The Heart of Fire (113 page)

There are many steps on the path of darkness. I pray you find deliverance before its end.

Angrily, you push Virgil’s warning from you mind. Cernos is the key to your freedom, and you don’t intend on letting him escape. Turn to
872
.

731

You clamber over the charred rubble to find yourself in a vast windowless hall. Wherever your eye falls there are bones, blackened and scorched. It would appear that a great
battle was fought here – a terrible conflict where many lives were lost. You tread through the grisly wasteland, trying to piece together what happened. Black scars rake the walls and floor,
as if some fire or heat was passed over them. Across the ceiling you notice similar trails and the occasional impact crater, where something must have been hurled against the stone with great
strength.

Thousands of bones.

In some places they form steep mounds, pitched against the walls in waves of tangled death. You cannot guess at how many bodies – how many lives. What were they defending? What was so
important that they would sacrifice themselves in this way? You pass through the hall, arriving at a set of stairs. Again, great chunks have been taken out of the walls, and the ceiling has been
blown open, exposing a jagged window of daylight. You ascend the stairs, finding yourself in another rubble-filled passage. You pick your way carefully over the loose rock, noticing more skeletons
trapped amongst the debris.

Finally you come to a grand hall, its architecture different to that you have seen before. The stone is obsidian, melted and then moulded like clay to form sweeping lines and curves. There are
no edges, no carvings, simply smooth rock rising up into a forest of curling branches. It has the feeling of something alive . . . and very old.

At the far end of this immense chamber is a throne. Its winged back has been smashed in two, leaving a jagged row of prongs, like some macabre crown. And seated on it, glaring at you with both
amusement and contempt, is Cernos. Turn to
771
.

732

Congratulations, for defeating Ixion while
hexed
you have won the following rare item:

Once you have updated your hero sheet, return to the quest
map
to continue your journey.

733

You follow the sentient magic into a small, domed building. It looks to have once been a storeroom; it is now filled with broken pottery and half-rotted baskets.

A grey-haired monkey squats on the ground, trying to pull something loose from a mound of rubble. The monkey is so intent on its discovery, it doesn’t notice the dark tendrils of magic
winding closer and closer . . .

Before you can act, the magic snaps forward, driving itself inside the monkey’s brain. The creature gives a surprised cry, then bolts out of the building, sending stones skittering in its
wake.

You contemplate giving chase, but then you notice the object that the monkey had been trying to free. It is a thin disc of pure gold, its surface polished like a mirror. You may now take the
following item:

Finding little else of interest in the building, you decide to leave. Turn to
764
.

734

You get the sudden feeling that you are being watched. Looking around you see a young woman standing at the lip of the crater, her skin mottled with patches of green and brown.
In one hand she holds a gnarled staff, in the other a lantern glowing with a bluish light. There is an uneasy silence as her almond-shaped eyes regard you thoughtfully. Then she gestures for you to
approach.

‘You have done what I could not,’ she states, bowing her head in reverence. ‘Long has this place suffered. This was my charge and . . .’ She looks past you, to the
slime-coated remains of the cursed tree. ‘I was too weak in my desire to end a life.’

‘Who are you?’ you ask, frowning. ‘Do you live here?’

The woman gives a sad smile. ‘I am a dryad. A protector of the land. You have done me a great service. And for that, I must give my thanks. Follow me.’

The dryad does not wait for your reply. Turning, she starts off across the mire, her glowing lantern lighting the way. You follow her lead, noticing that the woman’s bare feet leave no
mark or depression in the thick mud. Sadly, the same cannot be said for yourself as you squelch and stagger through the grasping murk.

Eventually you come to the hollow bole of a great tree. Its bark is as black and blighted as the rest of the forest that surrounds it. Inside the bole is a pedestal of stone, and resting on it
is a wooden bowl.

‘This is a powerful elixir,’ states the dryad, walking around the pedestal. ‘Sap from the elder tree, before it was tainted. It would be the elder’s wish that you receive
this gift, so a similar fate does not befall you also.’

As you lean closer you see that the bowl contains an amber liquid, sparkling with magic. Reaching into your pack, you take out your empty water bottle and sink it into the tree sap, filling it
with the strange potion. You have now gained:

If you are
hexed
, turn to
746
. Otherwise, turn to
804
.

735

As the marsh fog thickens, you feel an increasing sense that you are travelling through some peculiar dreamscape. Everything becomes slow and sluggish, from your own movements
as you drag your feet through the mud to those of your companions slinking ahead, their ears pricked as they glance from side to side. You can sense their nervousness. Neither wanted to come
here.

You struggle to stay focused, your limbs feeling weak and lethargic. Several times you stumble and fall into the cold, brackish waters – each time, taking a little longer to drag yourself
back to your feet. Eventually, you find yourself crawling – head bowed – shivering from the wet and the cold. You cannot tell how long you have travelled or how far, but when your hands
scrabble over stone, you finally look up.

