Mice of the Round Table #3

by Julie Leung

  “Yes,” Galahad said. There was no point in denying it.

  “How fascinating,” Britta said, her eyes growing wide as she took in the bats and mice. “Have you always been able to do that? Did Morgan, with her new powers, give you that ability?” Britta paused and took in everyone’s injuries. “Galahad, where is Queen Morgan?”

  “She is launching her attack on Camelot,” Galahad said. “And we must hurry to stop her.”

  Britta’s expression went from confusion to anger.

  “No,” Britta said. She unsheathed a short sword, which hung on her belt, next to her quills. She brandished it dangerously. “I’ve worked too long on those translations. And just when Morgan promises to bring my family over, you’re going to ruin that for me?”

  Britta looked ferocious, and so Galahad again raised Excalibur, just in case she attacked. “Britta, there’s something I have to tell you. Morgan hasn’t been saving Saxony—she’s the one who caused the drought.”

  Britta shook her head, her curls bouncing. “That’s not possible. Saxony has been in decline since long before Morgan arrived.”

  “Maybe Mother did not start the drought,” Red said, stepping forward, “but I’m sure she pushed it along, both for her own magic and to have the Saxons turn to her in their time of need.” His face grew stormy. “She used you. She lied to you, like she lies to everyone!”

  “Red’s right,” Galahad said, hardly believing that he would ever utter such words. “Morgan won’t stop. So many will suffer if we let her win. The only person she really cares about is herself.”

  “But Papa and my sisters . . .” Britta’s sword tip lowered as she lost her resolve. “She promised me she would bring them here! This is their only hope.”

  “No, not their only hope,” Galahad said.

  As quickly as he could, Galahad told Britta everything, including his plan to vouch for Britta and Red and her family. Cecily and Calib nodded along on his shoulders. When he’d finished, Britta looked as if she might faint.

  “If this is all true,” she said, “then the queen—I mean, Morgan—shouldn’t have this.” She pulled out the scroll she had brought and unfurled it like a treasure map. The parchment was covered in an old cipher, different than the others—one that Galahad had never seen before. He couldn’t understand any of the words except the title, which was written in big, swirling letters across the top:

  Merlin’s Last Quest.

  CHAPTER

  38

  “What’s this?” Galahad asked.

  “The only scroll of Merlin’s I’ve been unable to decipher,” Britta said. “Before you brought the scroll from Camelot, I thought that this would hold the key to using the Grail. When the ritual worked without the secrets of this scroll, I was relieved—even if I hated to see the pain caused to that poor bunny.”

  “I’m a hare,” Galahad heard Jasper whisper indignantly.

  Galahad smiled. “The hare is just fine. He only pretended to be dead—and quite melodramatically, too.”

  “What’s your point, Britta?” Red said, crossing his arms. “You and I have both cross-referenced that scroll with the decoder and with every language known to man. It’s completely illegible.”

  She looked at the animals, who seemed to understand what she was saying.

  “But that’s what the rabbit made me realize. Maybe this scroll wasn’t meant for man,” Britta said, looking at the mice on Galahad’s shoulders and the bats hanging on the rafters, their ears swiveled in her direction. “Maybe Merlin meant for one of these creatures to read it.”

  Galahad squatted down for a closer inspection. “Calib, what do you think? Can any of you read it?”

  And though both the bats and mice took a look, none of them knew the language.

  “Either way, it doesn’t matter now, we have a more important task at hand,” Cecily said. “Morgan’s made off with the Grail now, and we still have an entire mountain range full of prisoners to evacuate.”

  Galahad shared a look with Calib. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but, Red, do you have any ideas on getting out of here?”

  Red pointed to one of the largest mirrors; a framed masterpiece displayed a large gray mountain with a crown of fog. A formation of bats circled the highest peak, still trapped underneath Morgan’s spell.

  “These mirrors allow Mother to be in many different places very quickly,” Red added.

  “Dose she have a portal near Camelot?” Britta asked.

  “She did,” Galahad said glumly, pointing to the shattered mirror on the floor.

