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The sun is strong in the cloudless sky and it quickly dries your sodden clothes and warms your aching limbs as you stand surveying your new surroundings. A stony trail leads into a forest of mist-enshrouded trees and, despite the heat of the sun, you feel a sudden chill of premonition. Instinctively you know that this is the Isle of Ghosts Prince Graygor spoke of so fearfully.

With caution guiding your every step you follow the trail, treading carefully through saw-briar that tears mercilessly at your boots and breeches, until you are forced to stop at the edge of a narrow chasm that bisects the trail. A tangle of yellowed bones lies at the bottom and a damp, unwholesome smell rises from a number of tiny caves that riddle the sheer walls.

If you wish to attempt to jump across the narrow chasm, turn to 123.

If you wish to look for a way around it, turn to 62.

Text copyright © 1987 Joe Dever.
Illustrations copyright © 1987 Brian Williams.