The Heart of Fire (81 page)

If you manage to overcome this nightmarish swarm, turn to
790
.

539

Congratulations! You have created the following item:

If you wish to create a different spell book, you can start the process again (turn to
850
). Otherwise, you may now leave the chamber and continue your journey. Turn
to
866
.

540

You turn away from the thief, not wishing to view his final, pain-wracked moments. Instead, you focus on the book that Quito was so keen to claim. Its pages are covered in
hundreds of intricate symbols and pictures, each one a breath-taking work of art. This is a rare and priceless Lamuri treasure.

If you wish, you may now take:

Once you have made your decision, you leave the chamber and resume your journey. Turn to
731
.

541

You grab the vial and twist open the stopper. Virgil watches you with a gold-toothed grin. ‘I knew you’d make the smart decision. Now drink up.’

In a single motion, you tip back the contents. The sour milky taste makes you want to gag, but you force yourself to swallow.

It takes a few seconds for the euphoria to hit. When it does you feel like liquid fire has been shot through your body. It rips along your veins, blazing beneath every pore of skin, twisting
your stomach with its coils of flame. The empty vial drops from your nerveless fingers. You hear it smash, somewhere in the distance . . . You struggle for breath. Smoke clogs your lungs, stifling
you, suffocating you.

Then you are falling. You are dimly aware of arms reaching out to catch you, but you pass straight through them like a wisp of smoke, falling, falling, burning . . .

You are being dragged across stone, blood streaking through the dust. Thump, thump as your limbs bounce at your side. There is a voice, weak and strained, begging for mercy.
It is not your own. Someone else. The dark shape of the demon drags you through the cave, glittering with crystals. In the distance, you hear a howling . . . a whispering. Voices. Ragnarok.

A giant sword, black and cut with runes, has been driven into the skeleton of some malign beast. There is blood . . . everywhere. You can smell it, an acrid iron smell. A circle of crimson
marks the ground – beating with life with each tortured scream.

The screams of a man, spread-eagled across the face of a black obelisk. Its scoured channels are awash with blood and the glint of magic. Avian Dale. The witchfinder’s companion . . .
His screams become louder, as he bucks and twists to free himself.

A black door. Four runes. A charred claw is moving across them, muttering, wondering which one to choose, which one is safe. It opts for the crescent-shaped rune – and the door grinds
open, revealing a vast chamber.

Shelves. Fashioned from the rock. You see dusty books and scrolls, and tablets of stone. The air is grey and cold. Something is moving along the aisles. A ghost. Muttering to itself. Lost. It
cannot complete its task. Misery and death stalk the shadows . . . nimble hands reach into your pack. An impish laughter and the patter of feet.

Then you are falling once again. The mountainside spins, blurring into an infinite blackness. An immense fireball streaks past. It explodes against the ground, spattering the hills with pools
of magma. Another blast of flame. You are rolling and tumbling through hot ash. Cernos strides towards you, the hellish sword held tight in his fist. You look upon his face, one eye burning
bright.

Flicker.

Virgil’s face. One eye burning bright. The other patched with gemstones.

Flicker.

Cernos. His lips curl back, revealing gold teeth.

Flicker. Flicker.

The faces change, so fast that one becomes transposed on the other.

‘My journey is complete!’ the demon/Virgil snarls. ‘Ragnarok is remade!’

Then all of a sudden you are jolted forward, your chest heaving and gasping. Everything is blurred, swimming in a haze. You can dimly make out Virgil – his eyepatch
glittering with gemstones. He grips you tightly, shaking you. ‘You’re back! You’re back! It’s all right.’ He leans away while you cough and splutter.

‘What did you see?’ he asks intently. ‘Tell me what you saw.’

You take a moment to recover yourself, then recount what you remember. Little of it makes sense, especially the image of Virgil as a demon. You decide to omit that part, no longer sure if you
can trust your companion.

When you finally describe Avian, imprisoned on the black obelisk, the witchfinder clenches his jaw. ‘We won’t let that happen. Come.’ He holds out a hand to help you up. You
stare at it woozily, your head still clouded with Elysium. Noting your hesitation, Virgil flashes you an apologetic grin. ‘No more Elysium. I swear.’

