Fable: Blood of Heroes by Jim C. Hines

Author:Jim C. Hines [Hines, Jim C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Fantasy, Genre Fiction, TV; Movie; Video Game Adaptations, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Epic, Sword & Sorcery
ISBN: 9780345542342
Amazon: B00PEPO9SU
Goodreads: 23602482
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2015-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

“Whatever it is, you don’t want to know.” Beckett had brought them back to his campsite, a small hollow between two fallen trees, with a bit of canvas stretched over the top for shelter. “Answering questions about the future is nothing but trouble.”

“We can handle trouble,” Tipple said.

Beckett stared. “I didn’t mean trouble for you. People don’t like the answers, so who do you think they blame for their future mistakes and misfortunes?”

“It’s important,” said Rook.

“It’s always important.” Beckett sat on a log and began poking the ashes of an old fire. He blew on the embers until he roused a small flame, then fed it a handful of dried pine needles.

“Are you sure this place is safe?” asked Inga.

“For three more days, yes. A bear was sleeping here before I came, and her scent is strong enough to scare off most threats.”

Rook gave a grunt that could have been a sound of approval. It was hard to tell with Rook.

Tipple sat down beside Beckett. “What can you tell us about Yog?”

“What part of ‘you don’t want to know’ do you not understand?”

“Forget the future,” said Inga. “Tell us about the past. Is this truly Baya? If so, how did she survive for so long? Are the stories about her true?”

“All stories are true.” Beckett dug out a jug from his small pile of belongings, took a drink, and offered it to Tipple. “Baya, eh? That makes sense. Given how many lives she devoured, it’s possible she’s survived all these centuries.”

“Devoured?” Tipple repeated. “You mean it’s true she’ll try to eat us?”

Beckett snickered. “Maybe she prefers her meat well pickled.”

“If Yog is so powerful, why muck about with greencaps?” asked Tipple. “Why waste her time on Grayrock?”

“Don’t know.” Beckett took another drink.

Tipple dug through his things, producing two more bottles.

“Where do you keep them all?” asked Inga.

“Don’t ask.” He clapped Beckett on the back. “What say we refresh your memory?”

Half a bottle later, Tipple’s lingering headache had faded, swept aside by a warm, tingling sensation. “So there I was in the outhouse. No sooner had I dropped my drawers when the damned greencap dropped on my … on my …”

“On his head,” said Inga.

“S’right! Tried to bite my ear clean off!”

“Only you, Jeremiah Tipple.” Beckett laughed. “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, trying to soften me up with drink!”

Tipple grinned. “Course you do. Probably planned it this way to get me to bring you something worth drinking. What are you doing out here, anyway?”

“Hiding.” Beckett pointed his bottle at Tipple. “There’s a storm coming, and I don’t want to be anywhere near when it hits.”

“So give us some answers and let us stop it.”

Beckett leaned back and belched. “Everyone says they want to know their future. The ‘truth,’ whatever that means. They hassle and chase and pester you until you finally give it to them, and are they grateful? Never. Doesn’t matter how kindly I phrase the news, either. ‘The nice thing about being mauled to death by balverines is that it will be quick.

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