The Heart of Fire (13 page)

59

‘Forget these, let me show yer ma finer goods.’ The trader pushes aside his grisly collection of bone charms. He then produces a leather case, which he opens out to
reveal an exquisite set of necklaces and rings. This new collection is fashioned from wood and stone, inset with gems and carved with runes. ‘See, I tells yer I ain’t no charlatan.
These are the real deal.’

You may purchase any of the following for 50 gold crowns:

When you have made your decision, you may ask the trader about his job offer (turn to
70
) or turn your attention back to the street (turn to
36
).

60

Quest: Menace from the deep

Through the veil of falling snow, you finally catch sight of the logging camp – four stone cabins, arranged within a clearing. Behind them the forested hills give rise to
the impressive Valhalla mountain range, their lofty peaks lost to the clouds.

‘Be on your guard!’ snaps the gruff voice of the captain as he marches to the front of the group, his boots crunching through the snow. He is a heavily-built veteran, muscles bulging
beneath his leather tunic. He turns to look back at your rag-tag band, his eyes squinting in the bright light. With a grimace, he works a roll of tobacco around his mouth before spitting juice into
the snow. ‘Goblins are dangerous. Let’s not have any foolish heroics . . . I’m looking at you, Vas.’

A shaven-headed woman, her features as hard and sharp as the mountains, gives a snort. She whispers something to her companion, a tall skinny man with a rat-like face. He sniggers, drawing out
his broadsword with a ring of steel.

‘Just another gobbo hunt,’ he grins, patting the blade. ‘When we get to see some real action, Cap’n?’

‘Shut that greasy mouth of yours, Surl or I’ll shut it for yer,’ growls the captain, stabbing a fat finger in the air. ‘I’m not having any talk back on this
mission. You got that? Same goes for the rest of you noobs.’

You glance around at the gathering – a dozen mercenaries and adventurers, recruited from Carvel for what was described as a ‘simple’ mission. There have been reports of goblin
raids from the north. The logging camp was attacked recently and, seeing a chance for some local fame and fortune, Captain Sanders has put together a group to investigate.

‘Right, now move it,’ he growls, turning and starting down the slope. ‘And stay frosty, people. Surl, go scout. Vas, I want you out on that left flank.’

His two regulars move quickly and efficiently; the rat-faced man scuttling towards the camp while the woman hurries into the trees, a knife in each hand. They are soon lost from sight.

Shoving through branches, you arrive at the edge of the camp. Surl is already waiting there, crouched beside an overturned cart. The camp is clearly deserted, its contents ransacked. You see
boxes and crates smashed open, doors banging to and fro in the wind, sheets and clothing poking out of the snow.

‘Don’t smell no stinking gobboes,’ says Surl, snorting and then spitting over his shoulder.

‘I think we’re too late,’ sighs one of the group.

The captain turns and grabs the person who spoke, a boyish-looking mage in grey-woollen robes. ‘Then you can join Surl and go search those cabins. Rest of us will stay ’ere. Now get
moving.’

If you have the word
sure blade
written on your hero sheet, turn to
93
. Otherwise, turn to
214
.

61

You duck under the opening, to find yourself in a musty-smelling hollow. A thin shaft of light seeps through a crack in one of the walls, illuminating the thick stone slabs
that have been used to support the earthen structure.

In the centre of the dark cave is a stone bed, carved with intricate runes. Around it you can see smashed pottery, a splintered chest and some scattered remnants of rusty armour. This place has
evidently been looted by thieves.

You are about to leave, when you hear a wheezing groan close to your ear. Quickly you spin around, just in time to avoid the edge of an axe blade as it whistles through the air.

‘Leave me in peace!’ rasps a voice.

You watch with revulsion as a mould-covered skeleton, clad in tattered leather and chain, lurches out of the dark. As it swings its axe once again, you notice that the skeleton is wearing a
glowing medallion around its neck. Perhaps this is the source of its unnatural life. You must now fight:

If you manage to defeat the skeleton warrior, turn to
74
.

62

‘Yes, the forest of thorns.’ Lazlo tilts his head to one side, regarding you with another smirk. ‘You mentioned it quite a few times during your delirium.
Have you been there? I must say, it is a place that . . . stays in the memory.’

‘You mean it is real?’ you ask, surprised. ‘Where?’

