Read Online The Eye of Winter's Fury by Michael J. Ward - Free Book Online Page A

to light, and the shrieks of the damned. You hit the ground running, your short panicked breaths thundering loudly in your ears. All around you is swirling mist, edged with a shifting green radiance. Shapes waver in and out of focus, some distant, others near, but all indistinct through the foggy dreamscape.
    You know you have only moments to hide, to find some place that you can cower in until your body awakens from the nightmare. Sometimes it can feel like minutes, other times hours or even days. The ground underfoot is cold and hard – the blackened soil cracking beneath your feet. Ahead you see a formation of stone, perhaps a building. Its edges shimmer, like a reflection on water. You make for it, your strides lengthening with renewed hope. Shelter, safety . . .
    Above you, the clouds boil with fury. A vast seething mass of smoke and lightning. Black droplets of rain hiss down from the scoured sky, poisoned water steaming against the parched sand. It brings no life, only death – like the cold wind reeking of tombs and things turned bad.
    I have to wake . . . I have to wake up . . .
    You half-glimpse the black shape seconds before it slams into you, its chill touch like a blast of winter air. Then come the claws, sinking deep into your flesh, lancing through your very soul. There is no blood, no wound – instead they leave you with an angry pain like a thousand needles burning in your skull.
    ‘No!’ You roar in defiance, spinning over and flailing out with your fists. The shadow reels back, its ghostly features shifting into a mockery of a face. Claws reach for you again, but you are already back on your feet, running – suddenly aware of the cloak pulling against your shoulders, hide-boots crunching through the sand. It is the first timeyou have come into the dream with your clothes and possessions – or at least shadows of them that feel almost real.
    My weapon! Frantically you pull it free from your belt, taking small comfort in the knowledge that, for once, you can fight back.
    The stone formation looms out of the mist, a statue of some twisted monster, its many eyes staring sightlessly across the forsaken landscape. There is a narrow fracture at its base, wide enough to wriggle into and hide, but there is no time – the wraith trails after you, hissing and wailing through the dark rain.
    With no alternative, you turn to face your fear, raising your weapon to defend yourself. ‘You won’t take me, demon,’ you scream. ‘I’m done running from you!’
    It is time to fight:
Speed
Magic
Armour
Health
Nightmare
0
1
0
12
    If you manage to overcome this shadowy nemesis, turn to 84 .
    31
    Anise clings to the paladin, relying on him to half-guide and half-carry her through the swirling dust storm. Since leaving the mountain, neither companion has complained nor questioned the mission; both have set their will to the task, doing all that you ask of them. But with the water and food running low you can see Anise’s spirit diminishing by the day, her body growing weaker. The paladin seems unaffected by either fatigue or hunger; you assume it is his magic – the glowing script that has been carved into his skin must be somehow nourishing him, keeping him strong. You watch jealously as his strong arms support Anise. He almost looks the hero.
    Just like in the storybooks.
    ‘No!’
    You jerk round, to see Skoll standing atop the ridge. The burly warrior stumbles back from the buffeting gale, shielding his eyes as he stares ahead at something you cannot see.
    Keep it together. You force your numb limbs to action, stumbling andcrawling over the last of the rocky scree, the wind growing stronger the higher you climb. Turn to 228 .
    32
    Frustration leads to anger. You can feel Nanuk stirring within you, his impatience becoming your impatience, his desire to end the fight becoming your vented fury. Orrec dances and dodges around you, seemingly unencumbered by his heavy armour. His goading only makes it worse, a