The Heart of Fire (137 page)

Return to
590
to ask another question, or turn to
766
to continue your journey.

883

Your weapons shatter the golem’s crystals, causing it to stagger drunkenly. Seizing his chance Virgil darts behind it, his blades crossing in a bright blur. A moment
later and the golem’s head hangs loose from its shoulders, bouncing up and down on a half-mangled spring. There is a dull clang from somewhere inside the rusted body, then the monster grinds
to a halt, hissing jets of steam.

The witchfinder sheathes his blades, offering you a lazy half-smile. ‘Battling tin pots. There’s one for the ballads.’

You may now help yourself to one of the following rewards:

You notice that the golem’s belly is fashioned from two plates of hinged metal, with a large keyhole at its centre. If you have a
black iron key
or are a thief, turn to
843
. Otherwise, the panels remain locked and you are unable to prise them open. Turn to
870
.

884

You exit the building via the heavy stone doors. Outside you find yourselves at the top of a colonnaded platform, with wide stairs leading down to a courtyard. Several deep
craters have been ripped into the ground, branched with fissures. Rubble and ash litter the space.

If you have the keyword
escort
on your hero sheet, turn to
828
. Otherwise, turn to
872
.

885

A sharp hiss draws your attention to the nearest pew, where the black snake is watching you from a crack in the stone. You crouch next to it, coaxing the serpent out of its den
with the magic of Kaala’s scale. If you wish, you may now take:

Once you have made your decision, you leave the chamber and resume your journey. Turn to
731
.

886

The moment your hand touches the rune, black lightning arcs across the face of the door, sending you reeling backwards in pain. Clearly, you have chosen the incorrect rune, and
have triggered some hidden trap woven into the magic of the door.

You have been inflicted with the following curse:

Curse of weakness (pa)
: You must lower your
brawn
and
magic
by 5 until you next roll a double in combat.

Return to
871
to choose another rune.

887

You drive your weapons into the demon’s chest, watching as its immense form unravels into ribbons of black smoke. They dissipate on the air, leaving the hammer and the
anvil to slam back to the ground, sending a cloud of dust billowing across the forge.

Virgil waves a hand in front of his face, choking and coughing through the smoke. ‘Looks like that’s the end of it.’ He walks over to the anvil, moving his hand over its runed
face. ‘And no harm done.’ He turns and glances towards the cauldron. It now rests silently atop the glowing hearth, contents steaming. ‘The forge is ours, my friend.’

You are only half-listening, your attention having wandered to the charred skeleton lying spread-eagled next to the bellows. Its bones are black as coal, its clothing nothing more than tattered
scraps of twisted metal. The proportions seem more human than dwarf.

‘As I suspected,’ says Virgil, frowning down at the corpse. ‘An elf. Guess he thought he could master the forge – and got a nasty surprise. If you can’t handle the
heat . . .’ He kneels beside the burnt remains, pulling the clothing apart to reveal a metal container clutched in the skeleton’s hands. He prises it loose, turning it around to examine
it in the flickering firelight. The container is shaped like a pyramid, with an odd array of dials and wheels imbedded on the underside. ‘An elven lock.’ He tosses it to you, wiping his
hands on his coat. ‘See if you can get it open – might be something useful inside.’

If you have the words
fire quencher
and
wind breaker
on your hero sheet, you will have an associated number for each. Total these numbers and turn to the corresponding entry number
to unlock the container. If you do not have those two keywords, then your attempts to open the container prove unsuccessful. Turn to
755
.

888

You break through the demon’s manacles, releasing the charred cadaver. It slumps to the ground, hoarse breath rattling from its seared lungs. ‘The suffering,’
it rasps. ‘End the suffering . . .’

You gladly oblige, watching as the demon’s blackened skin starts to burn, consumed by a bright white fire. From the ashes, a wisp of smoke rises up into the steaming mist.
Peace
,
whispers a voice.
I find peace.

The wheel continues to rattle across the island, but is gradually losing speed – as if its own black spirit has now been exorcised. Reaching the edge of the rock, it finally grinds to a
halt, cutting a grim silhouette against the gleaming red magma.

If you are a warrior, turn to
823
. If you are a rogue, turn to
812
. If you are a mage turn to
592
.

889

The stairs bring you to a wide corridor. One of its walls has been completely blown away, revealing an open vista of crumbling rooftops. At the end of the corridor are a set of
arched bronze doors – and hurrying towards them is a black-clothed figure. A pack and coil of rope bounce against their back.

The figure hesitates, head half-cocked – then they twist around, sending a dagger spinning through the air. Thankfully your sixth sense gives you ample warning, allowing you to dodge out
of its path – leaving the blade to clatter harmlessly against the rock behind you.