  “It’s true, we can no longer use the direct portal, but I can at least get you out of this fortress. Come with me.” Red stepped through the portal that opened onto the top of the mountain.

  “I don’t believe him,” the bat wearing a neck ruff said. “We should shove him off a cliff the earliest chance we get.”

  “What do you think?” Galahad asked Calib and Cecily.

  Calib scrunched his snout and rubbed his black whiskers in deep concentration. He looked back at Galahad with anxious eyes. “I think we need as much help as we can get.”

  “We’ll be on our guard just in case he tries anything, though,” Cecily added.

  “Ready?” Galahad asked the creatures. Cecily and Calib ran up his pant leg and settled on his shoulder without a second thought. A moment later, the bats fluttered to his back and hooked their claws into the fabric of his tunic.

  Galahad took a deep breath and stepped through the mirror.

  He felt a cold tickle go up his spine again. There was a moment of vertigo as the sensation suddenly changed from falling down to falling up. His whole world spun. Galahad was suspended in the air for a brief second before plummeting down onto the cold, rocky surface of the mountain’s crater.

  He was momentarily winded, but gradually, he became aware of snarls and growls and one very panicked voice.

  “Get off me!” Red yelped as an onslaught of escaped prisoners swarmed him.

  “I’m here to help!” Britta clutched her hair to keep the bats from clawing at it.

  “Pull out his hair,” demanded a weasel. “Make him furless!” Two little weasels bared their canines in agreement.

  “No one is becoming bald today,” Galahad said loudly. “And we need to have Red’s vision at its best since he’s going to help us.”

  Immediately, the frenzied commotion stopped as all eyes turned to Galahad—the Two-Legger who had clearly understood animal speech.

  Quickly, Calib addressed the crowd. “This is Galahad,” he said, pointing his tail to Galahad’s nose. “And that, as you know, is Red. But both are here to help break the barrier!”

  “Two-Leggers!” a bat called out. “You can’t be serious!”

  “Galahad is a good one!” Jasper the hare ran forward from the crowd. “I will vouch for this Two-Legger—he saved my life. Warren can attest to it.”

  Galahad gave Calib a quizzical look. “Warren?”

  “Er.” Calib tugged his ear. “It’s a long story. But, Galahad, the mirror! Show them!”

  A shadow prowled around Galahad’s boots. “What mirror?” a large lynx growled, his bobbed tail twitching angrily. This, he supposed, was Leftie the lynx, chieftain of the Darkling Woods. Hastily, Galahad reached into his pack to produce Merlin’s Mirror. Carefully, he lowered it to the one-eyed wildcat.

  The lynx’s yellow eye widened, and his pupil dilated.

  “Shave my whiskers,” Leftie breathed, and his big velvety paw snatched it from Galahad. “I know that mirror!” He turned it over, the handle fitting his paw perfectly, and Leftie practically purred in delight. “I thought it had smashed to smithereens!”

  Leftie clutched the mirror, as if he would never let it out of his sight again. “At last, with the help of this mirror, we will be able to plan for the seasons again.”

  “No more raiding to survive!” a big badger added.

  “Aye! Peace, perhaps, at last,” the wildcat agreed.

 
Galahad smiled before glancing back to check on Britta and Red. Britta had pulled a quill out of her curly hair and was rapidly recording everything she saw in her notebook.

  “Normally, I would say this kind of magic is impossible. How could you be talking to these animals, Galahad, without drawing your magic from something? I’ve since been working on a new theory about magic,” she said.

  “No more theories from you,” Red said, only half jokingly. “You’re too good at them.”

  Britta ignored him. “Morgan was always saying that Merlin had taught her how magic is about balance. To do something, you have to take from something else. Well, I’ve been translating those scrolls for months, and I think she is missing something important.”

  Britta’s voice rose in excitement as she laid out her new theory.

  “I think magic can also be powered from within. I think it’s true that Morgan can manage such big magic because she’s taking power from others. If she were to give only of herself, she would surely die from the exhaustion. But I think, taken in smaller quantities, a person can power his own spells, as Galahad does.”

