The Heart of Fire (136 page)

In this combat you roll against Tourmalus’ speed. If you win a combat round, you can choose to apply your damage to one of the golem’s crystal clusters. When a
cluster is reduced to zero
health
, its ability no longer applies. You must destroy all three clusters to defeat the golem.

If you manage to overcome this ancient guardian, turn to
893
.

875

You enter a vaulted hall of smooth black stone. The walls have been draped with faded banners, each one carrying a different symbol – a flame, a mountain, an axe, a
hammer. You wonder if they refer to gods or spirits, or perhaps different factions that once existed within the city. A row of stone pews form a silent procession down the centre of the hall, their
way illuminated by the iron braziers suspended from the ceiling.

The entire left-side of the chamber has caved in, leaving nothing but rubble. To the right, in the direction the pews are facing, there is a chimney shaft descending from the ceiling. At its
base the shaft opens out into an octagonal font of glowing black coals, surrounded by magical runes. The only visible exit is a set of stairs either side of the chimney, leading up to a railed
balcony.

You move to inspect the font, noticing that there is a black metal dish resting on the coals. Above it, carved into the chimney shaft, is an image of a phoenix, rising up out of a wall of
flame.

If you have the
bronze urn
and wish to sprinkle the ashes onto the plate, turn to
784
. Otherwise, you decide to head up the stairs, turn to
775
.

876

Congratulations! You have created the following item:

If you wish to create a different spell book, you can start the process again (turn to
850
). Otherwise, you may now leave the chamber and continue your journey. Turn
to
866
.

877

With Avian’s grief still resounding in your ears you hurry from the chamber, following a set of stairs to a balcony of black stone. You realise that this must be the
highest point of the city. Above you, the sky is blossoming into morning. Bright rays of sun rake through the thinning clouds, promising another day of stifling heat. Below, through the coiling
mist, you glimpse the magma lake – its bright surface stirred with sluggish waves, as if awakening from a deep slumber.

At the edge of the balcony, where the rock curls inward like a grasping claw, a skeleton of a demon lies sprawled in the dust. Its fingers still grasp a black-bladed sword, which has been thrust
straight through its ribcage.

Ragnarok.

Its size almost dwarfs the skeleton – rising a head taller than a man, its hilt a macabre fusion of bone, iron and crimson thorns. Cernos stands next to it, a broken creature – a
shadow of his former strength. The enchanted stone known as the heart of fire is still gripped in his scorched hand. Smoke rises from what remains of his scaled flesh. Any ordinary mortal would
have been incinerated by such power, but Cernos is a demon – like yourself. He shares the same healing blood, a gift that has allowed him to bear the burden of the heart.

He places the stone into a circular groove, where the guard of the sword meets the cold black of the blade. The moment it clicks into place the sword shudders, scraping against its bone
prison.

‘Yes . . . yes.’ Cernos moves behind it, his hands clenching, anticipating his prize.

‘Cernos!’ Your voice rings out, shrill and harsh. You march forward, shoulders bunched, your immense wings flaring out from your back. In each clawed fist your armaments dazzle with
magic, their light catching the raised edges of your dark scales. You see it in Cernos’ face, when he looks upon you with his one crimson eye. You see it written there in his scowl, in his
fear.

You have become him. A mirror image. Horns curve from your skull, sweeping around to frame your reptilian face. Eyes that once shone diamond blue now burn with scarlet fires. You are Cernos as
he once was. And you look upon him with contempt.

‘You are too late!’ Cernos raises the palm of his scorched hand, dragging a claw through the ravaged flesh. ‘Ragnarok will be freed . . . it is mine!’ He places his palm
to the hilt, letting the blood seep over the thorns and iron. ‘By my blood, Barahar’s blood, I free you!’

Red light surges to the tip of the blade, igniting each of its malign runes. ‘Yes! Yes! Ragnarok awakens!’ Cernos wrenches the hilt towards him. Bones crack as the sword comes free .
. .

Then you slam into his chest, your wings carrying you forward. The sword flies from his hand as you both go tumbling over and over, towards the edge of the balcony. You come out on top, your
weapons whipping down – but Cernos catches them in his hands, hissing in pain as they cut deep, spraying blood. Then he twists them from your grasp, his spiked elbow taking you across the
throat.

You roll again, clawing and raking each other, snarling and hissing like pit dogs. The ground has started to tremble – you can hear rocks breaking loose. From the lake below you can hear
the bubbling lava gushing up in columns of fiery spray.

Cernos reaches out for the sword. Its angular runes blaze with anger.

Take me, weakling. Take me . . . .

Its voice whispers in your ear. Getting louder, more insistent.

You grab the demon’s wrist, yanking it away from the hilt. With an angry snarl he lunges forward, his fanged teeth sinking into your shoulder. You feel dizzy . . . from the pain . . . and
a sudden sickening nausea. The blade. Its evil taints the very air. You can feel its runes, its words, crawling beneath your skin.