‘To the west of here, past the Pilgrim’s Road – if road you could call it. The forest is old – and impenetrable. Many have tried to fell those trees, to clear a safe
passage through. But all have failed.’ He turns to gaze upon a large tapestry hanging on the far wall. It shows a young man in white robes leading knights across barren moorland. Shafts of
sunlight break through the dark clouds to fall on his staff, which is raised before him. ‘They say Allam had dreams . . . visions of that place. Some believe that was the very reason he was
so eager to come to these forsaken lands, to find something . . . hidden away in that forest.’

‘And what happened?’ You reach for your throat, remembering the strange beast that attacked you in the dream.

‘He had another of his grand visions,’ shrugs the man, turning back. ‘He took a handful of his best knights and went south. They were ambushed by stone trolls. Allam
didn’t survive.’ He shakes his head, giving an amused snort. ‘So much for being a prophet. He never saw his own death coming.’

63

‘We just abandoned the camp,’ sighs one of the men, as you edge into the circle of listeners. ‘More than my job’s worth to defend it from the likes of
goblins.’

His nearest companion, whose arm is bound in a sling, scowls as he glares into his mug. ‘They just came out of nowhere,’ he mutters. ‘We didn’t stand a chance.’

You catch the eye of the man next to you, who has been listening to the story intently. ‘What happened?’ you ask, dropping your voice to a whisper.

He grimaces. ‘Goblins come down from the mountains,’ he says. ‘Raided the logging camp at the end of the Pilgrim’s Road. These men did the right thing, downing tools and
making a run for it. Goblins are like wolves, cowardly until you face them as a pack.’

The wounded logger beats his fist on the table. ‘Where was the inquisition anyway?’ he growls. ‘I thought they were meant to be protecting us.’

‘Yeah,’ sniffs the original speaker. ‘Left my best sword behind too. Been in my family for as long as I remember. It better still be there, guarded by me sweetheart’s
smile – unless one of them stinkin’ green-heads got it now.’

Write the word
sure blade
on your hero sheet. With your curiosity sated, you turn back to the busy taproom. Turn to
47
.

64

As you approach the taproom, there is a commotion from inside. Suddenly two bodies come flying out of the open doors, tumbling and rolling through the mud. A large woman,
wearing a dirt-stained apron, appears at the doorway, a skillet held menacingly in one hand.

‘And that’s the last time I’ll tell you soaks,’ she shouts, her chubby face flushed with anger. ‘I’ll have no fighting in my establishment.’ She turns
and re-enters the smoke-filled interior. Warily you follow her in, ignoring the drunken curses of the two men as they try and pick themselves up out of the dirt.

The common room of the inn is long and narrow, and full to bursting point. The noise is almost deafening – a discordant blend of laughter, shouting and bawdy singing. Between the crowded
tables you spy a number of serving girls running back and forth, carrying platters of steaming food and clay mugs filled with ale.

Behind the bar, a giant of a man is rolling fresh barrels out of the cellar. Even stooped over, he is at least seven feet tall, his chest as wide as the barrels he is handling. The woman with
the skillet pushes past him and disappears into a smoky kitchen, where the succulent aroma of meat and spices waft out into the common room – a welcome respite from the stench of sweat and
unwashed bodies.

65

The strange-looking keep is surrounded by a high wall of stone, which looks to have been built more recently than the rest of the building. A wrought-iron gate provides a
glimpse of the paved courtyard beyond, where you spy several carriages lined up outside the front steps.

Two guards move quickly to bar your way, crossing their halberds in front of you. Both are wearing white livery, displaying the outline of a black bat.

‘Back off, commoner,’ sneers one of the guards. ‘Invitation only.’

Your eyes travel up the vast spear-head of rock to its wedge-shaped summit. There you can make out a crown of towers, stabbing even further into the murky clouds. ‘Who lives there?’
you ask. ‘I never saw such a place before.’

‘Prince Lazlo, you fool,’ snaps the other guard. ‘Now, back off – or this becomes a situation. And you really don’t want a situation. Ain’t that right,
Bork?’

The other guard nods his head. ‘Yeah, situations are bad. Real bad.’

Looking to avoid a ‘situation’ you bid the guards a hasty farewell. Turn to
77
.

66

You back up against the nearest building and prepare to defend yourself. However, as the chaotic horde of undead draw in from all sides, you immediately start to regret your
decision. There are too many of them for you to possibly defeat. You must now fight: