Free The Book of Mordred by Vivian Vande Velde Page A

Galen's chest with his bloodied fingers.
    Mordred rose suddenly and walked to the other side of the corridor, his back to them.
    The smell of blood was thick, dizzying. When she could look at Galen no longer, Alayna looked into Halbert's face. His eyes were closed, his upper lip damp with perspiration. He had stopped chanting and now repeated one word or short phrase several times. His ruby pendant, reflecting Galen's blood, swung back and forth over the body.
    Alayna forced herself to watch. Watch as his hands pushed on her brother's chest, watch as his movement gave Galen's chest the appearance of heaving in and out with breath.
    Halbert lifted his hands, and the chest kept moving.
    "Mordred," Alayna whispered. She didn't dare take her eyes off Galen, lest she look back and find him deathly still again.
    From the corner of her eye, she saw Mordred turn, slowly, and advance.
    "Praise God," she whispered. She glanced at Halbert who sat back on his heels and smiled at her, despite his own pallor and the sweat on his face. Then she looked down at Galen, who now seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and finally up at Mordred. Her eyes had finally won out and were letting streams of tears run down her face, but she smiled and reached up to take Mordred's hand.
    Slowly, Mordred sank to his knees. "Praise God," he echoed, never taking his eyes off Halbert.

CHAPTER 8

    Galen's breathing seemed frighteningly shallow, but Halbert insisted she should not be anxious about it.
    Not be anxious. Alayna couldn't get her hands to stop shaking.
    Thank God, she thought over and over, that Mordred had been wrong about Halbert. Thank God that Halbert didn't hold a grudge for the awful, accusatory way they had spoken to him before ... Before.
    Halbert summoned servants to ready a room and to carry Galen to it. Several of the wizard's men-at-arms hovered about the area; of course they had come—hearing the sounds of fighting and of servants frantically summoned—but the archer who had struck down Galen was not among them.
    All the while, Halbert apologized with every other sentence he uttered, assuring Alayna and Mordred that he had never—ever—given his men orders to attack; that even if they somehow misunderstood something he had said, they should have known enough to seek clarification because he had never—ever (again!)—ordered them to harm anyone; that he would seek out the archer in question to see if anything could be learned from him since—obviously—something was very much amiss that Halberts guests should be attacked as soon as he turned his back.
    "I would that I could question Sir Denis," Halbert said, wringing his hands as the servants settled Galen into the bed that had been hastily prepared for him, "for now I very much wonder at the manner in which he came to be in my service."
    Mordred looked up sharply at that. "He was only recently with you?" he asked.
    "Very recently," Halbert stressed. "And now I wonder if there is some connection between that and the matter about which you are here. A strange coincidence, otherwise."
    "Yes," Mordred said, drawing out the word as though he thought ... With Mordred, it was always hard to tell what he thought. "Perhaps," he suggested, "it would be best if the archer were to be questioned in the presence of all of us."
    Alayna's breath caught. What was the matter with him? He had seen how Halbert had healed Galen. How, then, could he still mistrust the wizard? Had she been standing closer, she would have been tempted to kick him.
    Halbert looked startled. He had to know what Mordred was implying. But, all meekness and ever agreeable, he simply nodded. "If you so wish." He turned, and one of the men-at-arms stepped forward.
    "Barth," that one told Halbert. "It was Barth did it. He has already reported to the captain of the guard."
    "Bring him here," Halbert ordered. He gestured for all the men-at-arms to leave them, along with the servants who were no longer