Mice of the Round Table #3

by Julie Leung

  But after a few hours, far away from the river, the odd sensation had grown into a heavy unease. He couldn’t quite place a paw on it. The Darkling Woods felt different since he was here last—eerie and off-kilter. The mouse surveyed their surroundings. The trees looked normal enough, greening with a summer lushness. He took a deep breath. It smelled normal enough, too—mulch, moss, and mud. And yet . . . Calib’s new whiskers continued to twitch.

  “Have you noticed?” Galahad whispered. They were moving slower now, the late afternoon sun’s heat dragging down their pace. “The woods—they’ve been completely silent.”

  Galahad was right. The normal sounds of the woods were missing. No birds chirped. No crickets creaked. There was nothing beyond the crunch of Galahad’s boots.

  A tingle of fear shot through Calib’s whiskers. He smoothed them down nervously.

  Slowly, the soft give of fresh soil turned to rockier, harder terrain. The path was getting more difficult to see, and Galahad looked exhausted. His steps were slower, and his shoulders slumped. Calib had taken to riding in the knapsack to prevent from slipping off.

  The sun began to set behind them, washing the woods in a deep lavender color. They had finally reached the foothills, where the trees grew increasingly sparse.

  “There it is,” Galahad said hoarsely. “Look.”

  Through the trees, Calib could see the Iron Mountains rise like sharp teeth towering over the horizon. The mountain range marked the end of the known realm for Camelot’s mice. No mouse who had dared to cross over its jagged peaks ever returned to tell the tale. Even Calib, when he’d ridden on an owl, had only made it as far as Leftie’s lair in the foothills of the Slate Rocks.

  For besides its unforgiving heights, there was another reason why most woodland creatures avoided the mountains.

  “Do Two-Leggers also know about dragons?” Calib asked as he wrapped his tail around Galahad’s ear to anchor himself.

  “Only that they’re great beasts of scales and fire.” Adjusting his pack, Galahad resumed walking. “Why?”

  Calib paused a moment, trying to remember how Madame von Mandrake had always started off the tale at bedtime.

  “Long ago, when the world was wild and its magic young,” Calib began, “a dragon roamed these lands. This area was once flat fields, but when another dragon landed, the two fought so mightily, the very earth underneath shattered and crashed together.

  “Houses and castles shook, and creatures ran for their lives as the two dragons fought tooth, claw, and flame. A mouse named Lionel, whose home had been destroyed by the feuding lizards, went in search of a wizard to help. He made it all the way to Avalon and met Merlin as a young boy. When Lionel explained his plight, Merlin followed him back and put both dragons into an enchanted sleep.

  “Merlin warned the animals, however, that if anyone ventured too deep into the mountains, they risked disturbing the dragons’ slumber. And if the dragons woke up, they would rain such a destruction upon the land, all of Britain would be destroyed in their rampage.”

  Galahad nodded thoughtfully. “I like that tale. And it makes sense why you have that story. Do you see over there?” The boy pointed. Calib followed the direction to see rising tendrils of smoke and steam from the mountaintops. “Some of the Iron Mountains have a liquid fire still inside them,” Galahad continued. “Though none have erupted in our lifetimes—or our parents’ parents’ parents’ lifetimes.”

  “Perhaps there was a kernel of truth in the myths,” Calib said, trying to sound wise, even though his stomach churned slightly. He wasn’t sure he wanted a truth with dragons in it.

  The last of the sunlight left, and the Dragon’s Eye again rose into the night sky. They adjusted their path slightly, and Galahad lit a torch to help them see the way ahead. The trees cast long, dark shadows that melted into the deeper darkness where the firelight could not reach.

  Calib ducked back into the knapsack to check on the mirror for the sixteenth time that day. The mere act of touching it filled Calib with confidence . . . and his whiskers again with that strange, buzzing feeling.

  Something was definitely odd about his new whiskers.

  Suddenly, Calib felt Galahad stop abruptly. “What’s happening?” Calib called. “Anything wrong?”

  “I have to leave,” Galahad announced, his voice slightly muffled through the fabric of the knapsack.

  “What?” Calib scurried up the rough cloth and poked his head out. “Why?”

  “I have to leave,” Galahad repeated, voice trembling. And without another word, Galahad turned around and fled.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Calib gripped the strap of Galahad’s knapsack to keep from falling out. Each jolt from the Two-Legger’s frantic sprint threatened to throw him into the woods. Merlin’s Mirror jostled in the bag, its thorns coming perilously close to slicing Calib’s tail.

  “Wait! Galahad!” the mouse cried. “Stop running!”

  His shouts had no impact.

  Desperate, Calib looked for a physical way to stop his friend. He spied his chance as a large branch loomed in their path. Timing the chaotic swings of the knapsack just right, Calib hooked the strap on a passing branch.

  Boy, bag, mirror, and mouse came to a violent halt.

  Galahad fell into the dirt, yanked backward by the force. The torch flew from his hands and sputtered out on the ground.

  Calib lost his grip on the satchel and hit the ground on his haunches. He rubbed his tail, surprised it wasn’t broken, then looked around for the knapsack. It had caught on the branch and now dangled precariously over them both. Gingerly, he got up and limped over to the dazed Galahad.

  “Wh-what just happened?” the boy asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Calib said. “One second, everything was normal, and then the next, you were sprinting away, saying you had to leave.”

  “Really?” Galahad said, brow furrowed. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember anything.”

  “We should try again,” Calib said. “But this time, maybe keep your hand on Excalibur’s hilt.”

  Nodding, Galahad collected both mouse and knapsack and headed toward the mountains again. This time, they got a little farther before Galahad again turned heel and ran.

  Again, Calib stopped him with the tree branch.

  Galahad sat up, groaning. “I will be feeling that for a few days.” He grimaced as he stretched his shoulders.

  “Sorry,” Calib said. “I didn’t have any other way of stopping you.”

  “No, thank you,” Galahad said, putting the knapsack across his other shoulder. “If it weren’t for your quick thinking, I’d probably still be running back to Camelot, or straight off a cliff for all we know. What’s happening here?”

  This time, Calib had a theory—a strange, wild one that still, somehow, managed to feel true. “I think,” he said slowly, “that there’s some kind of protection around the mountains. A magical one. Every time we get close, my whiskers start to tingle.”

  Galahad tilted his head. “They tingle now?”

  Twirling the ends of his black whiskers, Calib eyed Excalibur. “I think when you healed my whiskers, they grew back magical. I think they can sense when magic is afoot.”

  The boy looked puzzled. “You think I did that?”

  Calib climbed back up Galahad’s arm and settled onto his usual perch under Galahad’s ear. “Or perhaps Excalibur intended it.”

  “If you say so.” Galahad sounded doubtful, but he offered Calib his palm and put him back into Galahad’s hood. “Why doesn’t the spell work on you? Is that because of your whiskers, too?”

  Calib shook his head. He couldn’t help being amused by his friend. “Two-Leggers are usually the first to be bamboozled, because of their size. I, on the other paw, am a mouse—easy to miss.”

  “Fair enough,” Galahad said with a slight smile. “Now how am I going to get past the spell?”

  “Swords cut, don’t they? Why couldn’t a magical sword cut through a magical b
arrier?”

  Despite Galahad’s misgivings (“It’s just luck that your whiskers turned out magical and not poisonous!” he protested), Calib knew they were on the right track. And so together, they started back down the path with a relit torch and Excalibur unsheathed.

  When they passed where Galahad had turned the last two times, Calib held his breath. But with Excalibur held out, Galahad merely hesitated and then pressed forward. A few more steps, and a burned oak suddenly appeared.

  Calib eyed the black branches that spread out across the sky like a clawing hand. All around the tree, the ground was covered in ash. Nothing grew around it for about six feet.

  Suddenly, he could feel the temperature around him drop sharply. Cold dread welled up in his lungs. A denseness clung in the air, making it hard to breathe. Part of him wanted to run far from this place. Another part sensed that some otherworldly force was almost certainly at work, trying to repel them. His whiskers felt weighted down with the dark magic. Calib focused on moving beyond his fear and forced himself to look past the dead tree.

  Sure enough, the moonlight and the red light of the Dragon’s Eye illuminated a shadowy barrier that shimmered in the air like a veil just beyond the tree line.

