The Eye of Winter's Fury

by Michael J. Ward

  520

  Blood and acid steam from the melted remnants of the tower platform. Behind you, one of the drakelings lies sprawled across the slatted tiles, its body speared on the roof spike. From between its curved serrated teeth, black bile continues to dribble – eating away at the stones and mortar.

  For defeating the drakelings, you may now take one of the following rewards:

  Corroded boots Drakeling claw Dark-scale skin

  (feet) (left hand: wand) (chest)

  +1 speed +1 magic +1 speed +1 magic +1 speed +1 armour

  Ability: acid Ability: wave Ability: heal

  When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to 336.

  521

  You feel a touch on your arm. It is Aslev. He nods to a pair of double doors at the opposite end of the room. You give Gurt a final contemptuous glare, then move to follow Aslev and the other Skards. When the doors are flung open, you are surprised by the sudden bite of coldness that floods into the hall, sending the brazier flames flickering. You had been expecting another, grander chamber – instead the doors have opened out onto a wind-swept hillside, the banks of snow rising steeply into the flaky mist.

  ‘This way,’ says Aslev. He makes a sharp turn to the right, climbing a set of wooden stairs half buried by the snow. They rise steeply, taking you around a pinnacle of dark rock, which soon gives way to a rough wall of ice. The steps are uneven and slippery, forcing you to deliberate over every step, the chill emptiness to your left reminding you of the sheer drop to the ground below.

  The stairway becomes a stippled ridge, carved out of what you assume is a vast glacier. You spy large root-like protrusions breaking out of the ice-wall above, their spindly lengths snaking away into the haze. It isn’t until you pass beneath an overhanging limb that you realise they actually are roots – their wood of the purest snow-white. As you ascend the last of the stairs the wind drives hard against you, howling across the vast plateau. Here the mist is reduced to a few ragged streamers, clinging around the tangled roots of the biggest tree you have ever seen.

  It stretches into the blue, winter skies, its colossal branches sparkling with crystalline leaves. From the pale bark an icy slush oozes out of the cracks and fissures, forming a multitude of dripping candles, their tips hardened to icicles. The size of the tree would overshadow even the highest towers of Bitter Keep – its topmost canopy is almost lost to view, the bright leaves twinkling like distant stars.

  ‘Yggdrasil,’ states Aslev, glancing back at you. ‘And the Hall of Vindsvall.’ He motions you towards a building carved out of the tree itself. It is a longhouse, similar to Gurt’s at the foot of the glacier, but this is twice the size, the wood decorated with intricate gold sculptures. You can see arched windows and stairs cut into the trunk, suggesting that the hall extends back into the hollows of the tree.

  The doors of the hall stand open. You are marched into a vaulted chamber, its floor, walls and ceiling all carpeted with a fine silver frost. An immense pit has been dug into the centre of the hall, where a fire crackles and spits around the base of a wooden statue. By all reckoning, the flames should have consumed the figure – a long-haired warrior, brandishing a spear and a shield – but the pale wood appears untouched by the heat.

  Past the fire you come to the foot of a set of wide stairs, which lead up to an immense dais. There, part of the natural tree protrudes into the hall, its sap funnelled into a vast teardrop that covers the surface of the dais. Inside the ice, distorted by the glistening sheen, is a high-backed throne – and seated on it is a half-giant, powerfully-built, with long hair spilling out from beneath a pronged stone-grey helm. A war-hammer rests across his knee, a shield propped against the chair. He sits frozen in the ice, looking perfectly serene – perfectly preserved.

  You realise it must be Skoll, the leader of the Skards, whose spirit is lost in the Norr. The asynjur have frozen his body, to protect it from the ravages of time and starvation.

  The sound of voices breaks you from your thoughts.

  Your gaze shifts to a woman as she moves into view from around the ice-cropping. Her skin is as smooth and pale as that of the tree, a coppery silk gown clinging tightly to her lithe body. She steps gracefully in bare feet, the ground sparkling with frost wherever she steps. Her age is indeterminate, the face betraying no crease or wrinkle, but her hair is snow-white, falling across her shoulders in two woven plaits.

  The Skards immediately fall to the their knees, heads bowed. ‘Syn Hulda,’ they intone reverently.

  The woman’s attention is focused to the side of the hall, where you see another einherjar. His hands are clamped tightly around a young girl, struggling to restrain her.

  ‘No! I won’t leave,’ the girl cries angrily. ‘Why won’t you listen to me? My mother was right – the ice must be broken! Skoll is dead!’

  You step forward, squinting from the brilliance of the enchanted light. The girl is thin, her skin tight to her bones, making her emerald-green eyes all the brighter. Matted strands of ginger hair hang over her face, partly covering the bruise rising on her cheek.

  You blink. Your mind races.

  The girl is wearing a coat too large for her, and baggy breeches tucked into seal-skin boots. As she kicks and struggles against her captor, your eyes meet hers.

  ‘Anise . . .’

  The girl wriggles out of the Skard’s grasp, throwing herself towards you. The next thing you know her arms are flung around your body, holding you tight – the firmness of her embrace taking you by surprise.

  ‘Anise.’ You gently brush away her hair, uncovering the smile that so captivated you back at the keep – the bright eyes, aglow with fire. Then her lips find yours. It as if your soul has been reawakened. Your senses bleed outwards, filling your dead body. Something flutters in your chest, coming alive if only for the briefest of seconds – your heart beating, lungs shivering. As you break away you suck in a long delicious breath, tasting the scent of her hair, her body, her warmth . . .

  ‘How . . . How is this possible?’ you gasp, searching her wide eyes. ‘The keep . . .’

  ‘I looked for you,’ she sobs, tears running unchecked across her bruised skin. ‘There was so much . . . death. I was lost. Then . . . Everard’s horse . . . I rode across the bridge, before . . . before . . .’

  Rough hands close around her, dragging the girl away. ‘No!’ she screams, kicking and punching. The einherjar drags her back across the dais, ignoring her maddened protests.

  The moment she is gone you feel your body shudder, the fingers of ice clenching around your heart once again, stilling it cold. Dead.

  ‘Take your hands off her!’ you growl angrily, drawing your weapons. You start forward but the woman intervenes, stepping between you. She regards you with sharp, cobalt eyes.

  ‘What is this?’ she asks politely, her gaze flicking quickly to Aslev. The Skards remain kneeling while Aslev recounts your audience with Gurt and your desire to help free Skoll.

  ‘Nonsense, I can’t possibly allow it,’ she replies, her tone smooth and confident. ‘This is a sacred hall – and I will not have . . . death brought here.’

  You bristle with rage. ‘Sura sent me – why won’t you people listen?’

  Syn arches her back, startled by your outrage. ‘You are truly some wild animal,’ she says in a tight voice. ‘I do not have the time or the patience to tame you.’

  The woman’s cold calmness only incites your rage further. A growl issues from your lips as you leap for her, but hands settle around your arms, pulling you back. Aslev and one of the other einherjar grip you tightly.

  ‘Let me go!’ you hiss sharply.

  ‘You’re doing this all wrong,’ whispers Aslev.

  ‘Throw them both from this hall,’ says the woman, turning her long pale neck to regard Anise. ‘The dogs need feeding. And they are not as choosy of their meat as I.’

  ‘No!’ You snarl, trying to break free. ‘I came here to save you – to help defeat the witch!’

 
The woman’s head snaps round, looking you straight in the eye. ‘The dogs will rip the lies out of you, corpse-walker.’ The stillness of her face makes her words all the more chilling.

  She turns and walks away, her supple body moving gracefully across the frosted floor.

  ‘Damn you!’ you spit, struggling again to free yourself.

  Aslev pushes his face close to your own. ‘Stop!’ he growls.

  You glance at him, teeth clenched. ‘Unhand me, or I swear I will not be responsible . . .’

