Read Online The Heart of Fire by Michael J. Ward - Free Book Online

lucky to have a benefactor who believes in what I do.’ Anna glances over at her patient, wringing her hands with worry. ‘There have been many casualties
in this war . . .’
    ‘War?’ you ask in surprise. ‘What war?’
    The woman raises an eyebrow. ‘The Church and the Wiccans. Neither will back down – the Wiccans want their lands back; their ancient sites. The Church wants to convert their people;
make them change their heathen ways. Do you really see any solution other than war?’
     
Will you:
Ask about the patient? — 115
Ask about the strange object on the table? — 92
Ask what you need to do? — 130
    36
    A crowded mass of bodies files through the streets and cobbled squares, where the endless cries of hawkers compete for attention. You are drawn to a row of stalls, where
skewered lizards are being cooked over hot coals. Nearby, a woman is spooning stew into small wooden bowls. A cage of live rats hangs from a post beside her, making you wonder exactly what type of
meat has made its way into the sloppy-looking gruel.
    ‘Fancy some of me finest hot pot?’ asks the woman, offering you a bowl.
    Grimacing, you move on, your attention settling on a group of traders. One has a table, strewn with an odd assortment of objects. They appear to be charms and bracelets, made from woven straw
and wood and what looks like . . . finger bones. Next to the charm-maker a tinker has set up shop, with a gleaming array of weapons and armour displayed on racks.
    Behind them, a rickety-looking building leans over the street. A newly-painted sign sways in the chill wind, proclaiming it as ‘The Pilgrim’s Rest’. The image shows a
rosy-faced woman, supping from a pewter tankard. Sounds of music and merriment drift out from the smoky interior.
     
Will you:
Examine the charm-maker’s wares? — 41
Investigate the tinker’s shop? — 22
Visit ‘The Pilgrim’s Rest’ — 47
Follow the crooked street to upper town? — 17
Leave Carvel? — Turn to the Act 1 map
     

 
     
    37
    The robbers clearly have no combat experience, their ragged clothing and crude weapons suggesting that this was not their primary choice of career. Your first blow sends the
leader staggering back, your second severs his rake in two. Twisting around, you parry an incoming strike from behind, swinging your knee up to hit your attacker in the groin. He gives a gasp of
pain – time enough for you to slam your elbow into his back, sending him sprawling into the mud.
    You turn to your remaining assailant – the youngest of the three, barely old enough to be sporting his fuzz of beard. He clutches the wooden club tightly, holding it out before him like
some magical talisman to ward you away. You take a quick step forward – and the boy’s resolve crumbles. He drops the club and backs away, arms held out wide.
    ‘We thoughts you were a Wiccan,’ he begs, his voice breaking on the words.
    ‘Should that make a difference?’ you growl angrily.
    ‘They took everything from us,’ says the leader, the eldest of the three. He throws the broken stumps of his weapon into the mud. ‘They burnt our farmstead to the ground. My
wife . . .’ He shakes his head, his words sticking in his throat.
    You sheathe your weapons, then walk over to the robber who is still lying on the ground, groaning with pain. ‘I find it hard to sympathise with those who would prey on travellers,’
you reply harshly, offering a hand. The robber takes it and stumbles to his feet. He is a few years older than the boy, with broad shoulders and thick-set arms. This one, at least, might make a
decent fighter – with some training.
    ‘You’re the first, honest,’ says the youngest, looking around nervously. ‘We’ve not had a decent meal for days. We got desperate . . .’ He clutches his arms
to his chest, shivering with cold. You notice that his clothes are torn and threadbare, caked in mud. It is a sorry sight – one that makes you marvel that they have managed to