to focus. Dark shapes blur past, bodies smelling of sweat and the winter’s cold.

  A hooded man shifts into view, his face made sharp by the flickering torchlight. It is Rook, one of Everard’s soldiers. He is speaking to you, but it takes a moment before the sounds wash in.

  ‘Speak to me – what happened?’ His tone is clipped, used to getting answers.

  You notice some of the guards circling you, weapons drawn. Others are inspecting the bodies. Of the men that surround you, their distrust is evident.

  ‘Anise?’ The word catches in your throat. You start forward but an arm holds you back.

  ‘She’s fine,’ says Rook. He moves in front of you, piercing blue eyes flashing beneath his hood. ‘It’s over now. It’s over.’

  A blanket is put around your shoulders, its coarseness scratching at your neck and arms.

  ‘Move aside,’ someone orders. Bodies brush past you again. More words are spoken, gruff and commanding, but you are no longer listening. A white noise roars in your ears – becoming screams, the necromancer’s laughter.

  ‘This tower is out of bounds!’ A single voice drags you back. You open your eyes to see a flurry of crimson robes sweeping into the room. ‘One God, protect us!’ Segg takes one look at the destruction and then begins gesturing frantically to the guards. ‘Seal this place! Seal it now. We must leave!’

  The elderly mage hurries to your side, full of concern. ‘Are you all right? Are you hurt?’

  ‘It was a dare,’ you reply weakly, too numb to feel anything. ‘To survive the night.’ Your eyes drift to the open doorway – where the first light of dawn is creeping steadily across the stonework.

  Record the keyword fractured on your hero sheet, then return to the map to continue your adventure.

  284

  The grasping hands drive you into the creature’s mouth, where the devilish heads snap and bite at your clothing, piercing through to the flesh beneath. Nanuk sends his strength into you, pooling magic into your clawed hands. With a bestial roar, you drive your bolstered spirit energies into the maw of the beast – turning your head away from the brightness of the blast. Screams fill your ears; a deafening dirge-like crescendo.

  Silence. You blink.

  You are crouched next to the open chest. The runes have vanished, as has the dark aura. You cautiously peer over the rim, to discover that the interior is now an ordinary chest. Resting inside are two glowing artefacts – one a pale orb, the other a painted figurehead of an angel. If you wish, you may now take any/all of the following:

  Pandora Spirit of hope (1 use)

  (backpack) (backpack)

  A painted figurehead

  of an angel Use any time in combat

  to restore 10 health

  You may now examine the sword, if you haven’t already (turn to 62), or cross back to the tree and continue onwards (turn to 509.)

  285

  You round a corner, skidding to a halt as you come face to face with a thin, middle-aged man in tattered blue robes. His wide staring eyes peer at you from between long locks of tangled hair. The yellow light buzzes around his head like an angry fly, then winks out in a puff of smoke.

  ‘No!’ The man shrinks away from you, looking terror-stricken as he cowers up against the wall. The ice in front of him is marked by a line of runes. You sense their magic is weak, their carving looking rushed and ill-planned. Behind the frightened mage is a wall of rock – trapping him in a dead-end.

  ‘Leave me! Leave me!’ he shrieks. His eyes flick wildly from side to side as Skoll and Anise appear at your shoulder. ‘I am protected! See!’

  You lift your hands from your weapons. ‘It’s okay, I’m not here to harm you. What happened?’

  ‘Harm? What more harm could you do?’ he snaps with derision.

  ‘You were with the miners?’ asks Anise gently.

  The mage stifles a sob. ‘It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it! I’m not to blame!’

&n
bsp; ‘Then who is?’ snaps Skoll impatiently. His tone puts fear back into the man’s eyes.

  ‘We . . . we didn’t see the trap until it was too late. A charm spell . . . an enchantment. They fell asleep, I couldn’t wake them. Then the others came . . . the ones with the hoods. And . . . and . . .’ The man bites his bottom lip, a sudden defiance flaring in his eyes.

  ‘You’re safe now,’ says Anise, edging forward. ‘Come, you must be famished. We have food.’

  The man gives an angry hiss, stabbing at you with a quivering finger. ‘Don’t you come any closer,’ he demands. ‘They sent you, I know they did. You want me to sleep, just like the others. Then you’ll kill me. But . . . but I’m not sleeping – no, not ever!’