  ‘Just wait – and calm yourself.’ Aslev removes his hands from you, then intercepts the other einherjar who is struggling to drag Anise from the chamber. Words are exchanged – both Skards look back towards the dais. The woman has departed, having exited through an archway at the back of the hall. Aslev nods then hurries back to you, glancing back towards the arch. ‘Do what you have to do,’ he states quickly. ‘You will get one chance at this. If you have the . . . power you say you have, then now is your time.’

  You break from the other warrior’s grip, glaring at him angrily – then you look to Aslev. ‘Is this another trick?’

  The white-haired Skard flushes with anger. He stabs a gloved finger in your direction. ‘Listen and understand, southlander. We endanger our lives and our names for this. Now, do what you must – enter the Norr.’

  ‘No, please . . .’ Anise runs to your side, pulling on your cloak. ‘We should go from here. There is nothing you can do.’

  You turn to her. ‘What did you mean, when you said your mother was right?’

  Anise looks surprised by the question. ‘She was an asynjur. Syn had her executed for speaking out. My mother knew they couldn’t save Skoll – keeping him frozen here, like this, only keeps our people from choosing a new Drokke. Don’t you see, I think this is what she wants. Syn Hulda . . . she is not what she seems. I am sure of it.’

  ‘Is that why you are nameless?’ You put a hand to her cheek, your thumb wiping away her tears.

  The girl nods, lowering her head in shame. ‘I was cast out . . . Syn has made it known to all. My family, my bloodline is cursed.’

  You look past her shoulder, meeting Aslev’s gaze. You exchange a knowing look. He steps forward, his hands settling around her arms. Anise glances round, then struggles against his grip. ‘What . . . what are you doing?’ she snaps.

  ‘I have to do this,’ you whisper tenderly. ‘I will come back, I promise.’

  ‘No!’ Anise wrestles to free herself. ‘It’s too dangerous!’

  You approach the wall of ice, your gaze settling on the distorted image of the half-giant Skard seated on his frozen throne. Nanuk. You close your eyes, placing the palms of your hands against the cold ice. You let its frigid chill flow into you, numbing your mind, your senses. Find the other asynjur. Take me to them.

  Sounds drift away one by one. Slowly, you erase the world around you, letting your spirit lift free of your dead body, rising up to become one with the dream-world of the Norr. Turn to 311.

  522

  You place the ‘one of crowns’ 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 decides to play his hand. Turn to 593.

  523

  You cut Skoll and Anise free of their bindings. The warrior slumps to his knees, still groggy from whatever charm spell the coven used to entrap them. Anise throws her arms around you, holding you tight.

  ‘Where did you go?’ she whispers. Her fingers stroke your new armaments, brought back from the Norr and still smouldering with dark magics.

  ‘Just exorcising a few demons,’ you smile thinly.

  Skoll finds his feet, staggering slightly until he regains his balance. Pushing hair out of his eyes, he offers you a bemused grin. ‘Rescued again. This will do nothing for my standing.’ He scans the bodies, then makes towards a pile of belongings stacked on a wooden pallet. He has spied his helmet and his pack. He starts towards them, then pauses, glancing back.

  ‘First time north of the face, you should take in the view.’ He nods to the wide tunnel across the other side of the cave, its black walls edged by the brightness of daylight. ‘I’ll get the rest of our gear.’

  You follow Anise up the tunnel, her hand inside your own as you step out onto the shelf of rock. Below you, a plain of melting snow breaks into a rust-coloured wasteland dotted with jagged peaks and ridges. A dead land, mirrored by the listless yellow sky, its wide expanse dotted with floating islands of rock. They hang in the sky like dark clouds, their undersides dripping with dust and a foul decay.

  The sight is both breath-taking and haunting.

  Anise tightens her grip on your hand. ‘This is it, the last stage of our journey.’

  You nod, keeping silent, the spinner’s words weighing heavy on your mind. A sacrifice will have to be made, boy. Only you will be able to choose, life or death.

  You turn to look upon Anise. So beautiful, despite the firm set of her features, skin as delicate and white as egg shells. ‘I won’t let any harm come to you, I promise.’

  Tears leak from the corners of her eyes. ‘I know.’

  You take Anise in your arms and hold her close. (Return to the Act 2 quest map to continue your journey.)

