Fable: Blood of Heroes (23 page)

“Is it me, or does Skye look annoyed?” asked Glory. The nymph was floating towards them, her hands enveloped in fire and black smoke.

Leech tapped Glory’s shoulder and pointed. Inga continued to fend off Skye’s minions, while Shroud drew back his bowstring. The arrow carrying Ben was little more than a blur that shot up in an arc, clearing the wall by inches before disappearing into Grayrock.

“I hope he’s all right,” said Greta.

Glory grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her back as fire streaked down. The river sizzled and steamed where Greta had been standing.

Leech looked like he was trying to bring Skye down, but he wasn’t having much luck.

“Greta, follow the stream back into the woods. Skye shouldn’t be able to see you through the trees. If you’re hit, duck beneath the water.” Glory started upriver. “If Leech and I can get through the gate into Grayrock, we’ll have some cover against Skye’s assault.”

That was easier said than done. Skye’s animated campfires crowded both sides of the water, and the nymph continued to throw flame from above. One struck Leech on the side. Another singed Glory’s arm, setting her sleeve alight. She threw herself into the water, then rolled out of the way of another attack.

An arrow zipped past Skye. Shroud and Inga charged the creatures from behind. Some of them pulled away to intercept this new threat.

“Aim for Skye’s cape,” Glory shouted. “It’s what keeps her aloft!”

Shroud didn’t answer, but he pulled a blue-fletched arrow from his quiver, and his next shot ripped through Skye’s billowing cape, leaving a fist-sized hole in its wake. Skye shrieked and gripped her shoulders where the cape connected to her gown.

Skye was focusing her assault on Shroud, pouring smoke and fire so thick he was unable to get off another good shot. But he was keeping her busy, and that was all Glory needed. She flung another poison apple to clear a path and waded to land.

“What are you doing?” Leech shouted.

“New plan. Get to the gate. I’m going to hit her from behind.”

She ran towards the tower on the northwest part of the wall. Sweat stung her eyes, and her burnt arm throbbed with pain, impossible to ignore. This was where the second wave of redcaps had entered Grayrock during their initial assault on the town. As she had hoped, most of the ropes and ladders they had used were still here. She reached the base and climbed one-handed, rolling onto the observation platform. The tower creaked and shifted under her weight.

A handful of Skye’s creations scrambled up the wall after her like rats. Glory dropped another apple on their heads, then turned to check on the others.

Inga had stepped in front of Shroud, using Bulwark to fend off a gout of flame. The instant it stopped, Shroud popped up and put another arrow through Skye’s cape. Smoke poured out, forming a cloud around the nymph.

Glory readied her magic, but she couldn’t even see Skye anymore. Shroud’s bow had gone silent as well. The black fog spread and thickened. The cloud soon stretched out over much of the lake. It looked like Skye intended to drift over the town and flee into the hills, much as she had done after their last encounter.

“Not this time, you don’t.” Glory ran along the top of the wall, jumping the occasional cracked stone or dead redcap. “Shroud, get ready!”

There were times for precision and care. This wasn’t one of them. Glory hurled one flaming apple after another into the cloud. The first explosion dispersed the smoke in a sphere as wide as Glory was tall. The next three thinned the air enough to make out Skye’s form. More smoke poured from her gown, like ink from a squid.

Another arrow ripped through Skye’s cape. It looked like it had sliced the nymph’s arm as well. But it wasn’t enough. Skye dipped lower, dropping out of Shroud’s line of fire.

Glory reached the edge of the broken dam. Nothing of the town was visible through the grey-brown water, save the tip of the Mayor’s tower, jutting up from the centre like a crenulated stone island.

Glory threw another red apple, this time aiming for Skye’s cape. If it was enchanted to sail on enchanted smoke, perhaps other forms of magic would work too.

The cape rippled sharply away from the explosion, jerking Skye backwards. She wheeled her arms through the air. Glory’s next attack splattered poison on both Skye and the cape. Skye screamed, but the cape seemed unaffected.