With a snarl, you throw yourself into a full-on charge – looking to close the distance between you as quickly as possible. The thief looses another dagger, which you agilely avoid, your
speed drawing a gasp from your would-be assassin.

Then you bowl into him, taking you both crashing down onto the ground. As you kick and struggle his hood falls back, revealing his identity.

‘Quito!’ There is no mistaking the short, shifty-eyed traveller who shared your journey aboard the
Angel’s Bounty
.

Your surprise disarms you, giving the thief the opening he needs. Quito punches you in the ribs, sliding his knees beneath your chest and flipping you away. As you scrabble back to your feet, he
moves in, ready to deliver another blow – a poisoned dagger flicking into each of his hands.

Suddenly, a piercing screech rends the air. You both turn to face the ravaged opening, sensing something large approaching, clawing its way up the outside of the building. Turn to
827
.

890

Your magic blasts chunks from the demon’s body, your weapons cutting crimson bands through its saggy flesh. Each blow forces the unconscious mage to jerk and twist in
pain, his body still pinned to the stone. The demon is powerful, but no match for your strength. When it finally collapses into a mound of flesh and bone, you hear a horrifying peel of agony ring
out across the chamber.

‘No! No!’ Avian has been released from his invisible restraints. He now lies at the foot of the obelisk, scrabbling like a blind man. ‘My magic . . . I’ve lost my
magic.’

You hurry to his side, offering out a hand to help support him. But the mage bats you away, hissing like some rabid animal. When he finally lowers his arms, you catch sight of his face . . . and
draw back in dismay.

It is as if he has aged a hundred years.

His skin is now grey and wrinkled, stretched taut over crests of bone. Where once there was a shock of white hair, now there is only a bare pate, peppered with liver spots.

‘No . . .’ Avian looks down at his hands. They are trembling uncontrollably, withered with age. He draws in a long wheezy breath, then starts sobbing. ‘My magic . . . my magic
. . .’

You rise to your feet, your eyes wandering back to the remains of the flesh golem. Both of your companions have now fallen to this cursed city. You are the only one left who can stop Cernos.
Perhaps it was always meant to be this way – a demon against a demon.

If you are a warrior, turn to
791
. If you are a rogue, turn to
608
. If you are a mage, turn to
728
.

891

‘Magic isn’t always a docile force that we can bend to our will. Here . . .’ Avian points to an island of black rock, bobbing on the surface of the magma
lake. You can see some kind of fleshy growth spread out across the super-heated stone. Parts of its body are rising and falling gently with shallow breaths. ‘When high levels of magic are
discharged in a single place, sometimes they linger – and take on a life of their own.’

You grimace as you spot a bloodshot eye, peering back at you from between the rubbery folds of skin. ‘Are they dangerous?’ you ask, glancing at the mage.

Avian looks sideways at you, his fingers flexing around his staff. ‘Oh yes. More dangerous than you could possibly imagine.’

Return to
590
to ask another question, or turn to
766
to continue your journey.

892

You have come too far to give up now. Snatching the hilt, you feel its cruel barbs slice deep into your hand. The pommel glistens bright with blood as you swing the mighty rune
sword in a vicious swathe. For an instant the air is lit by a bright red light. You hear Cernos scream. Then the weight pinning you down is gone.

You rise, feeling power flooding through your body. It is like molten fire, racing along each and every vein, filling you with the heat of a fierce sun. Your skin cracks around your expanding
muscles, exposing vivid lines of crimson. Boots split open to reveal cloven hooves while a ridged tail snaps around your thigh, narrowing to a dagger-like edge.

Cernos is on his knees, looking so small and insignificant beneath your magnificent shadow. He clutches his chest, blood pouring over his fingers. He looks up at you fearfully. Begging.
Pitiful.

The sword moves of its own volition, dragging your arm with it. The blade slides into the demon, eliciting a hellish scream. The runes flare bright, greedily drinking in the last of the
demon’s power – his life essence. As his body starts to unravel, becoming black smoke, you place a foot to his shoulder and push, retracting the sword and sending Cernos over the edge
of the balcony.

There is the briefest echo of a scream, then silence.

When you finally hear the deep laughter, resonating around the chamber, it takes a moment to realise that it is coming from your own lips. The sword tugs at your arm again, its hilt vibrating in
your hand. It senses danger.

You spin around, to see a ragged, tattered shape stumbling towards you. It is drenched in blood and gore, cradling an arm against its chest.

‘Virgil . . .?’

He scowls. ‘You robbed Avian of his magic . . . you have undone everything. I should have killed you. Killed you when I had the chance!’ He summons magic to the palm of his one
remaining hand. ‘I judge you, demon . . . and I find you guilty!’

The sword’s rage burns within you, flowing like a furious river. It is already driving you forward, your hooved feet punching holes into the stone. You are lost to its will – unable
to stop yourself. It is time fight: