The Heart of Fire (132 page)

853

The passage slopes for several hundred metres, before levelling out into a hall of granite pillars. Between each pillar there is a statue of a dwarf, a stone urn resting at
each set of feet.

‘The vault of ashes,’ says Virgil, his voice echoing in the still silence. ‘These are the kings of Tartarus.’

You step closer to the nearest effigy. It depicts a stern-faced dwarf, dressed in thick plates of armour. In his runed gauntlets rests a two-handed hammer, almost as tall as himself.

Standing opposite is another statue – a dwarf in flowing robes patterned with intricate sigils. In place of a hammer, he holds a staff. As you continue along the hall, you pass a further
four statues, arranged in pairs. When you come to the end, only a single king stands sentinel – holding a sceptre and a staff. The opposite sepulchre is empty.

‘Always two kings to rule the twin thrones,’ states Virgil. ‘Their last was never laid to rest.’ He kneels beside the vacant pedestal, studying the angular script.
‘Erkil Giantsbane. King of the Hammer.’

‘He must have escaped with the survivors,’ you conclude.

Virgil shrugs. ‘Or died somewhere in the city. Guess, we’ll never know . . .’

At the end of the corridor, a set of winding stairs leads you into another vaulted hall. Passages to either side stretch away into darkness, their high walls lined with hundreds of tiny
alcoves.

‘This must be where they kept the rest of their dead,’ says Virgil, peering down one of the passages. ‘The dwarves believed they were born of fire and earth. When they died
their ashes were interred in vaults. This is the first I’ve—’

A sharp, wracking cough echoes in the chamber, making you both jump.

You turn to see a ghostly figure slouched in the corner of the hall. Its entire body is black with smoke, twisting and broiling like a thundercloud.

‘Demon!’ Virgil marches forward, his inscribed blades ready to strike.

Startled, the creature struggles to stand, its wispy fingers groping at the stone. ‘Ah, not so hasty . . . I cannot accede to such a title. I am but a rune spirit, and a minor one at
that.’ He gives another wheezing cough.

‘An elemental of air,’ scowls Virgil.

The creature blows a stream of smoke from its mouth. ‘Alas, I am more a sigh than a squall.’

Virgil holds one of his blades to the spirit’s throat. The ghost jerks back, shuddering in fear. ‘Those . . . those are words of death,’ it gasps, glaring at the inscriptions.
‘I have not seen their like before.’

‘Then you’ve been here a long time,’ replies the witchfinder. ‘These words spell your death.’

The spirit raises a hand. ‘Wait! If you help me, I will give you something. Something precious.’

‘Lies!’ The blade edges closer.

‘Wait, Virgil.’ You place a hand on his shoulder, urging restraint. ‘Perhaps we should hear what it has to say?’

The spirit nods quickly. ‘Wiser words, oh yes. I came here looking for the gate – the rune gate. It will take me back to the shroud.’ He breaks off into a series of hacking
coughs. ‘My body . . . so weak. . .’

‘What happened?’ you urge impatiently.

‘Got caught . . . by Nyx, the dark wind. Was almost scattered, lost . . . but I managed to find calm, safety. But too weak . . . I was so close.’

‘Are you saying the dwarves have a portal?’ Virgil sounds sceptical. ‘Where does it lead?’

‘Another dwarf city,’ rasps the spirit. ‘But they destroyed the gate . . . when the archdemon came. To stop the evil spreading.’

‘If it’s destroyed, then what use is it?’ you ask suspiciously.

‘I can re-activate the runes, change the magic. It will take me back to the shroud, back where I belong.’

Virgil shakes his head. ‘This spirit is a trickster. Do not trust its words.’

‘And if we help you, what do we get in return?’ you ask.

‘My master’s treasures are nearby – I show you where, after you help me – yes?’

854

As you progress along the passageway the rumbling sound gets gradually louder, causing the tablets to rattle on their shelves. Many books lies scattered across the ground.

Eventually you pass an arched doorway in the west wall. Peering through, you are surprised to discover an immense circular shaft rising several hundred feet to a domed ceiling. Its walls are
lined with row upon row of shelves, linked by a series of chain ladders.

Many of the shelves in the room are empty – and as the walls continue to tremble, more books tumble through the dusty air. The booming sound is coming from the sea of papers and bindings
that now carpet the ground.

‘There!’ Virgil points to the far side of the chamber. He has spotted the jumbled surface bucking and shifting, as if something was moving beneath it. The shape is zigzagging towards
you, the thunderous rumbling getting louder and louder . . ..

Suddenly the top layer of books is flung into the air, sending loose pages fluttering in all directions. An immense eel-like head rises out of the makeshift sea, its toothless jaws dripping with
shattered rock and pulped fragments of parchment. You duck back into the passageway as it lunges forward, seeking to swallow you whole.

855

The sound of battle draws you to the edge of a wide, smoking crater. Twisted lengths of iron and steel poke out of the debris like stark winter trees, forming a tight forest
with Virgil at its centre. The witchfinder is facing off against some strange metal contraption, which seems intent on slicing him to ribbons with its brutal assortment of knives and saws. With
each lurching movement, lightning flashes between the crystals protruding from the golem’s head, sending flickering veins of light coursing over its rusted body.

Grabbing one of the metal bars, you hurl it like a spear. The dull end bounces uselessly off the golem’s thick plated armour, leaving little more than a shallow dent. But it has served its
purpose – gaining the golem’s attention. The contraption turns to face you, its grilled mouthpiece belching a furious cloud of steam. It is time to fight:

Special abilities

If you manage to defeat this hulking contraption, turn to
883
.

856

After brushing ink over the bronze plates, you lower them onto the paper. When you lift up the cross-piece, you are pleased to see that the parchment is now marked with your
chosen sigils. Your book is almost complete; all that remains is to bind the loose pages. If you wish to choose
a binding of black iron
, turn to
845
. If you
would prefer to choose
a binding of drake scales
, turn to
539
.

857

‘Not my choice, not mine,’ the spirit blusters. ‘I was bound here by the dwarves – dragged from the shroud to obey their commands. But when the rune was
broken, I managed to escape. Now I just want to go home. I deserve that, don’t I?’

‘Demons deserve only one thing,’ growls Virgil. ‘And that is death.’

858

You may leave via the south exit, where the echoing rumble can still be heard (turn to
854
), or take the east passage (turn to
839
).

859

The dwarf gives an impatient sigh, then starts gesturing frantically at the stacked shelves.

‘Look! Look at it! Isn’t it obvious? This is my section, mine, but they’re missing – I can’t risk it, I can’t go and get them. The librarian . . . and the
creature. The big creature. Oh, what am I to do?’

He resumes his agitated pacing.

‘We could go get them,’ you state hopefully, giving Virgil a sideways glance. The witchfinder rolls his eyes and looks away. ‘What exactly are you looking for?’

‘The shame. The shame.’
The dwarf drifts over to the opposite wall, looking despondently at an empty space in the row of books. ‘Pondicut’s Beneficiary
Substitutionary Perambulations,
volume fifty-seven! It’s missing! Gone! And here . . .
’ He gestures to another space, then scratches furiously at his beard. ‘Impractical
Lyrical Alchemical Diologies,
book thirty-seven, part six. Irreplaceable. The only copy! Master will be furious!
’ The dwarf continues to reel off a list of books as he floats down the
aisle way.