The Heart of Fire (67 page)

When your work is done, turn to
427
.

441

By drinking the
saint’s blessing
, you may also remove your hex. This will give you access to all of your abilities once again. However, if you are carrying the
glaive of souls
this weapon will automatically shatter and you will no longer be able to use it. Turn to
374
.

442

First there is confusion. Then chaos. Through the rain and smoke you see brown shapes hurtling across the hills, moving with unnatural speed. There is the crunch of bones and
the flash of magic as they collide with the Wiccans. One warrior goes flying past you, smashing into the side of the wagon. A smoking hole has been punched straight through their rusted armour. You
glimpse a bald-headed man in brown robes go blurring past, his glowing fists smashing into another warrior and sending them flying backwards, as if they had been hit by the force of a hammer.

‘Just in time,’ grins Ventus. The monk springs into the air, his body twisting around to deliver a kick to the Wiccan giant. Conall staggers back, swiping at the air with his axes.
But he is too slow – the monk has already slipped behind him, delivering a flurry of punches that lift the giant off his feet. With a roar he crashes down onto his stomach, rolling to parry
the next incoming attack.

Meanwhile, Bea has sped forward, charging the rogue with the pointed teeth. He ducks and darts, moving gracefully around her strikes, his glowing daggers seeking to reach past her guard.

Another explosion sends clots of earth showering into the sky.

The Wiccans are already falling back as the monks spill through their ranks like a fast-moving river, their glowing limbs spinning and twisting in an endless blur of light. The feathered woman
strides towards you, her expression as cold and bleak as the moorland. ‘Tell me prophet, do you see how this will end?’

You shake your head, taking a step back. ‘I’m no prophet.’

‘Liar!’ she snaps. ‘What have the visions told you? Tell me!’

You continue to protest. ‘I have seen nothing! Nothing that makes any sense . . .’

Suddenly, there is a clatter of wheels on the track. You both turn to see a cart rattling towards you. Several riders are galloping ahead of it. Their leader is a young man in white robes, his
hands gripping a pale staff. You recognise him instantly.

‘Benin!’

If you have the word
hallowed
or
prevail
on your hero sheet, turn to
193
. Otherwise, turn to
45
.

443

Quest: City of the damned

Your weapons blur, cutting a bright latticework of magic as they cleave through bone and sinew. The groans of the undead ring in your ears, their ancient sword blades
clattering off your armour. The mob is endless, but you have no fear – only an impatient anger, driving you onwards with unyielding fury.

The demon is here and nothing will stand in your way.

A sword whips down, cutting through your clothing and hitting the hard scales beneath. They are like diamond now, turning the blade and wrenching it from the undead’s grasp. For a moment
you glare into his face, your battle-crazed eyes holding each other’s stare. Then you bring your weapons down, smashing through the mouldered bones – aware that this is not a warrior
you face, but a craftsman, the cloth of his tunic decorated with geometric designs. What magic, what curse, would drive him and his people to become such monsters?

You break from the throng of bodies, your powerful blows severing spines and slicing through bone. Since passing the perimeter walls the undead have assailed you every step of the way, swarming
like ants from the ruined buildings – but, as always, they are slow and uncoordinated, most left trailing behind as you maintain a fast pace, determined to catch up with . . .

A flash. Clawed hands smash through pottery. Stones are hurled against a wall, shattering into jagged fragments. The shadow of a demon wavers in the half-light
.

You stagger, caught off guard by the staccato images. Blind, you blunder into the path of an armoured champion, his tarnished breastplate sagging off his rotten body. Clutched in his hands is a
bronze broadsword, which he brings around in a mighty blow.

Magic blasts against a door, breaking it from its frame. Dust plumes from the ceiling, obscuring the passage beyond.

You parry the blow, metal clanging against metal. The force sends a painful jolt through your body, throwing you sideways. A hand grasps you around the throat, nails digging into the scaled
skin.

