The Heart of Fire (44 page)

Aware that time is running out you quicken your pace, making for a set of double doors at the end of the passage. Throwing them open, you find yourself in an immense stone hall lined with
slender pillars. A red carpet cuts a wound through its centre, leading up to a high-backed chair. The child sits watching you, his pale fingers drumming against its arms.

‘This is over!’ you cry, reeling against a pillar as the ground lurches once again. ‘Where are the others?’

‘Right here,’ sneers the boy. He makes a small motion with his head. You follow his gesture to the side of the room, where his metal knight stands in eerie silence. Gripped in his
gauntleted hands is Joss, who is fighting to break free. She snarls and hisses like an angered cat, but her efforts seem in vain.

‘Jacob! Stop this, let me go!’ she screams.

The boy hops to his feet. ‘I told you to be quiet,’ he shouts, his voice shrill with irritation.

You shake your head in disbelief. ‘You . . . you are Jacob?’

The boy flashes you a dark look, filled with menace and loathing. ‘Jacob is old and weak. I am not Jacob! Not any more!’

‘Where is my husband, you monster?’ Joss kicks her heels against the metal giant in a renewed effort to get free. ‘You took him! You took him!’

The boy scowls. ‘Adam. You always did have eyes for him – but you never cared for me. Never loved
me
.’

‘What?’ The woman’s eyes go wide. ‘You were jealous? You did all this for some childish revenge?’

‘No.’ The boy raises a finger. ‘It was an experiment. And Adam volunteered for it. To see if it was possible to make the toys . . . better.’ He points towards the metal
knight, his lips twitching with excitement. ‘I made the greatest discovery. One that has confounded scholars since the dawn of our age. To take a soul – a human soul – and put it
into the body of another. To give true life – to be a god!’ He throws back his head, laughing triumphantly.

At that moment one of the walls explodes inwards, heat and flame washing into the chamber. They are accompanied by a ragged body, flying through the air. It lands in a roll, springing back to
its feet.

‘Anse!’

His clothes hang in scorched tatters from his inscribed flesh, their sigils glowing weaker than before. Breathing heavily, the paladin draws two knives from his belt, then turns to face the
collapsed wall. For a moment, you see only darkness – then a flaming head swings into view. It is the giant fire elemental. The furnace.

‘I suggest you run,’ snarls the paladin, starting towards the beast.

The elemental drags its body through the charred hole, flames rippling over its cracked skin. The paladin charges forward, dodging the monster’s blazing fists as he springs into the air,
punching his knives into the molten body.

Meanwhile, the boy is chanting a spell. A portal flickers open above his head – and a white ladder starts to descend. Quickly, he snatches hold of it, clambering up the rungs towards the
light. He pauses, sparing a brief glance at his metal warrior. ‘Maximus. Kill her! Kill your foolish wife!’ Then he disappears into the portal.

A scream draws your attention back to Joss. The metal warrior has flung her to the ground. She is sobbing, shaking her head. ‘Adam? Is it you?’

The warrior’s hands clench into fists. ‘I obey my master . . .’

‘No!’ Joss scrambles to her feet, but she doesn’t run. Instead, she stands there, trembling, tears streaming down her face. ‘Did Jacob do this to you? What did he do to
you, Adam?’

‘New life,’ booms the voice from within the metal helm. ‘Jacob gives life. And Maximus gives death.’

The iron golem grabs Joss around the waist, lifting her up into the air.

‘I still love you,’ she cries, making no effort to break free. ‘I will always love you, Adam.’

Another violent tremor rips across the floor, tearing out a deep trench. The gap quickly widens as its jagged edges crumble away, sucked down into a whirling vortex of darkness.

‘The shroud is taking us back . . .’ echoes the child’s voice. ‘We’re going back!’

290

While Vas blasts away at the flying boulders, you quickly clamber up the rock face. You barely have time to pull yourself onto the ledge before the ant-man is upon you –
a huge boulder raised above its head. It is time to fight:

Special abilities

If you manage to defeat the bombardier ant, turn to
273
.

