The Heart of Fire (108 page)

‘I am defeated,’ he rasps, struggling for breath. ‘I yield.’

You glare at the demon, knowing the trickster for what he is. This creature would never surrender . . .

And you are proved correct – the demon’s expression changes in a heartbeat, flaring into a vicious snarl. He lunges forward, his dagger-sized claws slashing for your throat. Any
lesser opponent would have been cut down in those fatal seconds . . . but not you.

You turn aside as the demon hurtles past, bringing your weapons around in a spinning arc. They slice through the demon’s remaining wing, gouging a strip across his back. As your weapons
complete their circle, you see more blood spatter across the cratered ground.

The demon tries to recover but, wrong-footed by your strike, he falls – collapsing onto his back with a grunt of pain. You stride towards the prone beast, your face darkened by fury.

‘It’s over, Cernos.’

The demon’s eyes go wide. ‘Indeed, it is . . .’ His gaze flickers over the spines protruding from your arms, and the black scales rippling across your chest – visible
beneath your shredded armour. ‘Barahar’s blood . . .’ He nods with grudging admiration. ‘You are truly becoming a demon prince.’

‘I am becoming nothing!’ You snap. ‘I can stop all this . . .’ You point the tip of your weapon at Cernos’ chest. ‘At last, your heart will serve some good in
this world.’

As you draw back to deliver the final blow, a sudden jolt of pain lances across your torso. You stagger back, surprised to see a white light flashing beneath the surface of your skin.
‘What . . . what is this?’ Another burst of pain drives you to your knees. You drop your weapons, putting your hands to the smarting wound. ‘Is this some trick, devil?’

Cernos looks equally confused. ‘Strange magic,’ he hisses. ‘There’s something buried there.’

You plunge a clawed hand into the scaly flesh, whimpering with pain as you gouge out the glowing object. It is a small metal ball, covered in bright sigils. The moment you hold it within your
palm, the light winks out.

Before you can gather your senses a fist comes down, slamming into your cheek. For the next few seconds you are reeling in a daze, spitting blood and broken teeth. Then something cold reaches
around your throat. When the dizzying nausea finally passes, you open your eyes – to see Cernos’ cruel visage inches from your face, his clawed fingers gripping you tight.

‘Never take your eyes off the prize, prophet.’ He draws back his other hand, the leathery skin creaking as it folds into a fist. . .

But the blow never lands. Instead, the cave blossoms with a piercing white light. You hear a man’s cry – then the crack of a flint-lock pistol. Cernos goes tumbling back in a shower
of blood. Another crack and a bullet whistles past the writhing demon, blowing chips out of the far wall.

You twist around to see two figures silhouetted by the bright light. Their sharp profiles mark one as wearing an open coat and a broad-brimmed hat; the other is armoured in sculptured plate, a
long cloak whipping back from their shoulders.

‘Told you it would work, Avian.’ The figure with the hat marches forward, holstering his smoking pistols and drawing a fresh pair.

‘Indeed, Virgil, you’re full of surprises.’ His companion raises a polished white staff, its headpiece crackling with magical energies. ‘And I would say our timing, as
always, is impeccable.’ Turn to
647
.

699

When you finally come to a halt, breathing fast from your exertions, four bodies lie crumpled around you. You gaze upon the serene expressions carved into the golden masks, and
wonder if the maidens are now at peace, or whether their spirits will be forever damned to haunt this dark place.

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

With the guards defeated, you approach the double doors and push them open. They creak against an age-old crust of dirt and sand, slowly revealing a small chamber beyond. Two flickering torches
illuminate another set of doors in the opposite wall – this time fashioned from stone and dressed in more elaborate carvings. Directly in front of them is a plinth, with a golden mirror
resting between a sculptured pair of hands. It is currently turned to face you, catching your reflection on its polished surface.