  Red stood still, staring at the ragged animals gathered around them. Many of them bore bandages from injuries sustained in the forges and mines. All of them were underfed and dirty. The boy paled, his face white under his shock of red hair.

  “I think enough has been taken from others,” he said. Red turned to face the crowd of gathered animals. “I’m sorry. This is my fault as much as it is my mother’s. I cannot give you back the time you lost and the suffering you have endured. For that, I am truly sorry.”

  Red looked at Galahad grimly. “On my mark, strike your sword against the sky.”

  Galahad nodded while Red raised both his hands. The older boy began chanting in the words of old magic. His fingers moved in complicated gestures, and slowly, a thin dome appeared above them, wavering with blue currents of magic. It arched all the way down to the ground. Morgan had trapped them like bugs in a jar.

  Well, she’d be very sorry that she’d ever trapped this bug. Galahad would make sure of it.

  “Do it now,” Red called to Galahad through gritted teeth. He was sweating now. As he continued to chant, tendrils of magic poured down from his fingertips. The dome seemed to sag as a result. “Break the shell!”

  Using all his energy, Galahad jumped and sliced Excalibur through the translucent membrane. It felt as though he were trying to slice through thick cloth.

  There was immense resistance, but then it began to tear. Galahad’s heart leaped. The plan was working! But almost as soon as he thought it, he heard a groan from Calib, who was looking at where he’d made his tear. Galahad’s heart lurched when he realized the rip was no longer there.

  The barrier seemed to have immediately healed itself. It was as smooth as ever—not even a nick remained where Excalibur had sliced through.

  Suddenly, Red dropped to all fours, panting for breath. “It’s too strong,” he gasped. “I can’t do it. Excalibur isn’t enough.” He locked eyes with Galahad. “We’re not strong enough.”

  And at his words, the blue glow of the dome faded into nothingness, leaving them exactly where they had been before.

  Trapped . . . and hopeless.

  CHAPTER

  39

  Calib felt a frustrated sob rise in his throat, but he swallowed it back. There had to be a way out—there just had to!

  “Morgan le Fay cannot be stronger than us,” Cecily cried. “She’s just one Two-Legger, but among all of us, we know so much! The moles know how to dig, the bats how to navigate the dark, the Saxons know how to read the runes. Surely there has to be a way out of here!”

  “Morgan knows how to manipulate real magic. Magic older than Earth itself,” Horatio murmured. “Unless you can somehow use something she’s already built against her, there’s very little we could do.”

  Red prodded Galahad in the ribs. “This is annoying,” he said while Britta stood behind, rapidly nodding her head in agreement. “What are they all saying?”

  Quickly, Galahad filled in Red and Britta. When he had finished, a thoughtful expression crossed Red’s face.

  “What is a mirror but a reflection that can be turned into a portal? None of my mother’s mirrors are strong enough to get everyone out, but we do have the underground lakes and the water gate!”

  “Have you ever created one?” Galahad asked as Calib thought again of the Lady of the Lake. She had turned Avalon’s lake into a portal to send Cecily and Calib home.

  “No, not on this scale.” Red rubbed his forehead in fierce thought. “Mother couldn’t either, or else she would have sent her entire army over to Camelot that way. She was only able to get herself across, and usually, only in her ferret form. This was why she always needed more magic. She was convinced there was untapped raw magic buried somewhere in this mountain.”

  Hope thundered back into Calib. “Your Majesty,” he said, catching King Mir’s eye. “Do you think . . . ?”

  King Mir let out a gusty sigh. “Follow me, please, to the dragon’s lair, where we will get you your crystals.”

  Two days passed as they painstakingly unearthed the crystals with help from the rest of the prisoners. Red, pretending to act on behalf of his mother, was quickly able to trick the few remaining guards to disarm. Once they did, Red put them under a sleeping spell. Thomas, the weasel, and Britta went about convincing the rest of the Saxons to join their side.