  Calib tugged on Galahad’s ear. “Do you see that black fog past the trees, but right before the mountains?”

  Galahad squinted, then shook his head. “I don’t see anything.” He sounded slightly out of breath and came to a stop.

  Was he about to run again? Calib had to get them out of there quickly. The spell must be incredibly strong if it could work against one of Merlin’s treasures. But they didn’t have just one of the wizard’s treasures. . . .

  “Use the mirror!” Calib said. “Not to see the future, but to see through the magic.”

  Galahad seemed unable to speak, but he reached into his bag and withdrew the mirror. Turning his back to the oak, he held it up to look at the reflection of the mountains.

  Triumph surged in Calib’s heart like a firecracker. For there, in the mirror, he could clearly see a thin dome of translucent blue light covering the nearest mountain peak.

  “I see it,” Galahad breathed. “That must be Morgan’s home. That’s where we’ll find the Grail.”

  “And Cecily,” Calib said grimly. He flashed back to Cecily’s whisker-kiss on his cheek after the victory feast of the Battle of the Bear, and the triumphant feeling fizzled. Until she was back with them, there could be no victory.

  Using the mirror as a guide, Galahad sidled up to the ward. He raised Excalibur a little higher and pointed the blade at the barrier. The sword trembled in Galahad’s hands, and Calib’s whiskers shivered in response, as a wavering string of golden light emerged from the sword’s tip.

  “Do it,” Calib said, his teeth clattering together as his whiskers danced, as if they had a mind of their own. “Cut the barrier!”

  “What am I doing here?” Galahad asked.

  Calib’s heart fell. This close to the barrier, even Excalibur wasn’t enough. “You’re here for Cecily! The Grail! The Saxons!” Calib shouted any number of words he hoped might jog Galahad from the spell’s clutches. “FOR CAMELOT!”

  But the Two-Legger still didn’t respond. Scampering up the boy’s raised arm, Calib turned and saw Galahad’s eyes had glazed over. The boy’s body began to shake.

  They were so close. As Galahad started to turn, Calib ran down the rest of the length of Galahad’s arm and then chomped hard on Galahad’s hand.

  “Ow!” Galahad jerked his arm away in pain, slicing downward with Excalibur in the process.

  A gust of cold, damp air rushed out all at once, bringing with it the scent of rosemary and iron: the scent of dark magic.

  Galahad’s eyes cleared.

  “Go!” Calib urged, dangling from Galahad’s bleeding finger. Kicking his hind legs up, Calib somersaulted onto Galahad’s arm and ran back to his shoulder. With the mirror in one hand and the sword in the other, Galahad hacked away at the rip in the blue light, creating a larger tear. With a last push of his shoulder, the Two-Legger tumbled through, bringing them to the other side—

  And into a cave.

  The trees, the forest—it had all been an illusion, hiding what was truly here: the entrance to an underground cavern in the Iron Mountains.

  Calib’s heart beat rapidly against his chest. This was the kind of magic the world hadn’t seen for years. Centuries, even.

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” Galahad whispered, his voice echoing slightly as he looked up at the arched ceiling of rough rock and roots overhead. “Do you?”

  “I do,” a new voice said.

  Calib gripped onto Galahad’s ear tightly as the Two-Legger turned around.

  A stocky boy of about fifteen with auburn hair stepped out of the shadow of the cave. His brown eyes studied Galahad the same way a cat studied its prey.

  “Had we known you were coming,” Red drawled, “I would have put on a pot of tea.”

  CHAPTER

  10

  Calib felt Galahad tense as he quickly burrowed into Galahad’s hood.

  Mordred le Fay stalked forward, brandishing a sword that was the exact replica of Excalibur. Behind him, four heavily armed Saxon soldiers followed.

  Calib couldn’t help remembering how fast Red was with a weapon. Last time, Galahad had only managed to survive the fight because Calib tied Red’s shoelaces together at the last minute.

  That wouldn’t be possible now—not with four Saxon guards staring directly at Galahad. Calib’s only hope was to remain very, very still. Galahad would have to talk, not fight, his way out of this one.