Above the mirror, cut into the low-ceiling, is a short rectangular shaft leading up to daylight – and at its top is another identical mirror, sparkling in the afternoon sun. If you have
the word
sun seeker
on your hero sheet, turn to
677
. Otherwise, turn to
779
.

700

You twist the numbered dials, each one locking into place with an encouraging click. As the last dial catches on some hidden mechanism, the container starts to vibrate softly.
Suddenly its pyramidal lid flips open, revealing a hollowed cavity. You tip the container over, letting its contents spill into your hand. As well as a few sparkling jewels and some gold (you have
gained 100 gold crowns), you also discover a rune stone. You may now choose one of the following rewards:

Pleased with your finds, you pocket the gold and jewels, before turning your attention back to the forge. turn to
755
.

701

Quito throws you a purse of gold, before shouldering his bag and heading down the aisle. (You have gained 80 gold crowns.) As you watch him leave, a sudden thought occurs to
you.

‘Hey, who is the book for?’ you ask, with interest.

‘Raolin Storm,’ he calls back. ‘A mage suffering from an unfortunate affliction – too much money.’ He glances back over his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry,
I’m his perfect antidote.’ After a departing wink he reenters the hall, disappearing from sight. If you are a venommancer, turn to
885
. Otherwise, you leave
the chamber and resume your journey, heading through the blast hole. Turn to
731
.

702

The forest starts to thin, quickly becoming bare hills strewn with hummocks of moss and lichen-covered boulders. A mile further in and a grey-white wall looms out of the haze
– a limestone cliff, marking the boundary of an impassable plain of bluffs and ridges.

‘We pass under rock,’ states Grey-hair, pointing to a ragged crack in the cliff-side. ‘Caves take us to marsh.’

Scar-face leads the way into the narrow crevice. Your shoulders brush against the sharp walls that loom close on either side, as if conspiring to keep you from advancing further. You squeeze
through the tight spaces, trying to ignore the creeping sense of claustrophobia that threatens to overwhelm you. You take comfort in the occasional glimpse of daylight high above, but these become
less frequent as you descend deeper, the tunnel eventually bringing you out into an underground cave.

It is pitch black and yet you can clearly make out the crowns of stalagmites protruding from the pitted ground. Once again, you are thankful for the strange powers that you have inherited from
the demon.

Eventually the cavern dips, splitting into two tunnels. One winds away to the north, where a sickly smell wafts on a faint breeze. To the east is a wider tunnel which twists away, out of sight.
Your sharpened hearing picks out a skittering sound coming from that direction, like many feet tapping across stone.

Scar-face looks back at the pack, waiting for a decision.

Grey-hair leans towards you. ‘What do your instincts say, bright claw?’

Will you:

703

After an hour you see the dim grey of the canyon wall looming above the treetops. Your journey is nearly at its end. Quickening your pace, you leave the river and plunge back
into the forest, making for the canyon. Once again the going is slow and arduous, hacking your way across the muddy, uneven terrain, but at last – insect-bitten and smarting from a multitude
of minor scrapes – you stumble out onto a boulder-strewn slope, the high canyon wall only metres away from you.

Now a fresh challenge presents itself – getting to the top. As you walk along the wall, you notice a few areas that look climbable, with hand- and foot-holds and a few crumbling ledges.
You also spot a cave a little further ahead, with skulls and bone-charms hanging from poles either side of the opening.

Will you:

704

The tigris nods, a fleeting smile revealing his canines. ‘You think you strong enough to fight with Shara Sheva?’ He turns away, raising his arms to the boisterous
growls and snarls of his pack. ‘Skins think they better than us!’

The tigris swings around, lashing out with both paws. You twist sideways just in time, the sharp claws missing your chest by mere inches.

You draw your weapons, backing away in confusion. ‘Wait, I offered you aid . . .’

Sheva prowls around you, squaring his shoulders. ‘To fight with

Sheva, you show your claws. Else you’re worm-meat for the marsh.’ His words break into a thunderous roar, as he flies forward in a blur of tooth and claw. You must now fight:

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