  One by one, the animals arranged the crystals in a circle around the circumference of the lake. Per Britta’s instructions, they placed them about two feet apart. With each passing hour, Calib grew more and more antsy. The Saxons must have arrived at Camelot by now. A siege could be underway.

  Finally, the animals all crowded around the lake, armed with the secret stash of weapons they’d stolen from the forges. They were ready to rescue Camelot—as soon as they could get out. To Calib, it looked as though they had formed their own kind of Round Table—Saxons stood alongside the bats, Darklings alongside Camelot.

  This was how it should be, the mouse thought—a land united.

  He looked to the middle of the lake, where Galahad and Red were seated in a small boat. The older boy looked tired but determined.

  After a few deep breaths, Red began to chant, tendrils of magic pooling out from his hands and into the water. The crystals responded to the magic and began to shoot forth light into the lake.

  “I need you to channel Excalibur into the lake as well,” Red said as the surface of the water begin to glow blue. “Every bit of power is needed. The portal will last only for a few seconds. When I say ‘jump,’ all the animals will have to go at once.”

  “I will remain behind to close the portal,” Britta called from the shore. “Don’t forget your promise to me, Galahad.”

  “I swear it.” Galahad nodded. “Your family will have a home in Camelot after all this is over.”

  Galahad dipped the tip of his sword into the lake. The surface of the water began to change colors, slowly swirling to form a river scene—a hillock that Calib knew stood only half a league away from the castle.

  “This is as close as I can get us,” Red said, his hands shaking to keep the spell intact. The boat was starting to sink.

  The animals began to mutter among one another. “I’m not stepping in there until I see someone else do it first. . . .”

  Calib’s old fear of swimming reared its head. What if Red was lying? What if he dumped them all in the sea or . . .

  “Go!” Red shouted.

  “FOR CAMELOT!” Calib yelled, then, taking a deep breath, he jumped. He splashed into the water and immediately felt a magical force yank him down below the surface. Before he had a chance to cry out, he found himself falling through air instead of water. He somersaulted a few times and landed on a soft cluster of weeds, tumbling to a stop on a mossy glen.

  Cecily, Ginny, Thomas, and Thomas’s siblings fell through the air right after him, followed by the prisoners of th
e Iron Mountains. For a solid five minutes, it was quite literally raining animals. Finally, a wooden boat bearing two boys appeared, hovering in midair.

  The boat jerked around violently, as if struggling with the physics of gravity, before falling. It hit the ground with a large crack. The boat splintered into pieces.

  “Whew,” Thomas said, shaking his head. The weasel looked somewhat dazed. “That was some ride.”

  Calib ran to make sure Galahad was okay. The boys were lying on the ground, winded from the fall.

  Red smiled wanly. He was deadly pale and looked in need of a long nap, but he seemed unharmed. “That was some magic,” he murmured. “But Britta was right; it came from within.”

  “We made it!” Galahad shouted with glee. He stood up, wobbled some, but regained his balance. He pointed to the west. They had arrived on a hill overlooking Camelot. A warm, orange light seemed to make the towers and turrets of their home glow.

  The plan worked! For a moment, Calib felt invincible. But in the last rays of the setting sun, Calib’s eye caught something that made his heart stop.

  “Oh no,” Cecily whispered from his side, for she saw the same thing.

  At the top of Camelot’s turrets hung not the sigil of King Arthur—three crowns against a background of blue. Saxon flags flew above every tower, the red stripes on white banners rippling against the evening wind. Warships—both Two-Legger and animal—clogged the river leading to the town.

  They were too late. Camelot had already fallen.

  CHAPTER

  40

  Calib stood numbly, unsure if he wanted to scream or cry, hit something or go hide. His home had been attacked, and he’d not been there to protect it.

  Suddenly, there was a soft whissh through the air, followed by a hard thwack as a creature-sized arrow narrowly missed Galahad’s boot and buried itself into the ground.

  “That was a warning shot!” said a voice from the trees. “Who goes there?”

  “Macie!” Calib cried out. “It’s me! It’s us!”