Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable) Read Online Free PDF

yelling at the top of his lungs before James could reach him. When he did emerge from the house seconds later, he could scarcely believe what he was seeing.
    Thomas’s father had gathered all of his son’s books, created a small pile in front of the house, and ignited them. Thomas was waving his arms, and howling, “You gormless teat! What the hell have you done?”
    â€œI’ve done you a favor, is what I’ve done.” In contrast to his son, Thomas’s father didn’t sound at all angry. It was as if all the anger had been burned away from him in the fire. Instead, he was resigned and yet confident, convinced of the rightness of his actions. “You’re not a child anymore, Thomas. You’re of age. You have responsibilities. It’s time to put aside the playthings of your youth—”
    â€œKnowledge isn’t a plaything!”
    â€œKnowledge of what? Balverines?”
    â€œAnd hollow men, and banshees, and . . . and the Triumvirate! The three greatest Heroes in the—”
    â€œKnowledge of nonsense is of no use in the real world.”
    The flame was crackling furiously, smoke billowing from it and caking Thomas’s face. He looked like a primitive creature bounding around a fire as part of some arcane ritual. Gesticulating wildly, he cried out, “ What do you know of the real world? You’ve never wandered beyond the confines of this . . . this cesspool of a city! There’s a whole wild world out there that you could experience, but you don’t have the wit or imagination to realize it!”
    â€œMy wits kept you and your mother in a fine house for the entirety of your life, so I’d show a little respect if I were you.”
    With that pronouncement, he turned from his son and walked away. “I’ll be down at the market. Join me there when you feel like honoring the memory of your mother and embracing your responsibilities as a man.”
    Then he was gone, and the only sound in the air was the crackling of the flames and Thomas’s ragged breathing.
    Thomas said nothing for a time, instead simply staring at the fire as it consumed the last of the books and burned itself out. James had never felt more helpless. Uncertain of what to say, he chose to remain silent.
    â€œJames,” Thomas finally said, his voice so soft that James had to strain to hear it, “could you get me some water from the well? I’ll need to wash up.”
    â€œSure,” said James, and he hastened to the well. He drew up two buckets as quickly as he could and hurried back to the house, the water sloshing violently around the tops of the twin buckets. James staggered under their weight and almost lost his footing as he made his way to the cistern.
    He stopped, however, upon seeing that Thomas had emerged from the house once again. Thomas was dressed for the road, with a cloak and hood draped around his shoulders. He had also paid a visit to his father’s well-stocked armory, for his father was both an avid hunter and also relentlessly paranoid that outsiders might show up and try to steal his money. He had a crossbow dangling from a holster in his left hip and a sword strapped to his right. There was a pack slung upon his back that was bulging with what James could only assume were supplies: easily transportable foodstuffs, changes of clothes, money, and whatever else one would need for a journey. Seeing the pails brimming with water, he said, “Good. Put them down.” James did as he was instructed and Thomas went over to them, dipped one of the trailing ends of his cloak into one of them and used it to wipe soot and ash from his face.
    â€œAre you, uhm . . . going somewhere?” asked James.
    Thomas looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, and there was gentle amusement in his voice. “Isn’t it obvious?”
    â€œIt . . . somewhat is.”
    â€œThen why did you ask?”
    â€œJust trying to be polite. Where are