  524

  You soon discover the challenge of the slope is not the slipperiness of the ice, but the ridges and razor-backed rocks that protrude from its surface. Your sled bounces and swings across the hard ground, its runners threatening to break at any moment.

  You will need to take a challenge test using your stability attribute:

  Stability

  Bone breaker 12

  If you are successful, turn to 103. Otherwise, turn to 214.

  525

  Another set of stairs brings you to what you assume was once a barracks. The shattered remains of bunk beds occupy the left and right-hand walls, joining rusted weapons and shields that have spilled out of several toppled weapon racks.

  In the centre of the room is a square wooden table, which appears to have escaped the rest of the devastation. Seated at it are two ghosts, one a guard clad in rusted plate and chainmail, the other a tall hooded figure swathed in mottled black robes. Both of them seem intent on playing a game involving small runic stones. The guard looks to be losing, his ghostly-green expression one of fear and dismay as he studies the dice-sized stones in his hand. You enter the room warily, fearing that they may attack or sound an alarm – but both of the ghosts remain focused on their game, oblivious to their surroundings.

  Will you:

  Watch the game? 414

  Search the debris? 310

  Leave and continue? 188

  526

  You opt to go first, throwing yourself into a full-on sprint. Fire roars all around you, the glyphs sparking with magic as your boots strike the stone. To survive the ‘corridor of doom’ you must pass a number of speed challenges. Each challenge you successfully complete allows you to move to the next challenge on the list.

  If you fail a drake fire challenge, you must immediately take 12 damage, ignoring armour. You may then move onto the next challenge. If you fail a lightning challenge, you are knocked back to the previous challenge on the list, which you must pass again to proceed:

  Speed

  Drake fire 12

  Lightning rune 13

  Drake fire 12

  Lightning rune 13

  Drake fire 14

  Lightning rune 13

  If you still have health remaining after completing all the challenges then you have reached the end of the corridor. Turn to 637. If you lose all your health, you must count this as a defeat on your hero sheet. You may then try the challenge again, or opt to find an alternative route (turn to 672).

  527

  Lured by the thought of treasure, you slide down the slope into the sludgy slime. To your relief, you only sink up to your waist in the foul substance, but its acidic properties are slowly eating away at y
our clothing and flesh and corroding your weapons. (You must lose one attribute point from any two of your equipped items.)

  You press on into the pool, moving as quickly as the thick sludge will allow. With great effort, you manage to reach the first of the bobbing objects – all glowing with a faint green residue of magic. If you wish, you may take one of the following items:

  Nightspeed’s shoe Symbiotic scales Poisoned acorn (2 uses)

  (talisman) (chest) (backpack)

  +5 health

  Ability: haste, charm +1 speed +1 armour

  Ability: evade Use instead of rolling for

  a damage score to inflict

  venom on one opponent

  You must now decide if you will risk heading deeper into the pool to grab more items (turn to 736) or wade back to shore and leave the chamber (turn to 303).

  528

  The drakeling struggles to maintain its course, dipping lower into the rift.

  ‘Come on! Faster!’ You try and urge the creature to greater effort, but you sense the magic failing – slowly drawing itself back inside you, leaving the coldness of the grave to take hold of the creature once again.

  A sheer wall of rock veers to your left as the drakeling gives its last breath, then starts to plummet. To your surprise, the fall is short and abrupt, ending with the crunch of bones – thankfully, the drake-ling’s. You have crashed onto a narrow ledge, jutting out from the side of the rift. In the wall facing you are two openings. One looks like it was carved by design, with a cracked archway stretching across the entrance. The other looks like a fresh opening, little more than a jagged crevice, most likely caused by the recent quakes.

  You turn and look back across the mile of emptiness to the far side of the rift. A dust cloud hangs heavy in the air, obscuring what was once the keep. From the chunks of stone still spilling into the abyss, you doubt anything of the structure now remains. Even the bridge, which once spanned the gulf, is now crumbling and coming away from the rock, its shattered parts spinning end over end, oddly silent as they are swallowed by the bottomless void.