291

The stairs bring you to a dark-panelled door. You knock and push it open, to find yourself in a large high-ceilinged room dominated by painted friezes along each wall. In the
centre of the room is a desk and chair, looking excessively small and austere next to the vivid painted scenes.

Seated at the desk is a man in red robes. A cap rests on his shaven scalp, edged with gold and silver. He is poring over a pile of parchments as you enter, shaking his head and muttering to
himself. It isn’t until the door clicks shut behind you that he flinches and looks up.

‘Ah yes, the traveller.’ His dark eyes scrutinise you intently. ‘The Wiccans believe you are a prophet. I see there may be some truth in their heretic notions.’ He taps a
finger at one of the papers on the desk. ‘You were at Durnhollow. A prisoner of the inquisition, no less.’

You stiffen, instinctively preparing yourself to run. But the man merely chuckles to himself. ‘You have nothing to fear from me. All I see before me is a tool. An instrument I can
use.’ He rises to his feet, his robes rustling about his broad body. ‘I am Dean Margo. And I would like you to tell me about the forest of thorns.’

You strain to keep your face neutral. ‘I don’t know . . .’

‘The visions,’ the dean replies bluntly. ‘I was able to retrieve these from Durnhollow – at great personal risk.’ You glance down at the papers, several of which
are scorched and tattered. ‘I wonder if Allam had such visions – demons, swords, mountains of fire.’

You back away to the door. ‘You have mistaken me for someone else. I do not . . .’

The dean raises a hand, silencing you. ‘Enough. Come, follow me. There is something I want to show you.’ Turn to
154
.

292

Somehow you are able to stay one step ahead of the beast’s attacks, dodging its flailing claws and whip-like tail. A lucky blow from your weapon forces the manticore back
against the canyon walls, where its wings catch on the jagged rocks. For a moment, it struggles to right itself – and a moment is all you need to drive your weapon home, ending the
beast’s life.

Exhausted, you step away from the manticore’s body, watching as its black lifeblood trickles into the pits and crevices of stone. You remove Anna’s vial from around your neck and
collect a sample of the blood. Benin does likewise, using a small gourd.

With your grisly task complete, you eye each other warily.

‘I’m sorry,’ says Benin at last. ‘To the One God, every life is sacred. I should not have chosen to judge you.’ He glances down at the corpse of the beast. ‘I
had hoped for a different outcome to this, but what is done is done.’

Searching the manticore’s cave, you find 10 gold crowns and the following items which you may take:

Together you leave Crow Rock and return to Carvel. It is midday when you finally reach Anna’s apothecary. You fear that it may already be too late to save her patient’s life. Record
the word
prevail
on your hero sheet. Then turn to
329
.

293

‘Oh, these!’ says Bea, grinning from ear to ear. ‘They’re inscriptions. I copied them down from the shrines of Saint Mary. She was one of Judah’s
disciples, the first pilgrim to spread the holy word across Valeron.’ She hands you one of the battered journals from the pile. Flicking through its yellowed pages, you see that most of them
are filled with a confusing mix of arcane glyphs, annotated scripture and hastily-scrawled maps. ‘Mary’s teachings provide the faithful with safe passage – for those pilgrims who
would follow in her footsteps and seek out the shrines.’ Bea lifts up her sword, revealing the inscriptions that are cut into the steel. ‘They have many uses. These are to provide
healing, whilst others . . .’ She touches a necklace of charms that hang around her neck. ‘These give me protection. Useful when walking the darker roads – as we pilgrims
must.’

294

You are knocked to the ground by one of the tigris’ powerful swipes. Before you can find your feet again the white tigris straddles you, his fists raised. Behind him you
hear the roars and snarls of his pack, urging him to finish the battle. But, once again, a single voice rings out, clear and commanding.