The Heart of Fire (134 page)

Return to
590
to ask another question, or turn to
766
to continue your journey.

866

You enter what appears to be a reading room, with a dozen stone tables arranged on various levels. Each table is lit by a central cluster of crystals, glimmering with a
pale-blue luminescence.

There are two corridors leading from the room, one to the east and one to the south. Both are lined with shelves, stacked full of tablets, scroll cases and books. The aisle to the south is
partially blocked by rubble. A distant rumbling can be heard coming from that direction, rising and falling in undulating waves.

The north wall of the chamber is dominated by a door of blue crystal. As you approach it, you suddenly get the uneasy feeling that you are being followed. You glance down at the ground, noticing
an unexplained shadow edging closer to your own. It can’t be Virgil, who is several steps ahead . . .

You spin around, giving a cry of alarm when you catch a thief with their hands in your backpack!

The creature stands no taller than your waist, with purple skin, pointed ears and a bristly fuzz of green hair. A number of pouches and bags hang from its leather clothing, all bulging with
items. The thief responds with a tittering laughter, then turns and runs – making for the east passage. You notice that one of your backpack items is clutched in the thief ’s hands.
(You must choose one backpack item to remove from your hero sheet. Keep a note of its description as it may be returned to you at a later time.)

867

Your eyes sweep the length of the cave, passing over mounds of rotting meat and animal skins, to finally rest on the far wall, where flickering candles illuminate a line of
cadavers. Some are animal, but most are human, dangling from vine ropes attached to a wooden beam.

Then a wet squelch drags your attention to a side chamber, where a fresher corpse is laid out on a flat-topped boulder. An old woman in tattered hides is hunched over the body, drawing out the
entrails and studying them with cackling glee.

She spins around, sensing your presence, her gnarly hand snapping forward with lightning speed. You glimpse something whip through the air, clipping the side of your head. Before you have a
chance to register what has happened, you see the woman holding a hooked tooth tied to a cord. She plucks something from its end, then lifts up her other hand, revealing a bone doll. Too late
– you realise she has one of your hairs and is now wrapping it around the doll. As the witch yanks it tight, you give a gargling cry as pain crushes your ribs, stealing your breath away. She
tugs it again, engulfing you in a fresh wave of agony. Angrily you lope forward, your cries turning to a roar of defiance as you seek to end this witch’s dark magic. It is time to fight:

Special abilities

If you manage to defeat the wicked witch, turn to
765
.

868

Glancing down one of the aisles you notice a set of iron bars, blocking the doorway to another chamber. Runes have been carved into the black metal, several of which are still
glowing with a soft red light.

869

You stand over the bloody remains of the three demons. Virgil picks up a piece of tattered cloth and uses it to clean the ichor off his blades. ‘This does not bode
well,’ he sighs, glancing down at one of the bodies. ‘Those demons are the result of a blood ritual – a sacrifice.’

‘Why does that surprise you? Barahar would surely stoop to such evils.’ You clamber over the rocks and enter the passageway. Your sharp sight adjusts to the darkness, revealing a
tight corridor that continues for thirty metres then opens out into another chamber.

‘I don’t think it was Barahar,’ says Virgil, hopping over the stones to join you. ‘Blood rituals take time, preparation. Not his style.’

‘The dwarves, then?’ You glance back at the witchfinder, frowning. ‘Perhaps that is why they were fighting each other – to stop the rituals.’

Virgil shrugs. ‘When your people are dying, your homes under threat, fear is a breeding ground for weakness – and mistrust.’ He lowers one of his swords to the rubble. The
bright blade picks out the decapitated head of a stone titan, its mouth hanging open in a silent scream. ‘I don’t think Barahar is to blame for this – some group took it on
themselves to try and save Tartarus, and were willing to resort to sacrifice and magic to achieve it.’

‘We can’t judge them for what happened here.’ You remember the cursed Lamuri city, crawling with undead.

‘I’m a witchfinder,’ states Virgil coldly. ‘It’s my duty to judge.’

He slips past you, leading the way down the corridor. You follow, eyes roving over the melted carvings along the wall. They would have once shown scholars standing at lecterns, but now the
stretched, distorted stone has made them look like tormented spirits, being sucked down into some dark abyss. Their hands reach skywards, begging for absolution.