Before you is a ruined building. It might have been a temple once, a grand structure surrounded by columns and decorative arches. Now it is part of the marsh, crumbling and old – most of
its walls dragged down by reed-like vines. A vulture peers at you from one of the broken statues, its collar of white fur standing stark against its black feathers. An ill omen, perhaps.

You manage to stand, swaying with nausea, the grey-stone of the ruin swimming in and out of focus. There is no sign of the others. You sag against a wall, gasping for breath . . . then your
strength gives out and you fall . . .

‘Get up!’ a voice hisses in your ear.

In the distance you hear a thunderous boom and the clatter of falling rock. You open your eyes to see Virgil standing over you. The cell door is twisted off its hinges, black roots breaking up
out of the cracked stone floor.

‘Where . . . am I?’ you croak, feeling yourself being lifted up.

The witchfinder’s face swings into view. ‘I told you I was coming back. We’re getting out of here.’

You notice three deep gashes cutting across the man’s cheek, coating his neck and the collars of his coat in blood. ‘This is not what happened . . .’ you gasp, looking around
at the Durnhollow cell.

‘Because this is
real
,’ growls the witchfinder, slapping your face with a gloved hand. ‘You are drugged on Elysium. What you have experienced – what you have seen
– it isn’t real.’

You push him away, backing up against the wall. ‘No, you’re lying.’ From the passageway you can hear sounds of battle – steel clamouring against steel, and fizzling
cracks of magic. ‘This is not what happened!’ You grip your head, struggling to remember, to reorder your thoughts. ‘I was in the marsh. Lost in the marsh . . .’

Virgil draws a curved blade from his belt. It flickers with a yellow, sickly light. ‘I can’t leave you here, prophet. Come with me or you die in this cell.’

Will you:

736

Despite your best efforts, you are unable to keep up with the nimble-footed rogue. The distance continues to widen, the imp’s ceaseless laughter only adding to your
frustration. Eventually you slow to a halt, forced to admit defeat. After spitting several angry curses at the thief ’s departing back, you rejoin Virgil in the reading room. Turn to
788
.

737

A lucky blow sends the staff-spinning away across the stone tiles. As the monkey starts to shrink back to his normal size you deliver a firm kick to his chest, sending him
flying over the edge of the platform. His shriek of rage only lasts for a short time before a loud crunch puts paid to the king’s rule.

Congratulations! You have battled your way to the top of the temple and emerged victorious. You may now choose one of the following special rewards:

You also discover a small chest behind the throne, containing 200 gold crowns. As you prepare to leave you spot an unusual device to the south of the platform: a circular pedestal, with two
golden hands set into its top stone. They are slightly cupped, facing inwards, as if they should be holding something. If you have the
golden mirror
, turn to
848
. Otherwise, turn to
587
.

738

The dwarf is sent tumbling over the platform’s edge, his ghostly form exploding into sparks of light. Quickly you follow Virgil onto the adjoining pathway, only seconds
before the wind demon rushes up and smashes through the green stone. You are both forced into a full-on sprint as the path shatters behind you – the cold fingers of darkness grasping at your
heels.

At the top of the Abussos is an archway, leading through into another cavern. You believe you can make it . . . but then your hope sinks when you see the path ahead breaking up, the green stone
tumbling away into the abyss. You are fast approaching its jagged edge, with an empty space of over seven metres stretching before you.

Virgil starts to slow. ‘It’s too far!’ he cries desperately.

You realise that you are trapped – between an impossible jump and the pursuing demon. ‘Keep going!’ you cry, shoving Virgil forward. ‘We’re going to make
it!’

The pain in your back suddenly flares with intensity, driving hot knives of agony into your spine. All around you the walls shake with the force of the wind, eldritch screams pounding in your
ears. As the wailing noise grows ever louder, the pain in your back reaches its own crescendo, white spots bursting before your eyes. You feel yourself lurching forward, flailing, falling . . .
There is a savage ripping sound as your back explodes in a bloody miasma of bone and sinew.

Virgil reaches the edge of the ledge and hurls himself into the void. He makes half the distance before he starts to plummet, legs kicking furiously. You spring into the air, hearing the crack
of your wings as they unfurl for the first time.

For several seconds you are buffeted against the wall, scales scraping on the glowing rock. Then you push off from the stone, stretching out to grab the collar of Virgil’s coat. The
witchfinder gives a strangled gasp as he is snatched from his fall.

You are flying.

The movement is instinctive, like breathing. You fear to hesitate, to wonder how you are doing it, in case you break your concentration and fall. Instead, you focus on the archway and your bid
for freedom. The wind demon howls and snaps at your heels, so close that its graven touch is frosting the stonework around you.

Then you are through the arch, gliding over a sprawling cavern filled with dark buildings. A cold, leaden light falls in columns from the cracked ceiling, illuminating paved roads and bridges,
and columned towers, their ridged walls flowing into each other like melted candlewax.