Fable: Blood of Heroes (15 page)

Rook gave a grunt that could have been a sound of approval. It was hard to tell with Rook.

Tipple sat down beside Beckett. “What can you tell us about Yog?”

“What part of ‘you don’t want to know’ do you not understand?”

“Forget the future,” said Inga. “Tell us about the past. Is this truly Baya? If so, how did she survive for so long? Are the stories about her true?”

“All stories are true.” Beckett dug out a jug from his small pile of belongings, took a drink, and offered it to Tipple. “Baya, eh? That makes sense. Given how many lives she devoured, it’s possible she’s survived all these centuries.”

“Devoured?” Tipple repeated. “You mean it’s true she’ll try to eat us?”

Beckett snickered. “Maybe she prefers her meat well pickled.”

“If Yog is so powerful, why muck about with greencaps?” asked Tipple. “Why waste her time on Grayrock?”

“Don’t know.” Beckett took another drink.

Tipple dug through his things, producing two more bottles.

“Where do you keep them all?” asked Inga.

“Don’t ask.” He clapped Beckett on the back. “What say we refresh your memory?”

Half a bottle later, Tipple’s lingering headache had faded, swept aside by a warm, tingling sensation. “So there I was in the outhouse. No sooner had I dropped my drawers when the damned greencap dropped on my … on my …”

“On his head,” said Inga.

“S’right! Tried to bite my ear clean off!”

“Only you, Jeremiah Tipple.” Beckett laughed. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, trying to soften me up with drink!”

Tipple grinned. “Course you do. Probably planned it this way to get me to bring you something worth drinking. What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Hiding.” Beckett pointed his bottle at Tipple. “There’s a storm coming, and I don’t want to be anywhere near when it hits.”

“So give us some answers and let us stop it.”

Beckett leaned back and belched. “Everyone says they want to know their future. The ‘truth,’ whatever that means. They hassle and chase and pester you until you finally give it to them, and are they grateful? Never. Doesn’t matter how kindly I phrase the news, either. ‘The nice thing about being mauled to death by balverines is that it will be quick.’ ‘Yes, he’s going to cheat on you, but he’ll be thinking of you when he’s with her.’ ” He shook his head. “They ask for the truth, but they pay more for a good, comforting lie.”

“Yog poisoned the people of Brightlodge,” said Inga. “She tried to flood Grayrock.”

“Grayrock. Pah.” Beckett downed the rest of the bottle and tossed it into the river.

“Tell you what,” said Tipple. “Give us both the truth and the lies about Yog! We’ll guess which is witch. Which witch is … wait, what was I saying?”

Beckett snorted. “You’ll die sober.”

“Lie,” Leech said before Tipple could react.

“You’ll live longer if you stay away from Yog. Keep chasing her and she’ll end up lashing your bones to her gate and mounting your thick skull on the gatepost.”

“Is that true?” asked Tipple.

Beckett merely grinned. “Pass me a new bottle and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

“Lie!” Leech matched Beckett’s grin, clearly enjoying the game.

Tipple pulled another bottle from his pack. “Why’d you flee Brightlodge?”

“Because I’d make an ugly greencap.” He jerked his chin at Tipple. “More to the point, you saw how she turned this mountain of muscle against the rest of you. Imagine what’d happen if she got her poison into someone who could see the future.”

“Truth.” Leech nodded to himself. “You gave more detail that time.”

“Oh, it’s detail that separates the lies from the truth, is it?” Beckett leaned closer. “Your daughter, Leech, has an enormous wart on the tip of her nose. The other kids call her a witch. Milk makes her so flatulent, the dog leaves the house. She’s bright, though. Memorises all the songs after hearing them just one time, and sings them at night when she’s supposed to be sleeping.”

“That’s obviously a lie,” said Leech. “I don’t have a daughter.”

“You sure about that?”

Leech started to respond, then frowned. He sat back and folded his arms. “You’re a cruel man, Beckett the Seer.”

“That’s what they tell me.” Beckett chuckled.

“How d’we kill her?” pressed Tipple. “Yog, not Leech’s repulsive daughter.”

Beckett studied the bottle for so long, Tipple thought he had forgotten the question. “I don’t know.”

“Lie?” guessed Leech.

“If only.” He shook his head. “I see towns falling. Sometimes it’s Grayrock, sometimes Brightlodge. But I can’t see Yog. She’s … dispersed. Her life’s hidden away where even I can’t find it. The only thing I’m certain of is the coming storm.”

“What storm?” asked Tipple.

