Free Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable) by Peter David

down. Evidently, with their combined skills, they were capable of just about anything.
    â€œIt says here that nothing had ever defeated them,” said James. “Apparently they died peacefully, in their sleep. Hunh. Doesn’t seem like much of a death for Heroes. Heroes should die in battle with their teeth sunk into the throats of their opponents.”
    â€œAnd you would know this from personal experience?”
    â€œHardly,” James admitted. “I suppose it’s easy for someone who isn’t a Hero to decide how others should lead their lives, or end them.” He read further. “It says here they were each buried with some sort of weapon. Supposedly those weapons have great power—”
    â€œAnd is that what your conspiracy is interested in?”
    â€œWhat?” James, who had been bent over the texts, started to stand upright. “What are you talking ab—?”
    Suddenly, the Librarian’s hand was on the back of his head and slammed his skull down into the book, causing it to strike with such force that James thought the world was spinning around him. “Tell me!” snarled the Librarian in his ear, his voice no longer elderly. Instead, each word was crisp, the voice deep and resonant. “Do not think for a moment that you can fool me!”
    â€œI . . . I don’t understand! Fool you—?”
    â€œHeading east, searching for balverines? What is your true mission?”
    â€œThat’s it! That’s all! I swear!” James tried to struggle against the old man’s grip but didn’t begin to make even the slightest progress against it.
    â€œYou’re not searching for the power of the Heroes to use for your own selfish ends?”
    â€œAre you insane ? I never even heard of them before you brought it up!”
    â€œAnd your friend?”
    â€œI think maybe he heard of them. But even if he did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s looking for—”
    â€œBalverines, yes. So you say. And why, pray tell?”
    â€œBecause his brother was killed by one and he wants . . . I don’t know! Peace, I guess.”
    No reply came. It seemed as if the man was considering his words. Then the hand withdrew. James gasped, sucking air in deeply, because the man had been pushing hard against James’s throat, and he’d been having trouble breathing. He took a moment to gather himself and then stood and turned to face the man who had been abusing him so.
    There was no sign of him.
    He stood there, gasping, looking around, and was about to go in pursuit of his assailant before he realized that that probably wasn’t the best idea. But why in the world would some librarian be attacking him? Asking him about conspiracies and such? It made no sense.
    â€œExcuse me,” said an elderly voice from near him, and even though it was soft-spoken, it caused him to jump. He grabbed for his sword and saw an elderly woman looking at him in confusion, her head cocked. She didn’t seem to notice that he had his hand on his hilt, or perhaps she was just so old that she didn’t give a damn if he cut her head off. “What are you doing here? Only scholars are supposed to be using this facility. You look like a vagabond.”
    â€œThe . . . the Librarian said we could . . . that ...” His hand involuntarily went to the back of his head. “I ...”
    â€œWhat Librarian? There’s no one overseeing this facility save me. And you shouldn’t be here.”
    â€œBut . . . the old man—”
    â€œYou’re blathering. There are no old men here. Just a young man who’s making no sense. And I will thank you to leave now.”
    â€œI ...” James stopped himself. There was no point in arguing with this withered crone. How was he to convince her that some strange man was wandering the halls of the Library posing as someone who was supposed to be there? And even if he did accomplish that feat, what