The nymph twisted, and fire poured down at Glory. She started to dodge, but the water had turned the rocks slippery. Her right food slid out from beneath her. She hit the dam hard and tried to catch herself, but she couldn’t find a handhold.

She rolled off the edge and landed hard in the shallow water next to the falls, where the broken dam had formed a sloping hill into the water. A hill with many hard edges and corners, all of which had left their marks on her bones. A hill that felt far less stable than Glory would have liked.

Her legs and hips were in the water. Very slowly, she reached to either side to try to pull herself up. The rocks shifted beneath her and the water rose past her waist.

The rush of the falls tugged her legs, trying to haul her under. The shock of the water on her burnt arm and back made her lock her jaw to keep from screaming. She blinked back tears and searched for Skye.

The nymph was circling around to finish Glory off. Smoke and fire poured off her skin.

“Kill me if you can,” Glory muttered. “But you’re coming with me.” She saw two options. One involved drowning. The other involved the kind of fowl-brained idea Winter might have come up with … which would in all likelihood be followed by drowning.

Skye launched another column of flame.

Glory let go of the rocks. As the water yanked her down, she stretched her Will towards Skye and
pulled,
trying to perform the same swap she had done with the greencap in the woods.

Water covered her head and filled her nose, and a single thought fought to the surface: If she failed, Winter would never let her live this down.

And then she was falling through the air. The world spun around her. She spotted Skye in the water an instant before steam and smoke obscured her from view.

Glory tried to twist into a dive, but she was too exhausted and falling too fast. She slammed into the water hard enough to expel the air from her lungs. Her vision went white, and water rushed into her mouth and nose.

She couldn’t see, couldn’t tell which way was up. The current from the falls battered her like a leaf in a gale. She tried to fight, but she could barely move. She felt herself falling into night.

“Are you all right? Can you hear me?”

Glory opened her eyes. Greta was staring down at her, water dripping from her hair and face. Glory tried to speak, but her lungs rebelled. Strong hands hoisted her onto her side, and she vomited murky water.

“She’s alive!”

“Of course,” said Leech. “The dead don’t vomit.”

Glory could hear the smile behind his mask. “Where … ?”

“Don’t try to talk yet.” Leech put his fingers to her lips. “You busted yourself up pretty good. You managed to damage almost every part of your body. I’ve been using some of my own life to stabilise you, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“You’re outside Grayrock,” said Greta. “Inga carried you out—”

“After Greta here dived in to rescue you.” Inga beamed at the younger girl. “She followed you into Grayrock. While the rest of us were finishing off Skye’s henchmen, she was saving your life.”

“Skye?” asked Glory.

“Dead.” Shroud pursed his lips. “She tried to climb out, but her cape dragged her down. The body washed up against the gate a few minutes ago.”

“Dibs on the body!” Leech said.

“This is no time to be playing with corpses,” said Inga. “If Sterling and the others can’t stop Yog, she’ll come here next.”

“Likely from the south or west.” Shroud peered out at the woods. “The mountains make an eastern approach difficult, and the river protects us from the north. If it were me, I’d come through Talondell. The forest will make her as hard to see as a black cat at midnight.”

“Yog’s not going to be happy,” said Greta. “You killed one of her Riders.”

Glory closed her eyes. The sun’s warmth would dry her clothes, and the way she figured, she’d earned a bit of rest. “Wake me when she gets here and I’ll finish her off, too.”

CHAPTER 19

STERLING

I
f I’d known you had transformed yourself into stone, I would have let Skye burn the bloody town to the ground without fear of losing you,” said Yog as she examined a set of knives that looked disturbingly like the tools one might find in a butcher shop. Or at Leech’s place. She had spread them out on a small table.

“’Twas sweet of you to worry, love.” Kas stepped over one of the knives and reached out to pat Yog’s hand.

Sterling sat between Tipple and Winter, his limbs bound in ropes that pricked his skin like thorns. His lips were bruised and swollen, and his mouth tasted like he had been chewing coins all day. His head throbbed, and he didn’t think it was just from the beating he had taken in the cavern.

