Haven (War of the Princes) Read Online Free PDF Page A

room for a change.
                “Well, Bug, there are only so many times a person can have the stomach flu,” he said, wandering down the hall to his room.
                I sighed, descended the stairs to the kitchen, and packed some bandages, matches, a spare pocket watch, a bottle of water, and three wrapped sandwiches that Mom had made for tomorrow. She always kept extras fresh and ready at hand.
    It was best to be prepared. There was a very strong chance I’d be traveling quite a distance, not that I planned on going all the way tonight. The foothills alone were a good two hour ride away.
    Making my way down to the bottom floor, I tacked up Grendel , our grouchy piebald gelding with mismatched eyes. Molly, our sorrel mare, whickered lazily, probably grateful I wasn’t taking her out at this dark hour.
    I mounted Grendel , who grunted noisily as he always did, and we made our way out onto the dimly lit street.
    The clouds had sunk lower, so much closer to Rivermarch’s stacked cottages than they had been when I was outside, little over an hour ago. The street lamps that hung from their crooked poles rocked ever so slightly in the lazy breeze. Their glow was dim and they were spread far enough apart that one could still see the stars on a clear night. The way was lit brightly enough for Grendel to see, and that was all that mattered.
    Light spilled out of some houses, while others remained dark, and I could hear laughter and music wafting out of a Pub on a far away corner. Any peace officers or constables on duty would be joking and gossiping at the station. If you saw an officer patrolling the street at this time of night, he was probably looking for a beer. For a girl riding alone on the streets, there was no reason for fear and it didn’t even occur to me to be worried.
    “If there is a nearby passage to the outside world, where are you?” I said aloud, as if speaking to a ghost. Asking questions wouldn’t make a difference, there wouldn’t be any kind of reply or enlightened picture of where to go. I just went, and it usually ended with me finding something.
    Little drops of rain pattered on my hair. Rain in Haven Valley was a lot like my father’s temper: mild and unthreatening. At its fiercest, it was little more than a heavy drizzle. I pulled up my hood anyway and smiled. I loved the rain.
    Grendel trundled down Market Street, over a bridge beside Plumwedge Watermill, through Falwich Gardens and Dallon Square, and even had to trot very quickly through Mayor Fasteer’s back lawn. Just when I thought that I’d be on my way to the main road leading out of the city to the Mountains, or one of the other towns, I turned, just because I knew that I should.
    Bewildered at the odd direction of my own path, I rode past Garth Greywater’s old vineyard. I knew this route would take me beyond the town’s graveyard. What I didn’t expect was my sudden desire to cross under its gate.
    “You have to be kidding me,” I mumbled. Grendel grunted, maybe in agreement.
    Haven Valley might be a safe place to live, but that didn’t mean we didn’t have nightmares, believe in monsters as children, or have a healthy fear of dead people in the dark.
    I thought maybe we’d wend our way through and come out on the street on the other side. Maybe I was hoping, but it didn’t do me much good. I rode Grendel down the narrow cobblestone pathway that cut through rows of tombstones and angel statues. The trees here were limp and dreary, the flowers clustering around the graves were dead or colorless in the near dark, and stream-fed ponds were stagnant and overgrown.
    Grendel’s hooves clattered over a short bridge and momentarily interrupted the chorus of toads in the murky waters below.
    My skin prickled at the sound of critters rustling in the tree branches, just out of reach of the light from the sparse lampposts. Traveling out there alone was too much for my imagination to handle gracefully. I startled at