  Skoll merely grunts at his threat. ‘This one has gone mad. Best we leave. There is nothing we can do.’

  Will you:

  Step across the line of runes? 572

  Leave the mage and resume your journey? 750

  286

  (Remove the word trader from your hero sheet.)

  You tell Everard the full story of what happened by the tar pits, including the part about the soldiers trading weapons and armour to the Skards. Everard listens in silence, fingers tapping against the wall. When you have finished, the knight shakes his head sadly.

  ‘No one likes a tell-tale, Arran. Least of all me.’

  You startle in surprise. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yeah, I had my eye on those boys. I knew what they were up to.’

  ‘They’re dead,’ you reply bluntly. ‘And you don’t seem to care.’

  Everard swings to face you, the colour rising in his cheeks. ‘You may be a prince, Arran – our future king – but don’t tell me what I should or should not be thinking. I care about a lot of things, my prince. I care about this keep and I do care about my soldiers. But if some choose to play with fire, then they’re gonna get burnt.’ He pauses, eyes narrowing. ‘And they got burnt, didn’t they? End of story.’ He turns back to the wall, armour clinking as he rests his arms against the stone.

  You sense that pursuing the topic would be unwise – and yet you can’t help but feel disappointment at the man’s reaction. ‘I’m sorry. Clearly I misjudged you.’ The statement hangs poignantly in the air as you march away, feeling his gaze needling like daggers into your back.

  Will you:

  Climb the stairs to the mage tower? 301

  Return to the main courtyard? 113

  287

  You stand your ground, holding yourself still as you watch the inquisitor hobble nearer. Out of his armour he looks more like a common thug than a holy warrior. And all the more menacing for it.

  ‘What . . . happened?’ Your words are little more than a hoarse croak. You swallow, then repeat the question with more authority. ‘Why did you stop us on the road? I demand an answer!’ You can still picture the dark look that had taken him as he reached for his war-hammer. His eyes spoke of murder. As they do now.

  ‘You were sent here to die,’ snarls the inquisitor. He summons a ball of white fire into his open hand, letting the smoke curl around his fingers. ‘That was my order, my test of faith.’

  You stumble backwards, stung by his admission. Tears rise, unbidden to your eyes. ‘No, there’s a mistake . . .’

  ‘Indeed, one I intend to set right.’ His voice grows harder still. ‘You’ve had every chance – every chance.’ With a snarl, he hurls the ball of flame through the air. It slams into you with the force of a punch, winding you and sending you flying onto your back. For several seconds, you are coughing and gasping, your nostrils filled with a sulphurous smoke. When you can focus again, the inquisitor is standing over you; a giant obliterating the sky.

  ‘Why wouldn’t you make something of yourself?’ He turns the dagger, its blade catching the muted morning light. ‘Even Malden, cripple Malden, is more a man than you’ll ever be.’

  ‘You sound like my father,’ you snort disdainfully. ‘Did he order this?’

  The inquisitor’s brow creases, puckering his red scar. ‘The king? Ordering me from his sick bed? No, lad. The Church is the only authority now. To purge this realm of all evil and waste. The throne is weak. It is time for a new—’

  Your foot slams into his knee, drawing out a snarl of pain. You kick again, driving hard into his wounded leg. Then you are scrabbling in the dirt, twisting yourself back onto your feet and running.

  ‘Fool!’ snarls the warrior. ‘You can’t run from me! There’s nowhere for you to hide!’

  Will you:

  Run back to the cabin? 312

  Run into the nearby woods? 244

  288

  You are met by a garish blaze of tents and temporary structures, and the cloying stench that accompanies people and animals. Gagging, you quickly push Nanuk’s magic away, leaving your senses dulled to the stench of dirt, sweat and degradation.

  A hand settles around your shoulder. ‘We sees a new arrival, yes?’

  You jerk away from the man’s grasp, but hesitate when you see the thin emaciated figure smiling back at you. His wasted body is swaddled in soiled blankets and a tattered cloak, the hood of which has frayed to almost nothing. A bag hangs off one scrawny shoulder, patched with various coloured cloths. ‘Welcome to the top of the world,’ he sniggers, his fingers pinching your arm as he guides you along the aisle of tents. ‘We shows you round, yes?’