You emerge in an octagonal chamber with corridors angling to the north and south. To the north the passage ends in an arched doorway, leading through to a room dominated by a strange-looking
machine. To the south the walls are lined with stone shelves, neatly stacked with runed tablets and bound tomes.

870

The mist has started to recede, revealing the full scale of the devastation. As you suspected, there is little left of the tower save for the rubble-strewn islands dotting the
lava shelf.

Above you a huge chunk has been ripped out of the rock, where the tower collided with the dwarven outcropping. Thankfully, a section of the ledge remains intact, winding up to the dark building
perched on its summit. You flex your wings, hoping they are strong enough to carry you and Virgil back to the ledge.

You will need to take a
speed
test :

If you are successful, turn to
768
. Otherwise, turn to
881
.

871

Boss monster: The traitors’ tower

‘And so they shall fall to darkness, and never rise again’
Jenlar Cornelius

The walls weep with blood. It is everywhere, coating the sticky flesh that clings to every inch of stone. The air reeks with it – an over-powering metallic stench that
sickens your stomach. But the grotesqueness of your surroundings pales in comparison to the demons that now assault you. Some may have been dwarves once, before they were twisted by the dark magics
of this place. Others are little more than slabs of flesh, bristling with teeth and claws.

They are the only thing that stands between you and Cernos. The demon is only metres away. One hand grips the heart of fire, its heat washing out in waves. The other moves across a runed door,
probing its magical defences. Avian lies crumpled at the demon’s feet. It is impossible to tell if he is alive or dead – the remnants of his dented armour hang off his white tunic and
breeches, now dirt-spattered like the rest of him.

So close . . . if not for the infuriating mass of blood-soaked creatures that stand in your way. Angrily, you hack and slash at the slick bodies. With Cernos now in sight, they seem
insignificant – merely a distraction. You need to reach him . . . reach the heart that will give you your freedom – a cure for the curse.

But the demons’ numbers seem endless. As soon as one is cut down, there is another to take its place, gibbering and clawing to reach you. An axe-shaped appendage flies out of the chaos,
biting into your shoulder. Roaring with pain, you sever the demon’s limb, using your return swing to scythe through its gore-soaked body, taking several more of the frenzied horde with
it.

At the corner of your vision, a white hot light blazes through the sea of bodies. It is accompanied by the high-pitched screams of dying demons. The inscribed blades shred through the dark host
as if they were stalks of corn, each deliberate cut and thrust sending crimson sprays showering across the hall. And at the centre of this maelstrom is Virgil. His scowling visage is bathed in the
light of his holy inscriptions. It is difficult to distinguish the man from the demons, such is the vehemence etched into his face.

A hot stab of pain. A bone sword has pierced straight through your thigh, coming out the other side. Another blow knocks you sideways. Blood squelches underfoot as you struggle to keep your
balance. A demon leaps onto your back, its teeth snapping at your neck. You spin, cracking open your wings to send it flailing back into the mob. The pain has gone, as it always does – your
demon blood healing the wounds. But in its place comes the rage . . . overpowering. Intoxicating. Impossible to resist.

Snarling, you thrust your weapon into a demon’s snapping mouth. Its body twists away, taking the weapon with it. Another creature leaps for you, but you manage to deflect them with your
arm, using your spines to drive them back.

Desperately, you drag the sword from your thigh, intending to use it as a substitute – but it is so slick with gore that it slips from your fingers. Instead you are forced to use your
claws and spines, slashing and raking at the gaunt, red bodies – your bestial snarls mingling with their own.

You don’t remember those final minutes – or perhaps even hours – of the battle. When the blind rage subsides, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, you find yourself surrounded
by bodies. Hundreds of them, scattered in piles. You struggle to your feet, limbs dragging like leaden weights. There is something moving near the far wall – a thin, red demon. It is
struggling to pull itself free from the carnage. You retrieve your weapons, then stumble towards it. Death would be a mercy, even for these abominations.

But when the head turns, you gasp as you see it is Virgil. His coat has been ripped to shreds, hanging in tatters from his sinewy body. His patch has been pulled away, exposing the dark hollow
of his missing eye. Red grime covers him from head to foot, plastering his hair to his scalp.