The Heart of Fire (51 page)

If you wish, you may help yourself to two of the following items:

When you have made your decision, turn to
138
.

341

‘Demons, always the demons.’ The scholar looks at you suspiciously. ‘Did Andos put you up to this? That boy’s always pestering me for fanciful stories.
Not good for young heads.’ He gives a wistful sigh. ‘I might devote a paragraph or two to it in my book. You’ll just have to wait until then.’

He drums his fingers on the desk, humming to himself.

‘A sneak peek?’ you venture, hopefully.

The man gives a theatrical-sounding sigh. ‘Okay, if you absolutely insist. I suppose one mustn’t deny a thirst for knowledge, eh? Let’s have a think . . . when it comes to
demons, there is one name that keeps cropping up. Barahar. He was the last of his kind – a race of demons that once dwelled in the underworld.’

‘An archdemon?’ you suggest, remembering back to your conversation with Virgil.

‘Yes, an archdemon – and he sounds quite the character,’ the scholar chirps, as if discussing nothing more serious than the weather. ‘Caused a bit of trouble in his day,
laying waste to towns, villages, even whole cities. The Lamuri legends talk of a sword – Ragnarok. Anyone killed by that blade was bound to serve its master, even in death. As you can
imagine, Barahar was good at the killing part; had a veritable army at his disposal.’

‘Ragnarok?’ You look away, suddenly struggling for air in the stuffy room. You can picture the sword from your vision at Durnhollow – the black rune blade, wielded by a demon.
‘How was he defeated?’ you ask hoarsely.

‘The dwarves, apparently. They destroyed his sword and with it his power. A happy ending by all accounts – so, worry not – I don’t think it’ll be demons
you’ll be crossing paths with in the jungle.’

Turn to
386
to ask the scholar another question or turn to
548
if you wish to leave and continue your journey.

342

You find yourself in a long stone hall, its columned length awash with flickering candlelight. Several sections of the ceiling have collapsed inwards, allowing tangled curtains
of liana to break through into the smoky interior.

The man scampers over the jumbled rock, towards a small scattering of belongings arranged within a circle of runes. It is an odd collection – a pile of skulls, some fruit partially wrapped
in palm leaves, an assortment of clay pots and leather gourds, and a row of wooden staffs similar to the one he is holding.

‘Be at home,’ grins the man, gesturing to a moss-covered stone. ‘You coming here was no simple chance. I waited for this long time.’ He places his staff with the others,
then proceeds to pick another from the line up. You notice various symbols have been carved into the wood.

‘What were those undead?’ you ask, eyeing the protective runes painted onto the stone. ‘There were hundreds of them.’

‘Dead Lamuri. My ancestors, bless their spirits.’ He pats the carved wood against the palm of his hand. ‘They don’t mind being boomed I think – not themselves no
more. Dead inside and out. Magic of this place keeps them here.’

You settle onto the stone seat, taking a moment to study your rescuer. The man is tall and lean, his scrawny body toned to rods of hard muscle. The smooth brown skin and sparkling eyes make him
appear youthful, and yet his banded braids are peppered with grey and white. Of his clothing, there is not much to speak of – just a simple loin cloth and a necklace of charms.

‘I sense you have questions,’ he says, crouching down on the balls of his feet. ‘You ask Boom Mamba and he answer. Then we go boom some more. We finish spirit walk – then
I go home to elders. Boom Mamba hero – and I help you too.’

343

You remove Anna’s vial from around your neck and offer it to the priest. ‘Take it,’ you insist. ‘I cannot judge whose life is more worthy to save. But I
trust that you speak the truth – and I will not come to blows over this.’

Benin is struck speechless.

‘Hurry or I might change my mind,’ you grin, shaking the vial.

The priest swiftly steps forward and takes the vessel from you, before turning to the manticore.

‘Come closer, then,’ it growls, stretching out one of its enormous paws. ‘Take your blood and be gone.’

Benin stoops down and picks up one of the jagged bones from the ground. Then, taking the beast’s paw in his hand, he pricks the skin with the tip of the bone. Black blood blossoms from the
tiny wound, which the priest carefully collects in the glass vial.

With the deed finally done, Benin joins you in the tunnel.

‘Thank you, my friend,’ he smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder. ‘The bishop will reward you, I promise. Now, come – we must make haste.’

Together, you leave Crow Rock and return to Carvel. (Record the word
hallowed
on your hero sheet, then turn to
359
.)

344

‘Ma height I owe to me father, but these lovelies . . .’ He gnashes his teeth, the metal sparking as they grate together, ‘I owe to a Skardland runt who
’ad me well and good in the pit. Knocked me out with a club the size of me head.’

‘You were a gladiator?’ you ask in awe.

The half-giant jerks a finger over his shoulder, to a magnificent broadsword hanging on the bar wall. Its blade is tempered black steel, inlaid with gold runes. ‘I done the whole circuit
and won the capital games. Got that off of the king ’imself.’ He sniffs dismissively. ‘Not much of a man if yer asking me.’

‘And you gave it all up for . . .’ You stammer over your words, worried you may cause offence.

The half-giant flashes a metal grin. ‘I get yer. This ain’t much, I know, but I do it for the missus. The ol’ ball and chain.’ He glances over his shoulder towards the
kitchen, where you can hear a woman squawking orders over the rattle of pots and hissing steam. ‘She’s a good ’un – stands taller than anyone in my eyes.’

