Read Online The Book of Mordred by Vivian Vande Velde - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vivian Vande Velde
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fighting what Mordred had called "all out," apparently at least somewhat reluctant about hacking away at a woman, Alayna felt guilty only until she thought of Kiera. For Kiera's sake, she needed to take every advantage she could.
She played at incompetence, leaving herself open in a way that would have raised Sir Denis's suspicions had she been a man. But Denis was willing to believe that her first moves had been luck rather than skill, and he came in too close.
Alayna stepped to the side, then thrust forward, closing her eyes only after she felt the blade pierce Sir Denis's rib cage. It was notâat allâlike the feel of the practice quintain. Burlap and sawdust didn't bleed. She had never before struck at a real person, but she had never before had to protect herself and her family.
Denis doubled over, then fell to the floor, doing half the work for her of pulling the sword free from his body. He lay still. She knew he could not survive such a blow, that he could not pick himself up off the floor and attack her from behind. He was dead, as surely as Ned, as surely as Toland had been dead, and perhaps he had a wife and child who would mourn him.
Kiera,
she reminded herself.
If you must think of children, think of Kiera.
She steeled herself, then wrenched the sword the rest of the way out, and turned.
Two of the castle's knights were already dead on the floor. Mordred, who had just killed the second, caught her eye for a moment before turning to Galen, who was still fighting.
Her brother had his back to the wall, though the other knight was bleeding from a shoulder wound. Galen dodged to the right just as the knight thrust to the middle, and the blade barely missed him; but Galen's position didn't allow him to take advantage. Alayna saw the knight put his left hand on his hilt and knew before he started that he was about to slash across Galen's belly.
She took a step forward, for all that she knew she wasn't close enough to prevent the blow: Galen was about to die. But then the knight pitched forward, a knife sticking out from his back. She saw the knight fall, saw him twitch, then stop. She saw all this before she sawâby the dropping of his armâthat it was Mordred who had thrown the knife.
It took Galen a moment to catch his breath. He leaned with his back braced against the wall, while Mordred retrieved his knife. "I was capable of finishing him on my own," Galen panted.
Mordred didn't argue; he just nodded back toward the Great Hall from which they had come.
Alayna also kept silent, too relieved that her brother was still alive to be overly concerned about Mordred's method.
Galen looked from her purposefully bland face to Mordred's. "Chivalry is dead," he snapped, "when a knight stabs a man in the back."
"Chivalry is ill-advised," Mordred said. "
You
are the one who was about to be dead." He headed back the way they'd just come, to the door leading to the Great Hall and the main part of the castle.
Alayna started after him, then heard a whoosh and thud, and Galen cried out in pain.
She turned. Behind them, in the doorway to the courtyard, one of the castle guards crouched with his crossbow. The arrow had hit Galen in the stomach, at close enough range to pierce the armor.
Galen dropped.
With no time to reload and rewind, the archer ducked around the corner. But Alayna wasn't concerned with vengeance. She knelt beside Galen. Foolishly the thought came to her that this whole encounter was unlike practice: Just as the burlap and sawdust quintains never bled, neither did they ambush anyone. Galen was still breathing, which of course she had assumed he would be. It couldn't be as bad as it looked, she thought. With care, he'd recover, just as he'd recovered that time he'd fallen from the apple tree. That had looked at least as serious as this.
Almost.
She laid Galen's head on her lap. She concentrated on his pale face rather than the puddle of blood welling out from beneath his
She played at incompetence, leaving herself open in a way that would have raised Sir Denis's suspicions had she been a man. But Denis was willing to believe that her first moves had been luck rather than skill, and he came in too close.
Alayna stepped to the side, then thrust forward, closing her eyes only after she felt the blade pierce Sir Denis's rib cage. It was notâat allâlike the feel of the practice quintain. Burlap and sawdust didn't bleed. She had never before struck at a real person, but she had never before had to protect herself and her family.
Denis doubled over, then fell to the floor, doing half the work for her of pulling the sword free from his body. He lay still. She knew he could not survive such a blow, that he could not pick himself up off the floor and attack her from behind. He was dead, as surely as Ned, as surely as Toland had been dead, and perhaps he had a wife and child who would mourn him.
Kiera,
she reminded herself.
If you must think of children, think of Kiera.
She steeled herself, then wrenched the sword the rest of the way out, and turned.
Two of the castle's knights were already dead on the floor. Mordred, who had just killed the second, caught her eye for a moment before turning to Galen, who was still fighting.
Her brother had his back to the wall, though the other knight was bleeding from a shoulder wound. Galen dodged to the right just as the knight thrust to the middle, and the blade barely missed him; but Galen's position didn't allow him to take advantage. Alayna saw the knight put his left hand on his hilt and knew before he started that he was about to slash across Galen's belly.
She took a step forward, for all that she knew she wasn't close enough to prevent the blow: Galen was about to die. But then the knight pitched forward, a knife sticking out from his back. She saw the knight fall, saw him twitch, then stop. She saw all this before she sawâby the dropping of his armâthat it was Mordred who had thrown the knife.
It took Galen a moment to catch his breath. He leaned with his back braced against the wall, while Mordred retrieved his knife. "I was capable of finishing him on my own," Galen panted.
Mordred didn't argue; he just nodded back toward the Great Hall from which they had come.
Alayna also kept silent, too relieved that her brother was still alive to be overly concerned about Mordred's method.
Galen looked from her purposefully bland face to Mordred's. "Chivalry is dead," he snapped, "when a knight stabs a man in the back."
"Chivalry is ill-advised," Mordred said. "
You
are the one who was about to be dead." He headed back the way they'd just come, to the door leading to the Great Hall and the main part of the castle.
Alayna started after him, then heard a whoosh and thud, and Galen cried out in pain.
She turned. Behind them, in the doorway to the courtyard, one of the castle guards crouched with his crossbow. The arrow had hit Galen in the stomach, at close enough range to pierce the armor.
Galen dropped.
With no time to reload and rewind, the archer ducked around the corner. But Alayna wasn't concerned with vengeance. She knelt beside Galen. Foolishly the thought came to her that this whole encounter was unlike practice: Just as the burlap and sawdust quintains never bled, neither did they ambush anyone. Galen was still breathing, which of course she had assumed he would be. It couldn't be as bad as it looked, she thought. With care, he'd recover, just as he'd recovered that time he'd fallen from the apple tree. That had looked at least as serious as this.
Almost.
She laid Galen's head on her lap. She concentrated on his pale face rather than the puddle of blood welling out from beneath his
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