You take his hand, pulling yourself to your feet. When he finally lets go you stagger uncertainly, your vision blurred. ‘I fear the damage may already be done . . .’

For the remainder of this act, you must now suffer the following penalty:

Elysium soaked (pa)
: Every time you use a modifier ability in combat, you must roll a die. On a
result the
ability fails. You cannot try to use the ability again until the next combat round. If the result is
to
then you can use the ability as normal.

Once you have updated your hero sheet, return to the quest
map
to continue your adventure.

542

‘Others distrust you,’ states White Cloak, shifting closer. ‘But they forget Shonac was a skin like you. He was a Lamuri prince. Exiled from his kin. One day
he lassoed the last of the great tigers, Quan Mait. He beat it with his club until Mait share its secrets. Then Shonac kill tiger to take its pelt – make Shonac as strong as the mighty Quan
Mait.’

‘So, Shonac was the first of your people,’ you nod. ‘What else do you know of the Lamuri?’

White Cloak wrinkles her nose. ‘They all dead – yet some still walk like they have breath. Their rock dens stink of bad magic. We stay away from Lamuri. Stay in trees where it
safer.’

543

With an ear-piercing shriek the princess’s body rises up into flickering motes of light, leaving her crystal armour to topple to the ground. The motes swirl together,
forming a woman’s face – serene and beautiful. It is Nephele as you remember her, the princess of the Lamuri.

‘You freed me . . . death has freed me . . ..’

Then the smile turns to a bitter scowl. The eyes become hard, merciless. ‘Destroy Cernos! You must stop him from taking the sword!’

Her sudden anger surprises you. ‘He was your lover. You defied your father for him . . .’

‘He is not my Cernos. Barahar remade him – filled his heart with fire, not love. It burns only with vengeance. You must stop him!’

The face shimmers and then fades.

Virgil kneels beside the empty armour. ‘I told you, never reason with a demon. . .’ He lifts up a runed gauntlet, the glowing crystals still pulsing with magic. ‘Witches,
doubly so.’ He tosses you the gauntlet. ‘This magic is tainted, but I doubt that will worry the likes of you.’

If you are a warrior, turn to
818
. If you are a rogue, turn to
723
. If you are a mage, turn to
787
.

544

On the banks of the swamp, you discover the remains of several unfortunate adventurers – their grey corpulent flesh bloated with swamp water. Quickly, you rifle through
their belongings to see if there is anything worth salvaging.

You find a mouldy bag containing 20 gold crowns and one of the following items:

With your grim task complete, you return to the courtyard. Turn to
510
.

545

Virgil gives a weak moan, his back arching as he comes awake. You go to help him but Lorcan grabs hold of your arm, halting you in a vice-like grip.

‘I should have left him to die,’ he states, meeting your questioning frown. ‘He will betray you, before the end.’

You pull away, breaking his hold. ‘I would question
your
loyalty first. Why are you here – why help us at all?’

Lorcan looks about to speak but he suddenly flinches instead, his body going rigid. Beneath his face you can see the muscles twitching, as if they are going into spasm.

‘Are you . . . all right?’ You start toward him, putting out a hand for assistance.

Lorcan knocks it away, his face twisting into an uncharacteristic scowl. When he speaks, his voice seems frailer, stuttering over words. ‘I must go back, back . . . the Nevarin says too
much. Do not break the weave . . . all threads, yes. All threads.’ He tugs the staff loose from its harness.

‘No!’ As he brings the staff around, you catch it in your hand, feeling a shiver of cold race along your arm. ‘I’m not letting you go!’

Lorcan’s scowl becomes something more bestial, almost evil. ‘Don’t touch the staff . . . staff . . . STAFF!’ His other arm rises up, its runes flaring as they strike you
across the face. For a second all you can hear is white noise, then you are rolling across the island in a cloud of ash. There is a flash of golden light from the edge of your vision. Angrily you
twist around, knowing already that you are too late. The stranger has vanished.