As you gaze at his sparkling teeth, you are reminded of the gold-toothed witchfinder who visited you in your cell at Durnhollow. Virgil Elland.

‘Have you seen anyone else in these parts, with . . .’ You nod towards his gleaming dentures.

‘Wife said we ’ad one of them witchfinders in tuther day,’ he replies, folding his arms. ‘Was looking for someone but never gave much of a description. Think he was after
one of them escaped loons from that dungeon up north.’ His eyes suddenly narrow, suspiciously. ‘Why yer ask?’

You quickly offer a non-committal shrug. ‘Ah, old friend of mine – it’s nothing.’

The half-giant nods slowly, not looking entirely convinced. ‘Good. I don’t want any trouble on ma doorstep, yer understand?’

To ask the barman about local rumours turn to
202
, to explore the rest of the tap room turn to
172
, or to leave turn to
199
.

345

It appears that the goblins and the ogre had holed themselves up in a small defensible area. Opposite the slope, the entire wall has collapsed inwards, leaving behind an
impenetrable mass of jagged rock. Apart from some cooking pots and a few gnawed bones, there is little else in the cave.

‘Wait, I got something!’ Surl is kneeling beside a wooden crate – or what is left of one. The lid has been smashed open, revealing a number of metal discs inside.

‘Borehole charges,’ grins Surl, lifting one up.

You notice the others backing away. The captain gives a snort. ‘Put that down, Surl, or you’ll blow the top off this mountain, and take us with it!’

‘What are they?’ you ask, watching as Surl lays it carefully onto the ground.

‘Explosives,’ grins Vas. ‘Only the army have them. And maybe smugglers who got lucky.’

‘Yeah, but how’d they end up here?’ asks Surl, turning a broken piece of the crate over in his hands. ‘You think the gobboes used them to cause that cave-in?’

‘I don’t think so, I know so,’ growls the captain, starting back towards the slope. ‘Come on. This is a dead-end – and you’re giving me heart burn with all
your rattling.’ He spits a stream of tobacco juice at the wall. ‘This place stinks.’

If you wish, you may help yourself to one of the charges:

You follow the captain through the narrow tunnel and back to the junction. Ahead, lies the entranceway to the next cavern. Turn to
229
.

346

Amongst the piles of wind-scoured rock, you find a silver casket containing 50 gold crowns and one of the following items:

When you have updated your hero sheet, turn to
239
.

347

You step into the room. A quick scan reveals a lantern resting on a table top, surrounded by books and piles of crumpled papers. Against the far wall, a writing desk has been
overturned and a chair lies on its side.

Then you feel the cold kiss of a flint-lock pistol against your cheek. Someone is standing right beside you, just out of your eye-line. You can smell sweat and leather, and the faint hint of
wood smoke.

Instinctively, you slam your elbow into their side, falling forwards as a bullet hums overhead, hitting a mirror in the far wall and sending fragments of glass showering in all directions. The
room fills with the smell of brimstone and sulphur. You spin around, taking a kick in the chest. Still unable to focus on your attacker, you roll over – dragging yourself under the table as
another bullet slams into the ground, creating a charred crater in the wood.

‘Damn it . . .’ hisses a voice.

You slide out from underneath the table, springing onto your feet and falling into a battle stance. At last, you are able to look upon your attacker. It is a man, dressed in an open black coat.
The hilts of various swords and daggers are visible from his waist band. A battered capotain rests on his head, the brim shadowing his eyes. He is muttering to himself as he struggles to wrestle
another pistol from a holster inside his coat. Catching your eye, he stops, his pale mouth twitching into a half-smile.

‘I used to be faster than this,’ he says hoarsely. ‘You’re no zombie.’

‘So I’m lucky on both counts.’ Your weapons remained raised. There is something familiar to you about this man.

‘And you make enough noise to wake the dead.’ He cocks his head in the direction of the front door – where the zombies are still banging to get in. You catch a glimmer of sharp
canines, protruding from the man’s gums. His skin is pallid, his hollow cheeks giving him a similar appearance to the undead outside.

‘And what about you?’ you ask warily.

‘Well, a couple of gunshots has probably done it now . . .’

‘I meant, are you . . . like those things out there?’

The man gives a sigh, then removes his hat, doffing it to you in greeting. His eyes are like pale discs, full moons shining in an equally white face. He grins, revealing his sharp canines once
again.

‘Eldias Falks . . .’ you gasp, recognising the witchfinder who handed you over to the inquisition. The witchfinder who accused you of murder.

The man staggers over to the table, resting his palms on the surface to recover his breath. His movements appear sluggish and pained. ‘I see my reputation proceeds me.’ He meets your
gaze with a half-cocked smile. ‘But as you can see, perhaps I’m something of a disappointment; a shadow of what I once was.’

‘You’re a vampire.’ You take a step back, glass crunching underfoot.

Eldias glares at you with his pale, unnatural eyes. ‘A hazard of my profession, I’m afraid.’ He licks his lips, his gaze falling to your arm. You look down to see a small shard
of glass protruding from your skin. Blood has started to seep out of the wound.

348

A preliminary search offers up little of interest. As you are about to turn away, you suddenly catch something sparkling at the corner of your eye. Dropping down onto all
fours, you see a collection of gemstones scattered in the narrow space beneath a fallen slab of stone. You slide onto your stomach and attempt to push your shoulder into the gap, reaching out with
your fingers to grab the stones. But, after much groaning and cursing, they remain tantalisingly out of reach.