  “Red,” Galahad said. Calib hoped that Saxon ears, like other Two-Legger ears, couldn’t pick up on the rapid beat of Galahad’s heart. “I’m here to speak with Morgan le Fay.”

  “Are you now?” Red said, amusement lacing his voice. “Somehow, little Du Lac, I don’t really believe you.” He snapped his fingers, and the guards with their hooked blades began to close in.

  Now, Calib’s nose filled with the stink of Galahad’s fear. Come on, Calib thought at the boy. He’s just a big bully! Stand your ground!

  “I know we left on, shall we say, complicated terms last time,” Galahad said. “But . . . you were right.”

  Red’s eyebrows shot up at that. “I was right?” he repeated slowly.

  Galahad nodded vigorously, forcing Calib to cling on to the hood with both paws. “What you said back at Camelot,” he continued. “Arthur and his knights know nothing. They only want to use me for Excalibur.”

  True bitterness clung to Galahad’s words. Is that how the Two-Legger really felt?

  Calib hoped he hadn’t made Galahad feel like he only wanted him around because of the magic sword. Calib also had wanted Galahad on the quest because he was kind. Because he listened. Because he never overlooked anyone, no matter how small.

  “I . . .” Galahad stopped for a moment, seeming to wrestle with himself. “I need to train with people who know magic. I want to learn from the best.”

  As Red narrowed his eyes, Calib sent out a wish to Merlin that the other boy would believe Galahad. The hero of Camelot had said those words so fervently that Calib would have believed Galahad himself if he didn’t know his friend so well. And he did know his friend. He was sure of it.

  Red’s scowl slowly turned into a smile, and Calib wasn’t sure which one was more terrifying. Red nodded at two of the nearest guards. “Search his belongings.”

  Before Galahad could say anything, one guard had yanked Excalibur from his hands while the other brusquely took his knapsack and began to rifle through it.

  Calib’s stomach lurched. The mirror! Taking a deep breath, he squeaked as loud as he could.

  “What the—” the guard growled, looking up from the backpack and peering at Galahad.

  There was a hard pinch behind Calib’s neck as he was lifted by the scruff. A moment later, the world streaked by as he flew through the air. He landed with a soft puff of dus
t on the cave floor. Slightly stunned, Calib wobbled to hide behind a rock as Galahad let out a soft cry of alarm.

  “What are you doing, Edgar?” Red asked.

  “The boy had a mouse in his hood,” the guard said, sounding disgusted.

  “Fool,” Red fumed. Calib heard the sound of approaching footsteps as Red walked in the direction Calib had gone flying. Red stopped and let out a hiss of breath. “It’s too late now. He will have already scurried away. Next time, Edgar, catch the mouse—don’t let it escape!”

  “A mouse?” Galahad exclaimed, somewhat too loudly. “Disgusting! If he knew what was good for him, he would stay away.”

  “That’s enough,” Red snapped, but Calib had understood the message. Sticking to the shadows, he climbed, paw over paw, to a narrow rock ledge where he could see what was happening.

  Nodding at the Saxons, Red said, “I will escort our guest from here. You are dismissed.” The guards retreated into the shadows, the sound of their stomping boots echoing down various tunnels.

  Red shoved Galahad’s satchel back into his arms. Then he pointed at the sconce on the cave wall, and it immediately extinguished, plunging them into darkness. Before Calib’s eyes could even attempt to adjust, an orb of blue light popped into existence. It illuminated Red’s face as he held it up. “Now follow me.”

  Red turned to go farther into the cave. Galahad glanced back once before following Red. Keeping to the edges and the shadows, Calib trailed the Two-Leggers and the small patch of bobbing blue light.

  Calib soon heard the sound of running water. Slowly, it grew louder until finally, Calib felt a gentle mist upon his face.

  The light in Red’s hands surged forward and grew brighter, illuminating more of their surroundings. They stood on the edge of a vast underground lake whose black depths were impossible to see through. Calib’s stomach twisted. For someone who despised swimming, he somehow always seemed to find himself near water.

  “Verum aqua,” Red whispered, and as he did, his hands moved in complicated gestures, as if he were playing an invisible lute.

  The lake’s water became translucent, turning a bright-turquoise blue.