“The
coming
storm. Pay attention.” Beckett sighed and set the bottle on the ground. “Yog’s desperate to regain her former might, but she’s not ready yet. Something prevents her, something in Grayrock.”

“What’s that?” asked Inga.

“Who knows. Maybe a magical weapon. Maybe the only remaining copy of her recipe for spicy Hero sausage.”

“We just saved your life,” Tipple snapped. “The least you could do is give us some straight answers.”

“You think that would make a difference?” Beckett shrugged. “I warned Old King Wendleglass of his impending death. Didn’t do much good, did it? You think knowing the future is the key. Sure, I knew if I hung around here, the goodfellows would find me, but I also knew you’d show up and start giving me drinks. I could tell you what’s coming to Grayrock. You’d just go running off to join the others, and like as not get yourselves killed.”

“You’re saying we
shouldn’t
join the other Heroes in Grayrock to help stop Yog from destroying the town?” Tipple asked.

Beckett started to laugh, an erratic, slightly hysterical sound that ended with a sudden and potent belch. “You poor, blind fool. Who do you think brings about Grayrock’s downfall?”

CHAPTER 13

GLORY

H
e’s kissing a chicken,” said Glory.

Winter giggled as she watched the chicken flap its wings in protest.

“What better way for the Mayor of Grayrock to win back the hearts and minds of his people?” asked Sterling.

“Hearts, anyway. I think minds are a lost cause in this town.” Glory looked out at the crowd gathered around the Mayor. “The town is in danger, and its ruler and elected protector is out prancing like a prize pony. We don’t have time for this nonsense.”

“I’ve found that people often confess their darkest secrets on their deathbed,” commented Shroud. “If we really want him to tell us what he knows, I could—”

“We didn’t come back here to assassinate the Mayor of Grayrock,” Sterling said firmly.

Shroud shrugged. “Well, no. But there’s always time for a little freelance work.”

They had returned Ben and Greta to their parents, who had been overjoyed to have their children home safe though the father was horrified at his son’s condition. His mother was more accepting, saying with Ben’s new size, they were going to make a fortune in the chimney-cleaning business. Ben had been less than thrilled about this idea.

The last Glory saw, he had been trying to train the family dog to carry him around like a little wooden warrior on a floppy-eared horse. If the boy wasn’t careful, the mutt was going to use him as a chew toy.

“Maybe Sterling
should
get himself named Mayor,” Winter suggested.

“Don’t say such things.” Sterling glanced around, as if afraid someone would leap out of the shadows and stab a badge of office to his chest.

“Do you know the mortality rate among elected officials?” asked Shroud. “They’re three and a half times more likely to die of unnatural causes than your average man on the street.”

“Do not be afraid,” the Mayor said, raising his voice. “The walls of Grayrock have stood strong and proud since the days of our great-great-grandparents. Our people have weathered difficult times before, and we will do so again! Do not let yourselves be ruled by fear.”

Sterling chuckled. “I suspect the Mayor found himself a bard to write a pretty speech.”

Glory gave him a sidelong glance. “That’s like the balverine calling the ogre ugly, considering the purple prose that comes out of your mouth.”

Sterling winked. “This mouth is good for far more than florid speech, my lady Glory. Perhaps you’d care to—”

“No, thank you.” Glory wrinkled her nose. “I know where that mouth has been.”

She strode out of the shadows before he could respond. She weighed and discarded her options as she approached the Mayor. The temptation to simply drag the incompetent old fool off somewhere and pry the truth out of him was strong, but it would mean getting past the ring of ten armed men. None looked particularly skilled or strong, and Glory had no doubt she and her companions could overpower them, but there was always the chance one of them would get in a lucky thrust.

The crowd was the larger problem. In a town this small, everyone knew one another. Heck, half of them were probably related. Hurt one guard and you’d immediately be set upon by his brother, cousin, great-uncle, nephew, and half sister. A fight would become a riot, and she’d end up having to destroy half the town to pacify the remaining half. There were simpler ways to get what she wanted.

The Mayor’s smile grew strained when he spotted Glory and her fellow Heroes. “You’re back,” he said. “All of you still alive. How wonderful.”

“We vanquished the Ghost of Grayrock and sent her fleeing to her mistress, a witch named Yog,” Sterling called out. “The kidnapped boy is safely returned to his family.”

Glory had to raise her voice to be heard over the cheers. “Have you heard the news from Brightlodge? Yog has been twisting the townspeople into monsters and sending them to spread panic and death.”