A throne room. The mosaic tiles are broken – shattered. A statue of a woman. Beautiful and delicate. ‘Nephele,’ cries a voice. Guttural. Hoarse. The claws strike the statue,
severing the head clean from its shoulders.

You blink, trying to clear your head – struggling to focus on the battle. The champion has his sword raised, ready to bring it down. More hands are grappling at you, trying to drag you
back into their midst . . .

‘Where is it?’ Eyes rove back and forth. ‘The key! Where did they put it?’

The sword comes down, the warrior emitting a hoarse gasp, bones scraping and creaking with the effort.

A balcony, high above the ruined city. ‘Foolish dwarves! They can’t keep me from my birth right.’ A pause. ‘What? Get out of my head, prophet! You should not have come
here. You are not fit to carry my blood!’

A fresh wave of anger surges through your body, sparking something deep inside – something bestial and savage. You wrestle free, twisting away as the sword comes down. It all seems to
happen in slow motion, as if time has become distorted. Everything sharpens into focus – the dust motes dancing through the air, the bristly hairs on the arms of the undead warrior, the sun
glinting off his dented helm. Then time speeds up, rushing in once again, as you smash your weapons straight through his armour, punching through to the other side.

Then you are running, feet gliding over the white sand of the courtyard – sand that must have been hauled here from some distant beach. You leap into the air, alighting on a curved wall,
then leap again, to land amongst the tangled undergrowth of an enclosed garden. The wailing cries of the undead continue to echo across the ruined city – their scrabbling hands at the wall
testament to their frustrated efforts to reach you. Turn to
568
.

444

The portal reappears, releasing another creature into the chamber. Your eyes follow as it tumbles across the ground, its body looking like a crumpled mass of parchment. The
instant it rolls to a halt the odd creation springs into the air, unfolding itself into a paper-thin warrior. Instead of hands, it has curved paper scythes, looking as wickedly sharp as any knife.
You must now fight:

Special abilities

If you have one of the following and wish to use it, turn to the relevant entry number:
metal soldier
(turn to
6
),
paper soldier
(turn
to
128
),
rock soldier
(turn to
173
). Otherwise, you must fight this opponent yourself. If you win, you must continue with the
health
that you have remaining (turn to
208
). If you are defeated, turn to
464
.

445

‘Sweet children,’ echoes a woman’s voice, soft and seductive. ‘Your memories were . . . most nourishing . . .’ You both spin around, to see a
black hooded figure standing in the shadows.

‘Who are you?’ you demand angrily, squinting in the murky half-light.

The woman pulls back her hood to reveal a hideous, monstrous face. The flesh is white and scaly, like a fish, protruding outwards into a lipless sucker-like mouth. ‘I have fed on your
minds,’ whispers the voice in your head. ‘Now, I will feed on your flesh!’ If you have the word
scars
on your hero sheet, turn to
463
.
Otherwise, turn to
505
.

446

The female warrior takes up one of the bowls, then gestures for you to remove your clothing. Feeling somewhat bashful, you raise your hands and back away – but the
disapproving stares from the other warriors forces you to reconsider. Not wishing to offend, you remove your armour and watch as the female dips her fingers into the bowl and proceeds to paint the
glimmering runes across your skin.

If you wish, you may now learn the brigand career. The brigand has the following abilities:

War paint (mo)
: The runes on your body give you greater protection and strength. You may raise your
brawn
or
armour
score by 3
for one combat round. You can only use
war paint
once per combat.

Pillage (pa)
: Each time you win a combat, roll two dice and automatically receive that amount of gold as a reward. This is in addition to any
other gold or treasure you might receive.

After thanking your fellow warriors, you turn your attention back to the cave. Turn to
485
.

447

As your blows rain down on the giant, Black Patch runs in behind, his sharp claws slicing across the back of the hunter’s legs. With a groan of pain the giant staggers
sideways then topples forward, no longer able to support himself. He crashes through one of the wooden huts, the splintered wood staking him like a bed of nails.

Searching the body, you find 50 gold crowns and one of the following rewards: