Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable) (35 page)

“Go to hell,” Thomas snarled.

Lugaru made a scolding, clucking noise with his tongue. “That is uncharitable of you, Thomas. Especially when you realize that I am being truly generous, all things considered.”

“What ‘things'?”

“Why . . . that I'm not seeking vengeance upon you.”

And Lugaru began to transform. He did not reach a halfway point as Kreel had done and then pull back. Instead, he grew, larger and larger, black fur growing upon him, his face distending, bones audibly breaking and reknitting as they came together in a new form. The other balverines backed away, and several of them started to howl, and then all of them were.

Something popped out of his face, pushed out by the restructuring of the bones therein. It was a fake eye, crusted over so that it looked like it was a genuine one that had simply been overtaken by disease.

His clothes, hanging loose and shapelessly upon him, began to fill out as his size increased. Within moments, he had transformed into a full-sized balverine, his black fur rippling, his single glittering yellow eye locked upon Thomas. He spoke and the words were more animal growl than human, but still understandable.

“Vengeance,” he snarled, “for taking my eye when I killed your mewling puke of a brother. But having you in my Order, under my rule . . . that is a far more elegant revenge, don't you think?”

 

 

THOMAS FELT AS IF HE WERE GOING MAD.
He prayed that he was still unconscious and had yet to awaken. But he knew that, no, that was not the case. He was here, he was facing the monster that had killed Stephen, and now—apparently—was going to do even worse to him.

He screamed then, a howl of rage that itself was almost as far from human as Lugaru was. Lugaru laughed in response, a terrible thing to hear, and Thomas yanked at the balverine that was now holding him back. The balverine simply snarled, holding him tight, giving him no chance to escape.

And suddenly there was an explosion that echoed through the forest.

The balverine who had been holding onto Thomas pitched forward, and there was blood all over the fur on the back of its head. Just like that, Thomas was suddenly free, and then there was a second, similar explosion, and the balverine that had been holding James immobilized likewise pitched over.

Thomas's first instinct was to charge straight at Lugaru, even though he knew it would be suicidal. But that instinct was overridden by a loud voice shouting, with authority so commanding that it could not be ignored,
“Run! Run now!”

They did as they were instructed, bolting toward the forest. With a roar, the balverines turned in pursuit, and then there was a rapid series of shots, and in quick succession four more of the balverines went down, grasping at their chests and keeling over.

Kreel and Lugaru were both far enough back that there were balverines in front of them who were taking the brunt of the shots. Kreel no longer held on to his human form; instead, he began to grow and change into a white balverine, howling fury that someone was daring to attack them in this manner. “Get them!” he bellowed, pointing at James and Thomas as they fled into the forest.
“Get them!”

Thomas was certain this was about to be the shortest-lived escape in history, for there was no matching the balverines when it came to speed.

And suddenly one of the foremost balverines erupted in flame.

Thomas had never seen anything like it. The balverine twisted around, screeching, batting at itself, trying to extinguish the fire, and then a second balverine went up. They staggered, pitched forward, and then, an instant later, the entire area in front of the temple burst in flame. It spread far more quickly than seemed humanly possible, and within seconds there was a virtual wall of flame between the balverines and the escaping boys.

Thomas tripped and fell over an extended branch, and then someone reached up from the darkness, yanking him to his feet. “Run,” said a clipped voice, and he looked up, uncomprehending, into the face of Bell. “Run if you value your life. Both of you!”

The “both of you” comment referred to the fact that James had just stumbled into view next to him. “You're alive?” James said to Bell.

“Yes,” said Bell, his thick accent gone, “and I intend to keep it that way. Come! Quickly!” With no further urging, he started sprinting into the forest, and Thomas and James ran after him.

James quickly took the lead, his typical ability to never get lost serving him well in the darkness of the Elderwoods. “Keep going!” Bell urged them. “The smoke and fire should cover our spoors. Plus they're pinned down, at least for a while. By the time the fire burns itself out, they won't be able to catch up with us. At least in theory.”

“What the hell happened back there?” Thomas managed to say, trying to avoid tripping over more obstacles that seemed determined to throw themselves in his path. “Was that you shooting them—?”

“Yes, with silver bullets. Our host took it upon himself to make certain that the weapons you were all carrying were not genuine silver,” Bell said grimly. “Naturally, I anticipated that and made sure to have my own ammunition with me. What I wouldn't give for some manner of moveable turret gun.”

“But the flames—?”

“Flammable oil in bottles, stuffed with cloths that I ignited before hurling them. The brittle and dried-out nature of the forest made the immediate area particularly susceptible. With any luck, the whole damned place would burn down, but I seriously doubt we're going to be that fortunate.”