“If Brightlodge had a stronger leader, he would protect them from such threats,” the Mayor shot back.

Glory pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pocket, glanced at the message from Brightlodge, then used it to fan herself. “Beckett the Seer believes Yog will attack Grayrock. He spoke of a coming storm.” She looked to the sky, where a mass of dark, green-edged clouds had been gathering over the woods since sunrise. “What has Grayrock’s leader done to protect his people?”

The Mayor raised his hands. “A little rain is nothing to worry about.”

“The clouds are a portent of doom,” said a woman. “Just like the omen my sister Peg saw last week, when her cat gave birth to a two-headed lamb! Evil is coming to Grayrock!”

Glory groaned. They had investigated that story their first day in town. As it turned out, Peg also happened to be a taxidermist, and they’d found a very suspicious row of stitches around that stillborn animal’s second neck. Which hadn’t stopped people from lining up to pay for the chance to see the dead “monster sheep.”

“Beware, good people,” said Sterling. “For the Ghost of Grayrock was but one of three Riders, servants of Yog. Yog herself is said to be a creature of legend, one who would feed on your helpless children and bathe all of Albion in blood!”

He was laying it on a little thick, but it certainly captured people’s attention. Glory pushed her way through the crowd. Sparks tickled her palms as her annoyance grew, but she kept her power to herself and settled for using some well-placed elbows to clear a path. “Why did Skye want to flood the town? Why is Yog intent on destroying Grayrock?”

“Grayrock is peaceful,” said the Mayor. “We’ve no feuds with anyone.”

“Well, someone has a feud with Grayrock.” She stopped just beyond the range of the guards’ spears. “Yog is coming. You can either help us put an end to her plans, or we can go on our way and leave the defence of Grayrock to you. What do you think Yog will do when she learns Grayrock is unprotected?” She glanced at the closest of the guards. “No offence.”

Sterling stepped up behind her and whispered, “We can’t abandon these people.”

Glory pushed the spears aside and approached the Mayor. The guards tensed, but the Mayor held up his hand for them to wait. The man lacked the courage for a fight. Not here, with him trapped in the middle. “You have two choices, Mayor. One: You and I go somewhere private so you can tell me everything you know about Skye, Yog, and their plans. Or two: We leave you to fend off the coming storm on your own.”

The Mayor looked down at her from his place atop an old crate. It was a cheap theatrical trick designed to force everyone, including Glory, to look up to him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I know nothing of these villains.”

Glory countered by lowering her voice to a whisper, making him bend down to hear. “You’re going about this all wrong.”

“I don’t think so.” It was his smile that did it. That smug, gloating smile was as irritating as a sliver buried beneath her skin.

Glory gave the Mayor an answering smile that would have chilled even Winter’s blood. “This treasure the ghost claimed to be looking for. What guarantee did you have that she would have shared it with someone like you?”

The Mayor’s grin cracked ever so slightly. Glory moved closer. “Did she tell you she’d split the treasure? That it would be an equal partnership?” She shook her head like a disappointed tutor. “There’s no such thing. Every partnership has a leader and a follower. Tell me, Mayor, which were you? Do you command the Ghost of Grayrock? Does she respond to your summons?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore. “Well, no, but—”

“You were in over your head. I understand.” The crowd pressed in, but their desire to avoid impaling themselves on the guards’ spears outweighed their eagerness to eavesdrop. At least for the moment. “Sterling would see you stripped of your office for your part in things, but I understand that people sometimes stumble. I’m offering you a chance to redeem yourself and retain your power, such as it is.”

“I was working on a plan to rid Grayrock of the ghost’s influence when you and your friends arrived and disrupted everything.”

“A plan,” Glory repeated. “I assume your plan involved betraying her the moment you got your claws on this mythical treasure?”

The Mayor had the decency to blush.

“Skye used your greed to lead you about like a dog on a leash. You were never in control.” Glory’s smile grew. “Would you like to be?”

“What … what do you mean?”

Sterling stepped closer. “Glory, what are you doing?”

“Like it or not, this is the Mayor’s town. If we want to get anywhere, we need him.” She waved Sterling away and turned her attention back to the Mayor, who had puffed up at Glory’s acknowledgement of his importance. The man couldn’t have been easier to manipulate if he’d been a puppet. “Skye is only a servant. Whatever is about to happen, it’s happening by Yog’s command. She wants something. Something Skye failed to bring her. Something she’s willing to do anything—or
pay
anything—to get. Negotiating with the nymph is a waste of time. We should be focusing our efforts on the one holding the nymph’s leash.”

