The Heart of Fire (6 page)

‘Someone who can train me?’ you ask hopefully.

‘Ignatius Pyre. He is the tutor over in the mage tower. Take this and show it to his assistant.’ He reaches into a pocket and produces a small iron badge. A symbol of a bat stands
out in high relief on the surface. ‘That is my personal seal. It will grant you an audience with the high mage – and he’ll give you all the training that you need.’

You take the seal, thanking Lazlo for his kind assistance. (Make a note of the
prince’s seal
on your hero sheet – it does not take up backpack space. Then turn to
182
.)

4

You find yourself in a small rectangular chamber lined with shelves. Most are buckling under the weight of the many books and scroll cases that have been haphazardly piled on
top of them. At the centre of the room stands a circular table, covered by a large sheet of parchment. A magical quill is moving diligently back and forth across the paper, scratching lines of
script in a glistening black ink. The only other exit you can see is another door in the far wall, this time made of rusted iron.

5

The woman throws back her head and laughs. ‘What local rumours would you like? That there’s a caped vigilante, a vampire they say, preying on criminals and drinking
their blood?’ She sucks at the air, then puckers up her lips and blows you a kiss. ‘Or that the prince in his merry ol’ castle is hoping to woo every woman in Carvel?’

Her last comment draws a roar of laughter from the nearby patrons. The man next to you gives a snort. ‘It’s the Wiccans you need to watch. They’re the ones what’re
causing all the trouble.’

The laughter trails off into angry mutterings.

You turn your head, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know of the Wiccans?’

The man wipes the ale from his mouth. ‘I know what everyone knows. This was their land, once. Then Allam and his army came and took it from them. They worship the old gods, the old magic,
see. Allam didn’t like that. They’re still fighting for their lands now – but the church is having none of it.’

‘Humph, what happens outside Carvel can stay outside Carvel,’ sniffs the bar woman, tugging a cloth from her apron. ‘Men and their quarrels. I’d like to knock some sense
into all of ’em.’ She rubs the cloth vigorously over the bar. ‘Saints, Wiccans, they all as bad as each other.’

Return to
52
to ask the bar woman another question.

6

Your metal soldier charges into the paper monster, slashing it to shreds with diamond-sharp fists. Congratulations, you have chosen well and defeated papyrus. (Remove the
metal soldier
from your hero sheet.) Then turn to
208
.

7

You duck beneath a crackling bolt of magic, bringing the butt of your weapon up across the woman’s forehead. The blow should have stunned her, but instead she merely
staggers away, hissing the words of yet another spell. As you ready yourself for a fresh barrage of magic, you are surprised when the woman throws up her arms, her gaze shifting skyward. There is a
flicker of magic about her body and then she is gone.

You hear a flutter of wings and a deafening caw. Suddenly black feathers and yellow eyes rush at your face. With a cry you throw yourself backwards, slashing at the air. However, your desperate
blows fail to connect with anything solid. For several moments you are fending off sharp talons and beating wings . . . then the attack ceases.

Twisting around, you see a ragged-looking crow soaring away across the foggy moorland. A single black feather flutters down to land on the grass at your feet. You may now take the following
item:

With the witch defeated, you are able to study the candles and runes more closely. Turn to
191
.

8

The bustling gates of the town are clogged with carts and wagons. Two sombre-looking guards are doing their best to perform rudimentary inspections, poking through the
newcomers’ belongings and questioning their purpose in town. However, the tight-packed throng of animals and people make it easy for you to slip past the guards and into the town of
Carvel.

Beyond the walls you are greeted by a ramshackle jumble of slate roofs and grey stone buildings, spread out around an immense outcropping of rock. A crooked lane winds back and forth along its
face, leading up to a further huddle of buildings at its summit, their black outlines cutting a jagged silhouette against the storm-heavy sky.

All around you the cobbled lanes ring with noise, echoing back from the narrow streets and alleyways. Most of the people are pilgrims, but you also notice military-types – mercenaries and
adventurers – bristling with weapons and armour. An occasional inquisitor pushes through the crowds, moving quickly on some urgent errand. You keep your head bowed, looking to blend in as
best you can.