An iron pot hung in the small fireplace, giving off a foul, salt-scented smoke. Sticky red droplets crawling down the side of the pot left little doubt as to its main ingredient. If the mere smell of Yog’s brew was enough to make him feel this bad, he had new respect for what Tipple had endured after drinking her poisoned ale.

The hut was like a child’s overflowing toy chest, assuming that child was more interested in bones and herbs and old vials than wooden soldiers and pretend swords. Sterling’s own sword, along with their other weapons, was piled out of reach in a corner.

What Sterling didn’t see was any kind of small, wooden box that looked like it might contain Yog’s life. If the box was here, there were a thousand places it could be hidden away. Sterling could have searched the hut for a year without finding it.

“Three Heroes.” Yog sounded almost kindly, like the grandmother who was always handing out sweets. “Which of you should I carve up first?”

“The redcap,” said Kas. “He tried to betray you to the Heroes.”

“What?” Blue jumped to his feet, banging the top of his head on a shelf hard enough to make its contents rattle—the shelf’s contents, that was. He pointed at Sterling and his fellow prisoners. “Blue brought three Heroes for Yog! Three to eat or kill or flog!”

“You led them here hoping they would burn Yog’s life,” Kas snapped.

“Me?” Blue’s eyes were round. “
You
promised to sneak in and steal Yog’s hut!”

“You miserable little—”

“Enough.” Though Yog didn’t raise her voice, both Blue and Kas fell silent immediately. Yog turned to study the three Heroes.

Few things disconcerted Sterling, but the sight of Yog’s sharpened iron teeth, each one dark and pitted save for the gleaming edge, made his shoulders tense. It was one thing to face a monster or wild animal. Their fangs, no matter how sharp and deadly, were natural. This was something Yog had deliberately done to herself.

He supposed it was possible someone else had forced those teeth upon her. But somehow he doubted it. Feeble-looking as she was, there was a strength to Yog’s words and stance that suggested nothing around her happened without her permission.

Sterling adopted his most charming smile. “Those must be a beast to sharpen.”

The wrinkles by her eyes grew deeper, an expression that mixed amusement and annoyance. “I file them once a month. My mouth tastes of grit and rust for days afterwards. But they’re much better for tearing through bone and sinew.”

“Sterling’s the talker of the group,” said Kas. “All pretty words and speeches. He’s handy with that sword of his, though.”

Yog picked up Sterling’s sword. “Best to eat him first. Bad enough I have to listen to the ogre’s incessant squabbling with her noggins. What can you tell me of the others?”

“The big one’s strong, but from what little I’ve seen, he’s unreliable. Just as likely to hug you as he is to punch you, depending on how much he’s had to drink.” Kas turned towards Winter. “Her, on the other hand, she’s got some fire to her. So to speak. She’s the one who brought down the dam. She’s strong willed, but once you overcome that, she’d be a good choice.”

“A good choice for what?” asked Winter.

“For one of my Riders.” Yog walked to the fireplace and checked the contents of the pot. “It’s been centuries since I last broke a Hero.”

“Are we exchanging threats now? How fun!” Winter smiled. “Have you ever seen a bad case of frostbite? Would you like to guess which of your extremities will fall off first?”

“Oh, yes. I like her.” Yog pointed the sword at Sterling. “Let’s see what happens after she’s watched her friends die. How long will that defiance last when she’s alone, with no hope of rescue, no company save her own failure?”

Winter’s nose wrinkled. “You know, it’s awfully dusty in here.”

Yog blinked. Before she could respond to the seemingly random comment, Winter arched her back and sneezed.

Snow and frost sprayed forth. Kas toppled onto his back, completely encased in ice. Yog raised a hand to shield her face. Ice grew around her like a second skin of glass.

Winter turned towards Blue. “Be a dear and cut us loose.”

Blue shook his head and pointed.

Cracks spread through the ice that imprisoned Yog. Large chunks fell away as she flexed her arms.

Winter filled her lungs, but before she could launch another attack Yog stepped forwards and stabbed Arbiter into her shoulder. Whatever power Winter had been gathering was lost to her scream.