  ‘Who are all these people?’ you ask, confused. ‘Why’re they here?’

  Most of them appear to be in poorer shape than the man at your side, hunkered down in layers of fur and clothing, looking like corpses awaiting the undertaker. You receive mean, suspicious stares – and covetous glances at your weapons and clothing. Between the tents, ragged children scamper and play, throwing snow balls at one another. Elsewhere you hear snatches of music and laughter coming from an array of luxurious pavilion tents, their banners and flags billowing in the wind.

  ‘The sled races,’ says the man, pulling you to a halt and pointing back towards the wall. You see a series of white canvas sheets hanging down from the spiked crenellations. ‘Big sheet entertainment – Ryker’s got the canaries involved. It’s gonna be spectacular!’ He opens out the palms of his hands, waving them in the air while he makes a series of whooshing noises.

  ‘Sled races..?’ You turn your head, suddenly drawn by the barking din of pack dogs. Across the jumbled wave of tents, you spy a line of kennels and pens. ‘Can anyone enter?’

  You feel the man’s hand on your arm again. ‘Forget that for now, good sir. We might have something for you, if you’d be interested. Yes? Few things we accidentally . . . acquired. So, we’d settle for a very good price, just to move them on, if you gets what we’re saying, hmm?’

  Will you:

  Ask to see the thief’s wares? 164

  Ask about the ‘canaries’? 279

  Ask about the prison? 218

  Explore the compound on your own? 106

  289

  You make a snap decision and veer to the right, building momentum as you sprint along the banks of the lake. Then you leap, hitting the edge of the first stone awkwardly, your heavier and more muscular body confusing your balance. The surface of the stone is slick with tar but luckily you manage to right yourself, just as the dogs bound madly towards the shoreline in hot pursuit.

  To cross the remainder of the stones you will need to complete a speed challenge:

  Speed

  Stepping stones 7

  If you are successful, turn to 122. If you fail the challenge, turn to 100.

  290

  The ground gives a violent shudder. Strong enough to almost throw you off balance. Unlike previous tremors, this one does not abate, continuing to rattle and judder as you feel some powerful force start to build.

  ‘What’s happening?’ You look to Orrec, whose eyes are now on the main courtyard.

  ‘This is bad . . .’

  A splintering crack tears through the air. You look back to see the statue of your father r
iven in two, a deep fissure cutting across his scowling face. The ground continues to shake.

  Orrec grabs you and starts running for the main courtyard. A tower door opens and guards spill out, most of them still buckling on armour, their dishevelled appearances and bleary eyes suggesting they have just awoken.

  The tremors intensify, sending cracks racing through the ground and along the walls. From somewhere in the distance you hear a thunderous crashing of stone.

  ‘Get to your positions!’ Orrec grabs a bewildered soldier, pushing him towards the main yard. ‘Move it!’ He turns, gesturing to the others. ‘Out! Positions, now!’

  All of a sudden, the shaking stops. Everyone stands frozen – waiting, listening . . .

  Then you hear the distant screams. And a relentless drumming, like fists pounding against a barrier. The soldiers look at one another, confused.

  ‘The wall . . .’ Orrec frowns, listening. ‘That’s the holy inscriptions . . . the abbots’ magic.’

  The drumming continues, now accompanied by roars and screams of a different nature. They sound inhuman. ‘Allam’s teeth!’ Orrec starts running for the main yard. ‘Something’s trying to break the wards. We’re under attack! To the walls, men! To the walls!’ Turn to 152.

  291

  Your body goes from lightness to heaviness. You try and move, but something is holding you down. There are voices. A confusion of noise.

  I tell you, I saw it. Look, his hand . . .

  Impossible. He can’t still be alive.

  Let me see. Stay back!

  You hear a scuffle of boots.

  Arran? Arran? Do you hear me? You try your best to surface, to reach out towards the sound of that voice.

  Another speaker. He’s dead. Leave it be. It’s just a spasm. A reflex action.

  Silence. You slide back into the dream, your fingers sinking deep into matted fur. The bear grunts, his bright eyes shining back at you from the chill darkness. You try and read his expression, understand what he seeks to tell you – but the whispering at the back of your mind is foreign, incomprehensible.

  Look, there’s movement.

  One God protect us. He’s alive.