9

‘Why not take a look?’ Lazlo gestures to the shuttered window. Following his instruction, you slide off the bed and make your way across the room. ‘I hope the
view is to your liking.’

A cold wind ruffles your hair as you push open the shutters and lean out over the sill. For a moment your breath catches, a sickening wave of vertigo almost forcing you to lose balance. Gripping
the sill, you steady yourself to take in the sight.

Carvel stretches below you like a tiny crescent of doll’s houses, slate roofs sparkling with freshly-fallen snow. Across from you, the spires and domes of the church rise up from the stone
plaza – an impressive building at ground level, but from this towering vantage point its beauty is easily surpassed by the sweeping vista of plains and mountains that stretch to the
horizon.

‘The castle,’ you gasp.

You lean further over the windowsill to see the sheer black stone of the building dropping away to meet a distant courtyard below. You draw back, feeling giddy from the height. ‘How did I
get here?’

Lazlo joins you by the window, his eyes following a circling eagle. ‘I have a secret entrance to this place, at the foot of the rock. Most of it, you’ll find, is old dwarf tunnels
and caves. Easy once you know your way . . .’ He gives an involuntary shudder. ‘And you can handle the bats. I hate bats.’

10

Nervously, you grip your weapons and approach the child. Although you fear the worst, there is always a chance that this child might have survived the strange blight that has
affected the rest of the village. Your foot knocks into one of the wooden toys, sending it scraping and clattering across the floor.

The child’s back straightens. For a moment, there is a heavy unsettling silence. You stand frozen, not even daring to breathe. Then the child spins around, hissing and snarling – its
face drawing a shocked gasp from you. It is no human child – it is a goblin! The creature staggers towards you, wrinkled fingers raised, displaying sharpened claws. From its blank expression
and shambling gait, it is clear that this creature is now a zombie like the others. You must fight:

If you manage to defeat this gruesome creature, turn to
20
.

11

All of a sudden, you find yourself being tugged backwards off your feet, shoulders brushing past roots and earth. You land roughly on your back, aware that you have fallen
inside an earthen passageway. As you look back towards the snarling wolf, you see the opening that deposited you here is starting to close. The wolf races forward, snarling and growling with anger.
But its shoulders are too wide to break through the rapidly closing gap. Within moments you find yourself looking upon a wall of gnarly roots and dark soil – the opening nowhere to be
seen.

Your first reaction is relief at having escaped the dire wolf. Then a cold dread settles over you, as you contemplate your new predicament.

You see that you are in a shadowy passageway. The air is moist and hot, reeking of mould and decay. A few metres ahead of you a torch rests in a sconce on the wall, spluttering blue-white flames
that spark and hiss in the silence.

With no alternative you set off down the passageway, your ragged breathing echoing back from the damp walls. After several minutes, you find yourself stepping out into a wide circular chamber.
Torches are interspersed along the rough-hewn walls, filling the space with dancing shadows.

Then you hear a noise. It starts out as a soft rustling, quickly growing louder into a slithering hiss. You spin around, looking for the source of the noise, but all you see are the shadows
– bending, curling, winding about you.

Then a voice whispers in your ear. The words seem guttural, barely human. ‘You do not know the Wiccan. You do not know our ways.’

You jerk sideways, batting the air next to you. But there is nothing to hit. The voice continues: ‘I see your strength, old one. But your head is heavy. Filled with stones. I fill with
memory.’

Suddenly the dancing shadows streak towards the centre of the room, where they billow upwards into a column of darkness. As you watch the column takes on shape, becoming a giant humanoid
creature. It has no features, but the outline is clearly recognisable – a troll with muscular shoulders and arms, a broad chest, and a bow-legged
gait. From its right hand the shadows distend
outwards, forming a spiked club.

The voice whispers: ‘My people’s blood nourishes this soil. They have always known war; our lands forever overrun by the beasts from the dark.’

The troll stomps towards you, its club raised. Although the creature is made purely of shadow, you know instinctively that this foe presents a very real and deadly threat. You must now
fight:

Special abilities

If you defeat the shadow troll, turn to
67
.