Free The Book of Mordred by Vivian Vande Velde Page B

needed.
    That left only one of the serving women, who had just brought in a bowl filled with water and a linen cloth. "Shall I, my Lady?" she asked. "Or will you?"
    Alayna indicated she would take over. It was something to do with her hands. She dipped the cloth into the bowl and wrung it out, releasing the tart smell of peony root and yarrow. Gently she wiped the sweat and dirt off Galen's face—Shouldn't the cool water cause him to stir?—then folded the cloth and draped it across his forehead. Should he still be so pale?
    While they waited for the summoned archer, Mordred pulled up a stool and began to busy himself with Galen's armor, cleaning off the blood.
Cleaning off the blood.
Now Alayna could think those words, could see the damaged equipment without cringing, could know, as surely Mordred must also, that in truth the breastplate was beyond repair and would need to be melted down and reforged if anyone was to ever wear it again. Now Alayna could acknowledge the blood, and that it had been Galen's, but now he was all right. And Kiera was all right, too—she must be, seeing as how they had made it so far. Soon they would have her back and then everything—everything—would be all right. Please God.
    Halbert stood looking out the window, having finally run out of apologies, of words.
    There was a clatter in the hallway, then a knock on the door. The guard who had been sent to bring the archer entered, and with him the archer himself—who immediately dropped to his knees and said, all in one breath, "Pardon, my Lord, I didn't know, I was only following orders, and I thought they were your orders, I didn't know Sir Denis had taken it upon himself, he said that you said, and I didn't know he lied."
    Halbert no longer acted the pompous, self-pleased host who had greeted them, nor the shaken, near-to-babbling penitent who had begged them to believe his innocence in this matter. His restrained anger showed in the paleness about his mouth and nostrils. "What," he demanded in a voice Alayna would have dreaded to face, "are you talking about?"
    The man, Barth, bowed, for all that he was already on his knees and close to groveling. "Sir Denis," he repeated, as though that explained all.
    "What about Sir Denis?" Halbert asked.
    "He said they"—he jerked his head in the direction of Mordred and Alayna and, beyond them, Galen—"would be coming."
    Halbert looked in their direction, puzzlement and distress evident on top of his anger. "By name?" he asked incredulously.
    "No, your Lordship. He just said 'people.' He said 'enemies of the lord wizard.' He said he would give us a signal. Or you would."
    Halbert narrowed his eyes at the man. "
When
did he say all this?" he demanded. "Between the time they arrived and—"
    But Barth was shaking his head. His voice was quavering. "A week ago."
    A week ago—Alayna thought—was even before Kiera had been taken.
    Even Halbert, who didn't know that, was dubious. "
A week ago?
" he repeated. "Denis has only been in my employ for a fortnight."
    Barth said, "Then, when I heard the sounds of fighting, when I looked and saw Sir Denis dead and you nowhere to be seen, I feared—"
    Halbert made an impatient gesture. "Go. You are dismissed."
    The man scrambled to his feet, still bowing even as he backed toward the door. But he hesitated and asked, "By 'dismissed'—"
    "From service," Halbert clarified. "I do not want men in my employ who take another's orders and do not question them even if they go contrary to everything you have ever heard from me. Go."
    "Yes, your Lordship," the man said, backing out of the room. "I beg your Lordship's pardon."
    The guard who had fetched him also exited, closing the door behind him.
    "So," Mordred said evenly, as though resuming a conversation started only a moment before, "tell us how Sir Denis came to be seneschal of your estate in two short weeks."
    Halbert said, "My former steward died, suddenly. By mischance..." He