Fable: Blood of Heroes Read Online Free PDF Page A

most people imagined when they daydreamed about becoming Heroes, but it was all part of the job. Today, that job had been both quick and efficient. Some of his companions were a little short on experience, but they fought well.
    “That was fun.” Tipple brushed his hands together and belched. “So much for death and doom and whatever.”
    “Cockiness killed the cat,” said Rook.
    Leech looked up from examining the corpses. “I thought it was curiosity.”
    “That too.” Curiosity, cockiness, carelessness … cats didn’t survive long in the Deadlands.
    For generations, the Strangers had guarded Albion against whatever the Deadlands to the north cared to throw at them. But you didn’t beat back the nightmares with enthusiasm or overconfidence; you did it with skill, a cool head, and a well-kept weapon.
    Tipple was a tough old bastard. Looking at the bodies sprawled throughout the room, you couldn’t question the man’s effectiveness. And there was something to be said for raw, unbridled arse-kicking. But the man lacked the discipline Rook had grown used to among the Strangers.
    “Right.” Rook pointed his crossbow at the redcap, who was gleefully laughing and jumping about, searching for more things to set on fire. “Where can we find Nimble John the outlaw, and what’s with this pending-doom nonsense?”
    Inga put a hand on Rook’s arm. “He helped us.”
    “Redcaps can’t tell one human being from another.” Tipple rubbed his eyes and looked around. “Wait, what were we talking about?”
    “Inga’s right,” said Leech. “He spent the whole fight watching that particular outlaw, waiting for the chance to kill him.”
    The redcap had begun singing to itself, a high-pitched rhyme about bones and stones. He grabbed a blanket and held it over the burning body of the outlaw until it caught fire, then dropped it and grabbed one of the dead chickens. Singing happily, he began plucking the chicken and tossing feathers onto the flames.
    “You think he led us here deliberately?” asked Inga.
    Rook’s nose wrinkled. The stench of burning plumage was enough to turn even his stomach. “What’s your story, redcap?”
    The creature set the partially plucked bird on the fire, then scampered about, searching for additional fuel. Leech snatched a book out of his reach, and the redcap hissed in frustration.
    “What is it?” asked Tipple.
    Leech turned the pages. “Looks like someone’s diary. Oh, here’s a ‘To Do’ list dated last week.”
    1. Unload shipment from Grayrock.
    2. Find redcaps.
    3. Get paid.
    4. Buy beer and second pair of underwear.
    He flipped to the last entry. “There’s a badly sketched map noting the location of the pubs—”
    “Important information,” Tipple said solemnly. “When I first got to Brightlodge, I wasted an entire half hour finding the nearest pub!”
    “—and a reminder to get out before Brightlodge is overrun,” Leech finished.
    The others fell silent. Rook stepped sideways, keeping his crossbow pointed at the redcap. Something about this place gnawed at him like a hound with a fresh boar hoof. This wasn’t the first criminal lair he had cleared out, and for the most part, it was no different from any other: stolen goods, the smell of lousy cooking, unkempt bedrolls … most outlaws were sadly lacking in discipline.
    He crouched to examine the empty cage near the back. Muddy feathers and bird crap littered the bottom. This was where the birdmaster had kept his killer chickens. But the bars of the cage were the width of Rook’s finger. That was overkill even for these birds.
    The bars had corroded. One was broken loose at the bottom. It looked like it had been shoved out from the inside. A bit of red thread hung from the rust near the top.
    The redcap went still, all of his attention on Rook. He found this sudden attentiveness far more disturbing than the redcap’s earlier madness.
    The thread was stiff. Dry blood flaked away on Rook’s fingertips. He held