Blood Ties

Table of Contents

 

 

There was a rustling of trees from overhead, and something suddenly dropped directly in front of me, landing in a crouch. It looked like a gargoyle come to life. Its nose and ears were pointed. It was wearing overlarge shoes, leggings, a loose shirt, and a conical hat perched atop its head. It was hard to tell how tall it was since it was so low to the ground, but I didn't peg it as being more than three feet high. Still, one couldn't judge how dangerous something was in Albion simply by its size, or lack thereof. Instantly, I started to reach for my pistol, not knowing what the thing in front of me was and not caring.

And then I stood there, stunned, my hand hovering over the butt of my pistol, because the thing opened its mouth and the voice of my “savior” emerged from it.

“Oh, we could be best friends,” it said, “if I liked people with arses for faces.” Then it nodded toward the pistol I was still reaching for but hadn't quite gotten around to drawing. “Nice big weapon there. Compensating for something?”

“
You're
what saved me?” I said, incredulous. “What
are
you?”

I had thought that it couldn't have sounded more disdainful before. I was wrong. “Don't you know anything, aside from how to make yourself an easy target? I'm a gnome, you ignorant twat.”

 

FABLE: THE BALVERINE ORDER
FABLE: BLOOD TIES

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

 

FABLE: BLOOD TIES

 

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with DK/BradyGAMES, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

PRINTING HISTORY
Ace premium edition / November 2011

Copyright © 2011 Microsoft Corporation. All Rights Reserved. Microsoft, Fable, Lionhead, the Lionhead logo, Xbox, and the Xbox logo are trademarks of the Microsoft group of companies. “Fable” is a registered trademark or trademark of Microsoft Corporation in the United States and/or other countries and is used under license from Microsoft.

 

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ISBN : 978-1-101-55250-6

 

ACE
Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.,
375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
ACE and the “A” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

 

 

Fable
is a game that is predicated on numerous choices that players can make. Consequently, no two playing experiences are ever alike, and the world of Albion is a highly individual one, unique to each player in some aspect or another.

 

In this novel, we have elected to give a window into one particular incarnation as it was left after the events of
Fable III
.

 

If your personal world of Albion happens to match up, then well-done you.

 

If you have already gone or (if you have yet to visit Albion) should happen to wind up eventually going in other directions, then that's brilliant.

 

There is no absolute, one-size-fits-all incarnation of Albion, and—for the purpose of this tale—we simply present you with one version of the many that are available to you.

IN MY DEFENSE, I HAD NO IDEA SHE WAS
married.

Granted, I could have asked. I would have to think, though, that under such circumstances the responsibility to clarify one's marital status certainly has to rest on the woman's shoulders. As it turned out, the only thing resting on this particular woman's shoulders were my calves, for we were somewhat entangled at the point when a loud banging resounded from the door. An angry male voice bellowed,
“Jennifer!”
He did not sound like he was going to be a good sport about the whole misunderstanding.

This entire business began, as such things typically do, in one of the main pubs in Bowerstone Market: the Cock in the Crown. The place got a bit bashed up during the calamitous battle with dark forces that you might have heard about. Also, if you're reading this narrative, then you certainly know that I, Ben Finn—adventurer, soldier of fortune, occasional thief—was instrumental in turning back a wave of evil that threatened to wash over the whole of Albion. Yes, yes, our ruler likewise had some small hand in stemming the tide. But you know what? This is my story, not our leader's. When our illustrious ruler's own memoirs are eventually made available to the public, you can read those as well and see whose tale is more convincing. Or, at the very least, the more entertaining.

I was relaxing in a corner of the pub, contemplating all that had happened recently, and all that was going to be happening, and regrettably not having a good deal of luck with the latter. I have many great and remarkable attributes, but planning for an extended future is not one of them. There are wonders galore in Albion, with lands of intrigue and amazement, but life can be harsh, unfair, and tragically short. To people such as Heroes, how they live that life is extremely important. They have deeply rooted philosophies about how their deeds or misdeeds shape them and affect their lives. Do not misunderstand : I have as much respect for the rapidly dwindling, nearly nonexistent profession of Hero as anyone else. Yet I am sometimes forced to wonder about the benefits of being a Hero, or even a fundamentally decent person. I don't know if you've noticed, but random monsters and dark forces beyond mortal ken tend to snuff out both the virtuous and the vice-ridden in equally random measure.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that making long-term plans seems to be an utter waste of time when one has no idea what will constitute the long term. Why worry about the future? The future invariably holds our deaths in some way, shape, or form, so it's far wiser to live for the moment.

I beg your indulgence for my rambling and happenstance style. I am something of a vagabond by trade, so it's only natural that my recollections and ruminations tend to wander as readily as my feet.

So: the girl. Jennifer by name, which you should remember if you were paying the least bit of attention. Full, curvaceous, and load-bearing hips, and breasts stretched tight under her blouse in a way that indicated they were happy to see me. I eventually got around to inspecting her face. Most men tend to study the face first, then inspect the body. I say more fool them. If the girl has a pleasing face but an unappealing body, there's nothing you can do about it. If, on the other hand, the reverse is true, well, that's why the gods invented dim lighting.

Fortunately, Jennifer's face, while not likely to win any beauty contests, was appealing enough. It was melonround, pale, and freckled, and topped with a mountain of red hair. I like redheads. They're often as fiery as the color of their tresses suggests, and they're far fewer in number than other women. She also had a come-hither look in her brown eyes as she sashayed over to my table and asked coquettishly if the seat opposite me was taken.

I gestured toward it invitingly, and she didn't sit so much as insinuate herself into it. There was no doubt in my mind what she was interested in, and I was quite confident that I would be perfectly happy to provide it on an as-needed basis, completely gratis. Indeed, it is pretty much the only one of my services for which I do not charge. One must be charitable.

It was not as if we immediately sprinted off somewhere and did the deed. Even though the conclusion was foregone, there was still the verbal dance to be done. She asked about my life story. I provided an extremely abbreviated version since it is so laced with tragedy that it is unlikely to put any save the most morbid of women in the mood for horizontal congress. I confined myself to the highlights: a soldier of fortune who struck out at a young age, armed with only his wits and a remarkable ability to hit whatever targets he was aiming at even should they be at distances unattainable for other marksmen. I described in short, quick strokes how I had encountered our noble ruler during a time of trial, and how our paths had continued to intertwine until they ultimately converged in Bowerstone for the great and terrible battle that had raged through the city.

“You were involved in that?” Her eyes were wide and limpid. Had I told her that I was actually an enchanted frog disguised as a man, I could not have prompted a response of greater amazement.

“I was indeed,” I said, gesturing for the serving girl's attention and raising two fingers to indicate that both the lady and I desired to imbibe. Jennifer had not actually asked for it, but smiled gratefully when a mug frothing with ale was placed in front of her. How considerate a fellow was I.

I described in great, excessive, and partly true details all that had transpired during that frightful war in the streets of Bowerstone. She admitted to witnessing exactly none of it, which was fine since that meant I could embellish details as I saw fit. Not that it really required all that much embellishing considering the horrifically evil forces that had been arrayed against us that day.