“You present me with a dilemma,” Sterling said tightly. “I can’t decide whether to kill you myself or to allow Winter the pleasure of ending you.”

“They’re always so defiant in the beginning.” Yog yanked the sword free and used the pommel to break the ice holding her husband. “Winter, as a potential Rider, you may choose which of your friends I kill first. Select one and his death will be quick. Refuse to answer and they will both die slowly. Painfully.”

Winter’s bleeding had slowed. Frost rose from the cut, as if she were chilling and sealing the wound from within. Satisfied that she was in no immediate danger of bleeding to death, Sterling turned his full attention to Yog. “I wouldn’t advise killing us just yet.”

“And why is that?”

Sterling leaned back, looked Yog in the eye, and smiled.

He had learned at a young age that a smile was as powerful a weapon as any sword. Just as he had practised swordplay until he had mastered every technique, he had done the same with his smile, trying different expressions in the mirror and learning which could earn him an extra dessert, help him escape chores, or deflect punishment. As he grew older, he learned to apply that smile to the local lads and lasses, whoever happened to catch his eye that day. He could stop an angry mob or rally an army with the right smile.

A smile could also threaten. Any oaf could bellow and shout loud enough to frighten a few people. It took
skill
to make your enemies soil themselves with nothing more than a smile.

The smile he used against Yog blended quiet threat with total confidence, and perhaps just a hint of condescension, like Yog was a child scheming to steal a tart from the kitchen, thinking herself clever and never knowing her parents watched from the doorway.

The wild tufts of Yog’s eyebrows squeezed together in momentary confusion. She raised the sword to strike, hesitated … 

“He’s stalling,” said Kas.

“Are you sure, little man?” Sterling tilted his head, adding a bit more condescension to his smile. “After you went to such trouble to capture us, do you really want to risk wasting our power?”

Yog’s jaw tightened. Arbiter wavered in her hand. Through clenched iron teeth she said, “Explain. Quickly.”

“All in good time, my dear lady.” Sterling made a show of looking around. “I’m curious about this hut. It appears to be larger on the inside.”

“It is,” said Yog. “It’s grown a bit over the years, though the outer shell remains unchanged.”

“Fascinating.” He glanced at the trio of skulls sitting to one side of the table, each one lit from within by blue candle flame. “When we were talking about you back in Brightlodge, Leech said something interesting. He thinks that in order to best steal a Hero’s power, you’d have to act quickly, before the life drained from the body. Which would suggest you have to keep us alive until you’re ready to consume us. And
that
means you can’t kill us until the curse is lifted. What would happen if you tried, by the way? Is that how you lost your original teeth?”

“Grayrock is gone,” Yog snapped. “The town lies at the bottom of a lake. None remain but corpses.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” Sterling leaned back. “It would be a shame to waste a perfectly good Hero.”

Yog stabbed the sword into the floor. “What are you saying?”

“I have a few more questions first,” Sterling said. “Then I’ll explain.”

“Like how’d Kas persuade you not to eat him?” Tipple piped up. “’Cause that’s the kind of knowledge some of us might soon find useful.”

Yog scowled. “I wasn’t always the twisted crone you see before you. In my day, before Grayrock’s curse, I was considered quite stunning.”

“I told the truth about setting out to slay her,” said Kas. “But it was years before William Grayrock came along. Yog was too powerful for me. I soon recognised the inevitable and surrendered. I knew enough of her reputation to understand my fate, the same fate that had befallen others of my kind. I asked for a single boon before she went about taking my life: a kiss from the loveliest woman I’d ever laid eyes upon.”

“Must’ve been some kiss!” said Tipple.

“It was.” Yog smiled again, and in that moment she looked—not younger, but slightly less evil and haggard. Aside from the iron teeth.

“If it’s a kiss you desire, then untie me, my lady.” Sterling winked. “Let my friends go and I’ll—”

“Will you just kill him already?” Kas snapped.

“Perhaps later.”

Sterling’s smile never faltered. “So it was William Grayrock who cast the curse, not Kas? Then how did Kas end up shrunken and buried in that box?”