Take me. Take revenge
. . .

For an instant, you see yourself wielding the blade. You are back in Durnhollow, marching through its dark halls, the warriors of the inquisition falling at your feet. You are unstoppable. A
force of fury. Nothing can stop you – nothing can hold you back.
Yes. Freedom. Take me. Take revenge
.

Another blow staggers you. Cernos twists his body, pushing you onto your back. Now on top, the demon raises his arms, dark fire blossoming around his fists. Desperately you flail for something,
anything . . . then your hand settles around a cold hilt, its barbs slicing into your palm. In horror, you realise it is Ragnarok. It is lying right next to you.

Take me!

You draw your hand away instinctively. The blade is cursed. A dark thing from the underworld, carried to the surface by a Skard hero who dreamt of power. A dark thing that carries a Skard name,
given to it by the very people it was meant to save. Ragnarok. The destroyer of worlds.

Cernos’ first blow drags a scream from your broken lips. His second almost knocks you into unconsciousness. ‘Fool!’ he screams, lifting his fists once again. ‘The sword
is mine! MINE!’ Unable to summon the strength to defend yourself, you realise that you are defeated . . . Cernos has won. Your eyes are already starting to close as you twist to look upon the
blade one more time.

878

Congratulations, for defeating Erkil 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.

879

Virgil retracts his blade grudgingly. ‘Then you’re responsible for this one. I’ll have no part of it.’

You watch as the spirit struggles to rise, tendrils of smoke curling about its body. ‘Any hint that this is a trick and . . .’ You nod to Virgil’s blades, making your
indication clear.

The spirit nods quickly. ‘Yes, yes. You lead the way and Aether follows. Keep out of the way, yes?’

Aether has now joined your party. Make a note of the keyword
escort
on your hero sheet. The following rules apply:

Escort
: Aether has 40
health
. Make a note of this on your hero sheet. You must protect the spirit until you reach the rune gate. In future combats, each time you
lose a round and take
health
damage, roll a die. On a
result, the spirit has also been injured and must lose 10
health
.
Once the spirit has been reduced to zero
health
, it has been destroyed. You must then remove the keyword escort from your hero sheet. A result of
or more and Aether has avoided injury. (
NOTE
: Aether counts as an ally. Therefore you may use abilities, such as
heal, regrowth
and
greater
heal
, to restore Aether’s lost
health
during combat.) The spirit cannot heal between combats.

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
875
.

880

Your weapons and magic smash through the spectres’ shield, hurling the dwarf against the stone shelves. He clutches at his wounds, black slime oozing between his rotted
fingers.

‘You betray me . . .’ spits the dwarf. ‘Let Barahar take you and be damned!’

He dives past you, looking to grab one of the potion bottles from the table. But you are faster – your weapons swinging around to catch him mid-step. The dwarf gives a shriek, then his
body explodes in a black shower of ash and slime. All around you the ghostly spectres flicker like candle-flames, then fade to wisps of smoke.

‘A death long overdue . . .’ Virgil picks a string of gloop from his coat, flicking his fingers in an attempt to get rid of it. ‘Told you it’d be messy.’

You walk over to the bottles, intrigued to discover what the dwarf was after. You may now take one of the following items:

If you have the key word
clean up
on your hero sheet, turn to
752
. Otherwise, turn to
847
.

881

Unable to reach the ledge, you are forced to find an alternative route back into the dwarven city. This quest is now over. (Return to the
map
to continue your journey.)

882

‘The archdemon.’ Avian gives a disgruntled sigh. ‘I wish more records of that time had survived. Alas, the Skards have never been renowned for their love of
words.’

Virgil gives an accompanying snort of agreement.

‘From what I could glean, Barahar was once a Skard hero from one of the western tribes. During the Great Cataclysm, when Skardland was torn asunder, he ventured into the underworld,
looking for a means to end the incursions.’

‘Incursions?’ Your knowledge of Skardland history is scanty at best – mostly snatched from rowdy tavern songs, poking fun at the Skards’ bloodthirsty customs and
short-tempered nature.

‘Caused by the cataclysm.’ Avian clicks his tongue, looking irritated at being interrupted. ‘It allowed the creatures of the underworld – goblins, trolls, giants –
to break out onto the surface. Much of Skardland was destroyed; even today it is little more than a barren, frozen wasteland.’ He pauses, studying the scrawled writing carved at his feet
– you wait patiently for him to continue. ‘Barahar did not return with the means to free his people. He returned a demon – one of the greatest and most powerful the realms have
ever known.’ His eyes stray to your glittering black scales. ‘Perhaps he believed power would be his salvation. Alas, he merely became the slave to a much darker evil – the
demonblade, Ragnarok.’