“We?” he repeated.

“I’m not the Mayor of this town. I have no way of contacting Skye.” They had tried burning the last of the sticks Skye had given to Greta, but if Skye had seen their signal, she had chosen to ignore it. “I suspect you might, though you’ve been too frightened to use it.”

“You propose a partnership?” The Mayor’s smile began to return. “And which of us would be the leader in such an arrangement, woman?”

“You’re learning,” Glory said approvingly.

Sterling grabbed her by the arm and pulled her around. “Glory, you can’t—”

Power flowed instinctively through her limbs. Sparks flew from her fingertips. Sterling took an involuntary step back.

“Never lay hands upon me without my permission.” Glory swallowed and balled her fists, crushing both her automatic anger and the half-formed flaming apple. Orange sparks burst from between her fingers.

Sterling started to reply—probably a flirtatious quip about where he could lay those hands—but something in Glory’s expression must have made him reconsider. He nodded and stepped back. “You’re right. My apologies.”

Glory took a breath, gathering her composure. “What do you say, Mr. Mayor?”

“You need my power and my connections.” He folded his arms. “Why do I need you?”

She looked at the smoke rising from her fingertips. “To make sure you walk away alive.”

“I don’t trust you,” the Mayor said as he led Glory up the stairs of the tower.

“You shouldn’t. Trust is what got you into this mess in the first place.” Well, trust and greed. And stupidity. Not to mention a heap of unjustified arrogance. Glory kept those thoughts to herself as they reached the top of the spiral staircase, where the Mayor unlocked the door to his personal office.

One of the many lessons Glory’s father had shared growing up was to never trust a tidy office, and the Mayor’s was immaculate. The furniture was all wood, without a speck of the grey dust that covered the rest of the town like dirty snow. Wooden shelves held old tomes and scrolls, interspersed with rock samples of various shapes and sizes. A citation hung beside the door, complete with wax seal and purple ribbons. Glory skimmed it just long enough to confirm that the Mayor had awarded it to himself, for “Servisse and Dedicashonne Beyonde the Calle of Dutye.”

The Mayor had brought four of his guards into the tower with them. Two took up positions to either side of the door. A third stood by the window. The last remained outside, at the top of the staircase.

“My men will say nothing,” the Mayor assured her. “My gold keeps their families fed and their children out of the quarry.” He sat behind the desk, a move no doubt intended to remind her who was in control here. In certain situations, with a different opponent, it might have worked. But in sitting down, he had sacrificed the advantage of height. Glory ignored the proffered chair and rested her hands on the edge of the desk, looking down at him.

The Mayor spoke first, another small victory for Glory. “
If
I had the means to summon Skye, how do we force her to bring us to Yog? What’s to stop her from slaying you for ruining her plans?”

“From slaying
us,
you mean?” Glory waited a beat, just long enough to convey her disdain at such a foolish question. “She’s just a nymph. We’ve humiliated her once. We can do so again.”

The Mayor snorted. “She’s a creature of flame and smoke and rage.”

Glory walked over to study the shelves, forcing him to turn to follow her. He was so easy to control and utterly blind to the strings she was pulling. She glanced at a map of Grayrock and the surrounding woods. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that a being of the forest would come to embrace fire? How did she gain the Will to master the element she most feared?”

She didn’t give him time to answer. “Smoke fell from her lips when she spoke. Her body was blackened by flame. She’s a nymph of charred trees and ash-covered earth, of smoke that blackens the sky, and she carries that horror within her.”

“You paint a tragic picture,” said the Mayor. “But even if that’s true, how does it help us?”

“By showing us the true nature of our enemy. She spoke of people burning the forests to the ground. You saw only Skye’s rage, but that rage was born of despair.”

He chewed his lower lip for a moment, his brow furrowed. “It seems to me that fires born of despair will kill you just as dead as those that come from rage.”

“True enough,” said Glory. “But the power of a strong Will and disciplined mind should defeat them both.”

He made a show of rubbing his chin and considering. “You can do this?”

“Of course.”

“Can you get us past the traps your friend set at the dam?”

Glory took a scroll from the shelf and unrolled it. This was another map, though this one was many years older. The quarry had expanded a great deal since this map was drawn. “If you still believe there’s gold beneath the dam—”

“Not gold,” he said quietly. “But there
is
treasure buried in Grayrock. That’s what Skye was searching for.”

“What kind of treasure?” She set the scroll aside and opened a book that turned out to be a journal of some sort.