That was when Thomas saw that Bell was carrying a walking stick tucked under his arm. It was familiar to him, and now so was Bell's voice.
“Wait!”

“Waiting isn't an option.”

“I mean, I know you! You're—”

At that instant, a balverine came leaping out of the forest straight at them.

There was a sharp hiss of metal, and Bell was now holding a long, slender blade that he had pulled from concealment within the cane. Without hesitation, he thrust forward with it, and the blade drove directly into the balverine's chest, piercing the creature's heart. The balverine fell back and was about to let out a dying howl that might well have alerted the others, but Bell reacted swiftly. Even as the balverine opened its mouth to cry out, Bell yanked out the blade and swung it with perfect precision. It didn't cut off the monster's head, but it didn't have to; it sliced expertly through the beast's vocal cords, aborting any outcry before it could be given voice.

Bell turned and held up the blade. “Silver-augmented,” he said. “Particularly effective against the beasts.”

“You're Locke! From back at Windside, at the tavern.”

“I don't believe this,” said James. “Did the whole damned town follow us here?”

“Hardly,” said Quentin Locke. “I told you there was a conspiracy, and now you're neck deep in it. Now . . . I suggest we keep moving and get to the forest perimeter. There we should find what we need in order to go where we need to go before the balverines overtake us.”

“And . . . and where's that?” said Thomas. But Locke was already moving, and Thomas had no choice but to run to keep up. “I said where's that? Where are we going?”

“To Kreel's mansion.”

“Are you
joking
?”

“No. That is where we're going to find what will be required to put an end to this.”

“That being?”

“Heroism.”

“Heroism?” Thomas gasped, trying not to run out of breath as they sprinted through the woods. Behind them, the forest was alight with the flames. “But the only living Hero is the king of Albion! What are you saying, that we run and tell him what's happening and bring him back here?”

“A functional plan, but far too lengthy, particularly if we have any hope in hell of saving the others from the clutches of the Order. We are going to have to deal with Heroes far closer in proximity.”

“Heroes? You . . . you can't mean us ...”

“Yes and no, Mr. Kirkman,” said Locke evenly. “We are going in
search
of Heroes. The Heroes Three. The Triumvirate. Whatever it is you wish to call them.”

“But . . . but they're legends!”

“No, Thomas, they're quite real. And they are the only hope we have of putting an end to this Balverine Order and saving Albion from their unholy influence. I apologize for the melodrama, but there you have it.”

“But even if they existed, aren't they long dead?” said James.

“Yes, Master Skelton. But last I looked, the three of us are alive. And that is going to make all the difference in the world.”

Those depressing thoughts kept tumbling through Thomas's frantic mind as they continued to sprint through the forest. Every shadow seemed to conceal a balverine ready to leap out at them. Every branch was a skeletal hand ready to snag them and drag them back into the woods. He was even sure at several points that he could feel the heat of a balverine's breath on the back of his neck, but he dared not look behind him because at any moment he could trip over something that could possibly cause him to twist or even break an ankle. At that point, James would have no choice but to leave him behind. Except he knew that James would never do that, just as he would never abandon James. They would either make it together or not at all.

When he wasn't giving thought to surviving the forest, he was trying to process what he had just witnessed. The monster who had slain his brother was the leader of some . . . some sort of balverine cult? Their quest had been monitored from the very beginning both by the balverines and by this mysterious man, this Quentin Locke. Had they ever been in control of their destiny at any point?

He asked the question of Locke as they neared the edge of the forest.

“Yes,” Locke said in a no-nonsense tone. Amazingly, he didn't seem the least out of breath. “At any point, you could have turned back. Your determination to see matters through was entirely your own affair. Likewise, how this all ends is also in your control, at least for the moment.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning as long as they don't catch us. There. Through there,” he said, pointing to a separation in the trees. It occurred to Thomas that Locke's sense of direction was as unerring as James's. He envied them; at one point he'd gotten lost inside the mansion while wandering from room to room.

The mansion.

Sabrina. What was he going to say to Sabrina?

Everything that she had said about her father, all of it now was understandable. She had somehow intuited what her father was, a secret that he must have been hiding from her. But he had only been partially successful in keeping his true nature from her. This was about more than just her blaming him for the death of her mother. Instinctively, she had sensed the evil within him.

How was he going to tell her?

It was starting to seem as if being killed by balverines had some advantages. If nothing else, it would spare him some difficult conversations.

They came staggering out of the forest, having quickly traversed at a dead run the distance the expedition had traveled at a slow walk. The mansion was very far in the distance, though, and Thomas knew that sooner or later the balverines would emerge from the forest and come after them. He now knew that Kreel's tale about balverines not desiring to leave the forest was nonsense. The beasts could come and go as—