“Grayrock again,” said Kas. “Yog attempted to transform him, but the curse was already weakening her. The bastard managed to deflect her spell onto me. I went searching for a way to restore Yog to her former self, but the villagers caught me. They buried me alive.”

Sterling shook his head in exaggerated dismay. “The redcap I can forgive. Madness is part of his nature. But you, sir, knew exactly what Yog was. You had seen what she did. You helped her anyway.”

“Because he understood what you never will.” Yog stepped closer. “I lived through the Fallow Wars. I saw the Old Kingdom collapse into myth. I watched Heroes fall. Throughout that time, only one thing remained constant. Not honour or glory. Not Heroes, whose names were forgotten within a generation or two. Only power.”

It wasn’t the response Sterling had expected. The Old Kingdom and the Fallow Wars were little more than myth and fairy tale, stories told by parents to lull children to sleep, or by cruel older siblings to plant the seeds of nightmares in their younger brothers and sisters. “The Pitch Black Ages,” he whispered. “You lived through the darkest days of Albion’s history, saw the suffering and the death, and you thought of nothing but your own power?”

“What I saw was impermanence,” said Yog. “The peace and prosperity brought about by the first Hero was an eyeblink in the existence of the world. Your Gathering of Heroes will fade into nothingness. Brightlodge will topple over the falls and be lost to history. A hundred years from now, the three of you will be dust, and it will be as if you never existed.”

Winter looked up at Yog. “That’s the most dismal thing I’ve ever heard. When was the last time you got out and enjoyed yourself? I recommend dancing, myself. What’s life without dance?”

“Or drink?” added Tipple.

“Or a partner beneath the covers?” said Sterling.

“You know nothing of life,” said Yog. “You’re each so young, so full of noble intentions, setting out to protect the innocent and fight the darkness. But over time, you’ll gain a taste for power. Well, either that or you get yourselves killed. For those who live, who begin to grow in strength, your arrogance will soon be revealed. You’re not truly interested in protecting others. You do this for your own glory. For the way they look at you afterwards. For their eagerness to warm your bed. And for that secret knowledge that you’re
better
than they are.”

There was just enough truth in her words to pierce Sterling’s guard, scoring the point as neatly as his first fencing master. He regained his composure in an instant, but Yog’s knowing smile told him she had seen through the mask.

“All Heroes walk a narrow path,” Sterling conceded. “It’s easy to stumble. Nobility and honour aren’t badges you receive with your first blade; they’re journeys. Choices we make each day of our lives. The true test of the Hero is to recognise the allure of that darker path and to turn away.”

“Oh, well said,” cheered Winter. “Much better than your usual speeches.”

Tipple simply belched.

“Tell me, Yog,” Sterling pressed. “If corruption is as inevitable as you say, what of yourself? You’ve stolen the power of countless Heroes. What have you become?”

“A twisted, bitter, lonely hag,” Yog said easily. “A survivor. A murderess a thousand times over. Unlike you, I’ve no illusions about what I am.”

“You’ve seen the world in its glory, and you’ve seen it at its darkest.”

“I’ve seen enough to know that Albion will never truly escape that darkness.”

“You could have
been
the light.” Sterling leaned forwards. “You could have led and inspired the people of Albion. I’ve listened to stories of Heroes all my life, stories that taught me to be a better man. Nobility and leadership aren’t about smiting those who block your path. They’re about lifting people up, showing them a better path.”

Yog stepped closer, gripping Arbiter with both hands. “No more pretty words. My beloved is right. You’re stalling.”

“Before you strike, I believe I promised you an explanation,” said Sterling. “Do you remember Ben from Grayrock? His sister called him Hedgehog. Skye brought him to you, and you transformed him into a doll. You forced his sister to spy for you.”

Yog nodded, her forehead furrowed.

Both Winter and Tipple were staring at him now, along with Yog, Kas, and Blue. There was nothing in the world like a rapt audience. In that moment, ropes meant nothing; they were all prisoners of his words. “Like most of the town’s residents, he was a descendant of William Grayrock.”