The Heart of Fire Read Online Free PDF Page A

through its contents.
    You find a backpack, 30 gold crowns and the following items, which you may take:
     
    Plumed helm
Saddle blanket
Rider’s jerkin
(head)
(cloak)
(chest)
+1 armour
+1 armour
+1 speed
     
    Another corridor brings you out into a wide, vaulted hall. Its central pillars are carved into figures of warriors – both male and female – resplendent in decorative plate armour.
They provide useful cover as a tight knot of inquisitors rush past, their armaments clattering noisily in the echoing chamber.
    You break from cover, moving quickly towards the bright band of daylight seeping between a pair of arched doors. Several bodies lie amongst the shadows to either side, green-fletched arrows
protruding from their chests. Without stopping, you slip through the doors and out to freedom.
    The glare is almost blinding; the light of the pale sun reflected off the glistening snow. As you crest a hill, you look back at the place that once held you prisoner – a
vast cathedral carved out of a spire of black rock. Durnhollow: the dungeon of the inquisition. You spit into the snow, before turning and heading down the wooded mountainside, into the valley
below.
    A narrow trail brings you to a well-worn track, carving its way through rolling hills. As you join the track, you see a procession approaching from the east; a group of dusty travellers, with
carts and wagons piled high with belongings.
    You wonder if they are fleeing some disaster, but as they near you see that several of the travellers are bedecked with garlands and crucifixes. Pilgrims, you suspect. You nod to one of the men,
who is carrying a young girl on his shoulders. He smiles, then points ahead along the track.
    ‘Look Aimee, we made it. That’s Carvel, up there on the hill. We’re following the path of the saints, just like I said we would.’ He looks your way, offering you a grin.
‘Are you headed our way, pilgrim? Come to pay your respects?’
    You follow the child’s gaze, towards a walled town perched on a plateau of rock. It promises you a new start; a safe haven from the prying eyes of the inquisition.
    ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’ You clasp the man’s hand in welcome, before joining the procession.
    ‘I’m Bernard. This is Aimee.’ The girl giggles and waves. ‘I’d say we made good timing; looks like this weather’s gonna hold after all.’ He frowns up at
the heavy white sky. ‘At least ’til we see the warmth of a tavern, eh?’
    You peer sideways at him, offering a grin. ‘I very much doubt that.’ A moment later rain begins to fall, spattering off your helm and cloak. You raise your eyebrows. ‘Told you
so.’
    Bernard gives a snort of laughter. ‘What’s this, we got our very own prophet?’ He pats the legs of his little girl. ‘See, Aimee. We come to the holy lands and find
ourselves a prophet, just like the great Saint Allam. It’s got to be a sign – a sign that our luck’s changing.’ He gives you a sly wink. ‘What do you say,
prophet?’
    You keep your eyes set ahead, your hand gripping the pommel of your sword. For as long as you can remember, you have been hunted – running from town and village, with nowhere to call home.
Will Carvel be any different?
    ‘Tell me, Bernard. Do you believe that the future can really be foretold?’ You glance up at the darkening skies. They promise a storm.
    The traveller lowers his little girl to the track, helping her to fix her hood. ‘I say it’s up to the One God to decide our fate. None of our business is it, the future? Not unless
you’re a saint, like Allam.’
    You nod, eyeing your reflection in the fast-forming puddles. A gaunt, pale figure; a stranger you barely recognise. ‘Yeah, none of our business.’ Your boot splashes down into the
muddy water, obliterating the face staring back.
    Your attention shifts to the welcoming lights of Carvel, blinking on the horizon. For now, you are happy to put thoughts of demons and dark mountains from your mind. The