Read Fable: The Balverine Order (Fable) for Free Online Page B

down?” James piped up.
    That prompted a moment of silence from Sutter, and then the merchant shrugged. “That’s a valid enough point, I suppose. Heroes have fallen into disfavor, that’s certainly true. But they’ve only themselves to blame, strutting around and acting as if they’re so much better than everyone else.”
    â€œMaybe,” Thomas shot back, “they really were better than everyone else. And maybe people didn’t realize it because the Heroes were so good at disposing of the creatures and races that lurk in the shadows that people stopped being afraid and eventually forgot what it was they were afraid of in the first place.”
    â€œIt’s a worthwhile theory, boy,” said Sutter. “But an even simpler theory is that all the balverines and their ilk were simply exaggerations that got out of control and took on lives of their own. Myth and legend were fine back in the days before we became more civilized, more technological. But the science of technology tends to drive out the backwards thinking of superstition and nonsense. Balverines are just overgrown wolves, and hollow men are simply poor bastards who were incorrectly pronounced dead, as happens from time to time if an incompetent physician cannot detect a heartbeat. And the terrified devils come out of their comas to discover they’ve been prematurely buried and claw their way back to the surface. Nothing supernatural about it. About any of it. Certainly not enough to go gallivanting around Albion looking for evidence of it.”
    Thomas was steaming at Sutter’s words, but James rested a calming hand on Thomas’s forearm even as he said, “You make a reasonable case.”
    â€œI am a reasonable man. I’m sure you’ll find quite a few of us in your travels. Then again, you may also find one or two fools who will lend credence to nonsensical tales of balverines and the like. Pay them no heed, young masters.” And he settled back into his seat, closing his eyes. “Pay them no heed.”
    Astoundingly, he was actually able to fall asleep despite the bumpiness of the ride. Under his breath, Thomas muttered in a nasal imitation of the merchant, “Pay them no heed,” and James laughed softly. “What is it with some people of the older generation, that they talk like they’re giving a formal dissertation?”
    â€œIt’s called being pedantic,” said Thomas, and then added, “Pay it no heed.” Both of them laughed at that.
    Several hours later, as the sun crawled toward its apex in the noon sky, the coach came rolling into Rookridge. The merchant woke up minutes before they arrived and, as the coachman opened the door for them from the outside, bade Thomas and James a good afternoon and much luck on their adventures. Then he walked away, shaking his head, and an annoyed Thomas was sure he heard the man chuckling and muttering, “Balverines,” under his breath.
    â€œThe man’s an idiot.”
    It was the coachman who had spoken. He was a much older man, possibly—Thomas felt—the oldest man he had ever seen, with thick white hair that hung in front of his face and beard stubble that protruded at random points from his cheeks in an odd patchwork fashion. His eyes were deep and looked hollowed . . . or perhaps haunted, and only one seemed to fix on them properly, the other crusted over. He was quite skinny except for his arms, which were disproportionately larger and rather well muscled, which explained how one of such slight appearance would be able to control a team of horses. He nodded in the direction that Sutter had walked, and continued, “A bleeding idiot, y’ask me,” in a deep, cantankerous growl. “Doesn’t know what the hell he’s talkin’ about.”
    â€œYou could hear our discussion?” Thomas was astounded. “How? You were on top of the coach, and the horses’ hooves