Read The Shadow of Malabron for Free Online Page B

spires of a city on a hill appeared dimly through the rain. The gently rising approach to Fable led across a lamplit bridge over a swift, narrow stream. The outer wall of the city was not particularly high, and it seemed to have been repaired many times with stones of differing size, shape and colour, so that it resembled a mosaic more than a wall. Above its battlements rose steeply peaked roofs and slender spires that looked weather-worn and dismal. Will could imagine that rain had been falling on them ever since they were first built.
    They came at last to the city’s main gatehouse, which looked like a small castle, with turrets and many-coloured flags, and two arched windows of stained glass. The window on the left depicted a star-shaped flower with five white petals on a field of blue. The window on the right held an image of a gushing fountain of water in the shape of a tree.
    Will and Rowen passed through the gate, which was wide open and seemed to be unguarded.
    “Doesn’t anyone watch to see who enters?” Will asked.
    “Oh, the gate is well protected,” Rowen said mysteriously.
    Once inside the walls, they entered a wide, tree-lined street of shops and stalls, their brightly painted signs advertising food and drink of every kind. To Will’s surprise, the shops were open and doing business. People in cloaks and long coats were hurrying to and fro through the rain. From the open door of what appeared to be a tavern came rollicking music of flute and drum, and from another door wafted the enticing scent of baking.
    The street was lined with lamps that cast a pale blue light. Some of the new arrivals seemed to know where they were going, but others stopped and stared about them, clearly as unfamiliar with the city as Will was.
    “Fable is a kind of crossroads,” Rowen said. “Folk from all over the many realms pass through this city on their way to other places. Some come from very far away.”
    Despite the strangeness of what he was seeing, Will felt the desire to linger, but Rowen kept on, up along the steep climbing curve of the street. They crossed a wide square without shops or people. The grey terraced houses they passed looked silent and shut up.
    “These are the homes of the Enigmatists,” Rowen said. “They don’t come out much.”
    “Why not?” Will asked without much interest. His mind was still on the good smells from the bakeries and shops.
    “They’re thinkers,” Rowen said. “They try to solve the mysteries of the Realm. Mostly they come up with more questions.”
    “You called this place the Bourne, not the Perilous Realm,” Will said. “Which is it?”
    “The Bourne is just one small part of the Realm. Most who live here are people like you and me. Storyfolk call us Wayfarers, even if we’ve lived in the Bourne all our lives. We’re the descendents of travellers who came here from Elsewhere and chose to remain, or couldn’t find their way home.”
    As she spoke the last words, Rowen looked at Will and bit her lip.
    “Sorry,” she said. “But sometimes it happens. Travellers from the Untold don’t always leave the Realm.”
    “I’m not a
traveller
,” Will shot back. “I didn’t mean to come here.”
    Rowen led the way up a narrow side street that climbed, in a series of worn steps, to a bridge over a canal. A tall, narrow building of stone and wooden beams stood over the midpoint of the bridge. Rowen and Will passed beneath, through an arched passageway. There was a staircase on each side, leading up into the building.
    “The Inn of the Golden Goose,” Rowen said. “Wandering storyfolk meet here to share tales, or hire themselves out for quests and adventures.”
    On one of the steps two figures stood, talking in low tones. One was a tall man in a patched cloak with a small black velvet bag in his hand. The other was a very short, stocky, long-bearded man in scuffed leather armour, who was shaking his head and laughing.
    “You must be mad.” He chortled at the tall