The Silver Sun by Nancy Springer

breathing, and they could feel the heat coming off his face as off a fire.
    “We must make it by tomorrow,” Hal said.
    They pushed on through the night. The horses were stumbling with fatigue, but kept up the best pace they could without urging. By dawn they were toiling up a long, steep rise. Corin was on Arundel. Several times Alfie faltered and almost fell, but he never balked. Alan patted his neck constantly, and Hal talked to both horses. Arundel's head hung low, but he ran steadily on.
    By midmorning they had topped the rise, and saw Firth far below. Within the hour they swept through the town gates. Scarcely pausing for the folk in the streets, they made their way straight to the lord's keep.
    “Open up! It is a matter of life or death!” cried Hal.
    The timber doors creaked open. A groom ran to take their horses. A servant appeared to lead them to the lord.
    “Let no one except you touch the gray,” Hal cautioned the groom. He set off after the servant, carrying Corin, Arundel's knees trembled, and his fine head hung almost to the cobblestones. But Alfie sank to the ground, where he lay flat on his side. Alan groaned, torn between Alfie and Corin; then he ran after Hal.
    A doorkeeper gave them entry into a stone chamber. The inner walls were completely hung with rich tapestries. In the center of the room, in an intricately carved chair, sat a dark, fierce-looking man dressed in thick velvets. He glanced at them as they entered, saw the limp bundle in Hal's arms and at once strode across the room to them, leaving the man with whom he was talking. He laid his hand on Corin's burning forehead, looked at their haggard faces and clapped his hands loudly. Several servants came running.
    “Call Bleys at once,” he ordered. “Prepare rooms and food for these gentlemen, and whatever they need. Hurry!” As the servants disappeared, he turned to Hal and Alan. “Bleys is as fine a physician as can be found north of Nemeton. If he cannot help the lad, then he is beyond mortal aid. I am anxious to know your story, but I shall wait until your needs are seen to. I shall speak with you later."
    “A thousand thanks, my lord,” said Hal quietly.
    “Here is Bleys now. May all good come to the lad.” Lord Roran went back to his seat as they followed the healer out of the room.
    Bleys was an old man, gray-bearded but still hale of body and clear of eye. He took them to a large chamber where servants were busy building a fire and piling linens on a large bed. A tub was brought and filled with warm water, and Corin was tenderly bathed, then laid in the bed and dosed with warm milk and medicine. After that there was nothing to do but moisten his burning face with a cool cloth, give drink from time to time and wait. As soon as he saw Corin cared for, Alan slipped away to the stables.
    He found Alfie lying on a thick bed of straw in a roomy stall. He had been rubbed dry and warmly covered. Arundel was in the next stall, also lying down, and he whinnied at Alan cheerfully enough. But Alfie lay without raising his head, and his whole body was tense with pain. Alan sank into the straw and took the horse's head on his lap, and Alfie nuzzled his hand.
    Without warning, tears began rolling down Alan's cheeks, as he clutched the horse's neck and begged him, “Don't die! I need you....” He knew that if Alfie died he would never forgive himself, even though it was for Corin's sake. For a long time he hugged and patted his horse, stroking the lean neck, telling him what a very good horse he was, who galloped so bravely night and day, and who hadn't needed a tether in over a month now, and who never ran away anymore. “Alfie the Great-Hearted,” he said. “That's what we'll call you."
    After a while he left the stables and headed back toward Corin's room. The tears still lay wet on his face, and many people stared at him, but he was beyond embarrassment. As he strode through the keep, Lord Roran of Firth entered the corridor and