Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) Read Online Free PDF

locks falling in waves
off her tiny head. “You know the answer to that. It’s in your
history book.”
    “I don’t remember that part,” Brynlee said,
scrunching her face.
    “You don’t remember something from your
history book?” Lilyanna said.
    “There’s a first time for everything, they
say,” Betha said.
    Brayden hurried out the door, but not before
grabbing a chunk of white bread and stuffing it into his mouth.
    A soldier waited for him outside the castle
next to Brayden’s lightly tacked horse, Arrow, a fine showy
chestnut, well bred and supple in stride. Arrow pawed at the ground
in excitement as the young prince neared.
    “Up at the crack of noon today, Master
Brayden,” said the soldier, Moreland Fields, a member of an elite
group of bodyguards that formed the King’s Shield. Brayden had
always found Moreland easy to get along with. The man had an
even-tempered disposition and a dry sense of humor that usually
emerged when mocking people, sometimes to their face, but mostly
behind their backs. It had earned him the nickname Pick.
    “It’s not noon,” Brayden said.
    “My mistake, young master” He handed Brayden
the reins. “This worn path here must have been made by another man
such as myself, pacing back and fourth half the morning, with my
exact boot size, and my vast degree of patience.”
    “All right, all right. Sorry,” Brayden said,
mounting Arrow.
    “We best hurry,” Pick said. He adjusted his
black leather gloves. “Your father is waiting.”
    Moreland was a trim fellow of shorter than
average height whose unassuming qualities often made others
underestimate him. He was ambidextrous and quick, with a reputation
among those who knew him as a reliable ally.
    He swung himself up into the saddle, his
long navy cloak swishing behind him.
    Brayden followed at a swift trot down the
main road, through the narrow streets of Aberdour, and out the
southern gate. Pick quickened the pace and the two riders galloped
across the expanse of field on the southern plains.
    To his left sat acres upon acres of spring
fields, recently tilled with most of the crops already planted, the
furrows closed over. Soon there would be rows upon rows of barley,
peas, oats, and beans.
    Brayden refocused his attention ahead of
him, and on the increasing pace of his horse. He always liked
stretching Arrow’s legs. She was fast. Even his father had said so.
It was the very thing that had earned the horse her name.
    He hunched over the mare’s neck and stood in
his stirrups, lightening his load on Arrow’s back. She sped up, her
hoofs thundering beneath him. She rushed past Pick and plowed
through the tall grass, cutting a line across the plains as
straight and trim as a sharp sword. Brayden rode her fast to the
edge of the wood where the ground bristled with the stumps of trees
felled.
    “Good girl,” Brayden said. He slowed the
horse to wait for Pick.
    The morning was bright and crisp with a
pleasant spring sunshine flickering through the blooming tree
boughs above. Somewhere, red-winged blackbirds traded tiny chirps
and rattling whistles. Beneath his horse’s hooves lay last year’s
leaves, damp and black with rot as they crumbled into the soil.
    Brayden inhaled long and deep, relishing
this brief moment of solitude. He liked being alone. There was
nothing to fear when he was by himself, no standard to live up to,
no one to impress.
    Pick took the lead, weaving through the
forest until Brayden heard voices echoing through the trees.
    Brayden’s spine stiffened. His moment of
pleasant solitude was over. Ahead of him sat his father, the king,
and a contingent of loud, annoying, and frightening men that
Brayden normally tried to avoid. He exhaled long and slow, his
hands tightening around the reigns in nervous anticipation.
    The king sat high atop a regal brown
stallion in the middle of a grassy glade. He was clad in a long
blue and black gambeson embroidered with twining silver leaves. It
was cinched at the