Free The Book of Mordred by Vivian Vande Velde

breastplate.
    Sword in hand and swearing in Cornish, Mordred leaped over the body of Sir Denis. He hesitated at the door through which the archer had fled, and looked to her—
her
—for direction.
    "Don't leave us," she said, which may or may not have been good advice. She immediately turned her attention back to Galen and only heard Mordred slam the door and run the bolt to prevent further entry.
    Galen squeezed her hand and she tried to smile bravely for him. She was ready to die to save Kiera. But she hadn't known she must balance her daughter against her brother.
    She unlaced the breastplate but didn't dare take it off for fear of putting pressure on the arrow.
    For a knight, Mordred looked dazed and bewildered. But then, he was a young knight. Perhaps he hadn't had as much experience as she with death and dying. She remembered what it had been like with Toland and wished for anything rather than go through that again.
    Mordred knelt beside Alayna. He took a deep breath. He said, to her or to Galen, "Just try to relax. Don't move." He kept glancing from Alayna to the arrow. She noted that he hadn't been able yet to look at Galen's face. "Just," he swallowed hard, "remain calm."
    "I," Galen whispered, "am doing fine. I'll be up as soon as I catch my breath. You're the one who is falling to pieces."
    Mordred finally looked up.
    Alayna gave Galen's hand, sticky with blood, a gentle squeeze and tried to convince her eyes that they would not help matters by misting over.
    Galen winced. "Well ... maybe not ... exactly fine."
    Alayna closed her eyes, but then opened them a second later as her brother tried to swallow back a cry of pain.
    She chewed her lip and brushed his fine hair off his forehead. "Don't be afraid," she said, foolish as that was: He had every reason to be afraid. His eyes were losing their panicked look; they were becoming, in fact, unfocused, but he forced a smile in her general direction.
    He tried to grip her hand, but she could hardly feel it at all, and then he became totally relaxed. Too relaxed.
    Alayna felt Mordred gently touch her hair, and she leaned her head against him, still holding Galen.
    She wasn't aware that the door to the Great Hall had opened until she heard Halbert say, "Merciful Heaven!"
    Beside her, Mordred tensed, but did not go for his sword.
    The wizard came and knelt opposite them.
    Not armed
, Alayna noticed,
and alone.
Although at that point he could have brought all of Castle Burrstone's fighting force with him and she could not have moved.
    Halbert shook his head. "I did not order this," he said, emphasizing every word. "I never ordered this." His voice was shaking. "All I said was to make sure the three of you left. How they could have misconstrued that..." He started again. "I have never given"—he looked around helplessly—"
any
kind of order that could make anybody remotely think that I..." He drifted off helplessly, looking dismayed. Then he took a deep breath. Much more steadily, he said, "I may be able to help."
    "He's dead." Mordred's dark eyes were dry and cold, and the hearing of it was almost as hard as the fact.
    Beyond all reason, the wizard repeated, "I may be able to help." He started to move his hand toward the arrow, but Mordred caught his wrist.
    "My Lady," Halbert said, bringing Alayna into the question, even though what she wanted was to be anywhere but here, making decisions, having people depend on her. "My Lady," Halbert repeated. "What harm could I do him?"
    What indeed? Alayna straightened her back. "Let him."
    Halbert removed the breastplate and yanked the arrow out.
    She watched woodenly, aware that Mordred's eyes shied away.
    The wizard placed his hands over the jagged wound and started chanting. The words were unfamiliar, not English or Latin. Not one of the Celtic dialects, judging by Mordred's vacant expression, nor Greek, whose cadences—at least—she would have recognized. Halbert started rocking back and forth and massaged