Fable: Blood of Heroes Read Online Free Page B

shot one out of the air. “What is it with Albion and all these damned chickens?”
    The birdmaster pointed at Rook. “Spike, kill!”
    A rooster charged. In addition to the metal spurs the others wore, this one had hammered metal plates around his body, with additional spikes along the back. The bloody bird had better armour than most warriors.
    Rook got one shot off, but the bolt ricocheted off the rooster’s tiny helmet, then a chicken launched itself at Rook’s face. Hooked metal claws reached for his eyeballs. Rook twisted aside and punched the bird out of the air.
    The rooster jumped onto Rook’s boot and drove the steel beak-spur into his lower leg.
    “Bloody hell!” He reached for the rooster, but the spiked armour protected the neck and back. It looked like there were blades strapped to the wings, too. With the way the thing was flapping and fussing, there was no way to get a good enough hold to wring its neck.
    “Hah!” said Tipple. “Rook made a friend!”
    Rook stepped back and finished cocking his crossbow, then kicked hard enough to launch the rooster into the air. From the pain and the blood, he guessed those beak spikes were barbed, too. He pulled the trigger, and a spray of missiles buzzed through the air to find the gaps in the bird’s armour. It hit the ground and didn’t move.
    Warmth pulsed through Rook’s leg, and the pain of his wound eased. He glanced down. The bleeding had stopped, and the skin scarred over as he watched. Behind him, Leech stood with his hands outstretched. Rook wasn’t sure exactly how the man was able to pull life from one body and transfer it into another, but it got the job done. He tested the leg and nodded his thanks to Leech.
    An arrow whizzed past. Rook dropped to one knee, sighted between Tipple’s legs, and shot the birdmaster in the thigh.
    “Oi!” Tipple shouted. “Mind the goods!”
    “Mind your own goods,” Inga shot back.
    He laughed. “Not in the middle of a fight, Ingaling!”
    One of the outlaws staggered, pale and off balance, despite the lack of any visible injuries. That would be the source of whatever healing Leech had pumped into Rook’s leg. There was always a price to be paid, but sometimes it was nice to let someone else foot the bill. Tipple boxed the drained outlaw about the ears, and he dropped.
    Rook stepped forwards to club a chicken off Inga’s back. Half the outlaws were down, and the rest looked to be losing their nerve. The archer had fled down the tunnel, and the birdmaster was limping after, howling and clutching his leg. No discipline at all. Rook shot him in the back.
    Now, where had the bloody redcap run off to?
    One of the remaining outlaws, a bulky man whose rags and mismatched scraps of armour appeared slightly newer than the rest, shouted, “Get back here, you worthless cowards. Don’t let them—”
    Shadows lurched and danced as the redcap yanked the lantern from the wall and clubbed the outlaw on the head. The outlaw caught the redcap by the wrist and tried to wrench the lantern away, but the little beggar was tougher than he appeared. He kicked the outlaw square in the groin, then went right back to beating him about the head.
    “I’m starting to like this fellow,” said Tipple.
    Again and again, the redcap swung, sparks shooting from each impact as the lantern cracked and broke. Burning oil spread to the man’s hair, then to his tattered cape.
    Screaming, the outlaw finally peeled his attacker loose and threw him aside. He tried to shove past Inga, presumably hoping to douse himself in the sewer beyond. A thrust of Inga’s blade put an end to the man’s worries.
    With that, the fight was all but over. The outlaws—and chickens—were either dead or fled. Rook was tempted to chase after the ones who had escaped, but they had a head start and knew the terrain. Let them run. Men who panicked left a clearer trail.
    “Not bad.” Routing a nest of outlaws from the sewers might not be the glamourous adventure