Free Fable: Blood of Heroes by Jim C. Hines

Winter was an odd one, always laughing and chatting with everyone she met, as if her lifelong goal was to befriend all of Albion. At first glance, she looked like an uncivilised girl from the mountains. A second glance pretty much confirmed the first.
    The wolf pelt she wore revealed as much as it covered, and the fur trim made her look like an ill-sheared sheep. There were hints at a sense of fashion or style, from the thick collar to the cinched waist and the high leather belt, but it was all second-rate work. To top things off, tattoos covered her hands and her bare feet. Winter said they helped her to focus her power.
    Glory sniffed. She herself had never needed anything beyond her own strength of Will.
    “The so-called ghost, yes.” The Mayor scowled. “Look, these are people who hit rocks for a living. They get suspicious of anyone who isn’t covered in dust and calluses, but as long as this ghost isn’t violating any laws, her business is her own.”
    “What business is that?” asked Winter.
    “I wouldn’t know. Let me be clear. Any minor problems in Grayrock are completely under control. There’s certainly no call for outsiders who don’t know nothing about Grayrock to come tromping in and stir things up.”
    “I understand. Clumsy, ignorant buffoons are so frustrating, aren’t they?” Glory continued before the Mayor could figure out how to respond. “Sam said the Ghost of Grayrock was hanging about the docks, but we didn’t find anything there. Where do you think we might locate her?”
    “I couldn’t say. I’ve not seen her myself.”
    The man was as useful as a trapdoor on a rowboat.
    “What happened to the dead fellow?” Shroud peered up from the shadows of his black hood. He was crouched on the edge of the road, sketching and measuring the splattered blood. Glory couldn’t have said whether he was asking about the body because he wanted more information or if he simply wanted to admire the artistry of the broken corpse.
    The Mayor grimaced. “I’m sorry, what was your name again, sir?”
    Shroud stood and offered the Mayor a half bow. A cream-coloured card appeared between his index and middle finger, as if by magic. The card was embossed with the seal of the Conclave, and read:
    ~SHROUD~
    CONCLAVE-TRAINED SOLVER OF PROBLEMS
    OBSTACLES REMOVED, INHERITANCES ACQUIRED,
    SUCCESSIONS FACILITATED, FEUDS RESOLVED
    PRESENT THIS CARD AND RECEIVE A 15% DISCOUNT!
    If this card was the same as those he had distributed to Glory and the others in their little band of Heroes, there would be a note on the back indicating that this month only, the assassin was offering a two-for-one deal on twins. Shroud had also passed out a series of informational pamphlets to his fellow Heroes back in Brightlodge.
    “I ordered the remains taken out to the cemetery for burial,” said the Mayor. “I didn’t want the sight of a dead body upsetting my people. It’s my duty to care for them, after all.”
    “Very thoughtful,” said Glory. “And I’m sure the bloodstains all over the road won’t bother them in the slightest.” She had met his type back home, cocksure and arrogant, having inherited their power instead of earning it through their virtues and their actions. Glory had inherited certain privileges from her well-off father, but she had long since surpassed any advantages his wealth had given her.
    The man refused to answer to anything but “Mayor” or “Your Honour.” Given the rumour around town that he had been born Frankfort Snogsworth Mudwater III, Glory couldn’t really blame him for that. “You’re sure this was a suicide?”
    “That’s right,” the Mayor said decisively. “Just like the others. Poor soul jumped to his death. If only he’d come to me for help instead.”
    Glory glanced at Sterling, who rolled his eyes. With a weary sigh, she gestured towards the buildings to either side of the road. “None of these rooftops are more than ten feet high. How exactly do you think he