Mice of the Round Table #3

by Julie Leung

  “You are needed, Howell!” Calib said. “Morgan has defeated Camelot.”

  “I’m afraid my time on this Earth is quite long past. This account of Rickonback River was only to reveal the truth to you when you were ready. Do you now understand what your father did?”

  Calib nodded. “Yes, he sacrificed himself to save others. To save Camelot. Is that how the Grail truly works?”

  Howell nodded once. “The Grail possesses the most powerful magic of all: magic that is only given when you give of yourself. That kind of power, self-sacrifice—it can change the world.”

  “But if King Arthur uses it,” Calib said, the consequence of their earlier plot now dawning on him, “we’ll have no king at all!”

  “The time of kings cannot last forever,” Howell began, but Calib was barely listening. “Camelot itself cannot last. . . .”

  “I have to go back and warn Galahad about how the Grail truly works!” he exclaimed.

  “Very well, Calib Christopher,” Howell said, sighing. “Perhaps this is a lesson better experienced than told.”

  The wolf held up one paw and traced a circle in the air. The circle turned into the shape of the mirror. It showed Leftie’s concerned face.

  “I think the mirror ate Calib!” Leftie’s voice warbled, as if he were speaking underwater and from a great distance. “We can’t attack today without him!”

  “Go back to your home, Calib,” Howell said. “You will need all you have learned here to guide you.”

  CHAPTER

  42

  The sun rose that morning cooler than it had been. The beginning of autumn was undeniably in the air. The moss that grew on the birches had been thick that summer. That meant there would be an early frost. Galahad remembered this from Father Walter’s teachings. He took this as a sign of positive changes to come as he tiptoed through the thick brush, making his way anonymously onto the castle grounds.

  In his brown, hooded cloak, Galahad blended in with the crowds that were gathering in the castle courtyard. He knew Red was hiding somewhere nearby too.

  Galahad followed the number of raised and angry voices back to a hastily built platform by the stables. Kneeling on the dais were two rows of prisoners from the castle, each shackled hand and foot. He saw that Malcolm, Bors, and most of the knights, including his father, were among them.

  They all bore the marks of a struggle. Sir Lancelot still had a bleeding cut on his cheek. No sign of the king and queen, though.

  The crowd of townsfolk looked tense and wary. Saxon guards surrounded all sides of the courtyard, swords at the ready. There were two to every villager.

  Galahad reached under his cloak, feeling for Excalibur. He couldn’t help but notice that it was an off-tune feeling now, like the sword sensed that something dangerous was about to occur. He would have to move fast. As soon as Red was able to complete his spell and break the chains of those trapped inside the castle, it would be up to Galahad to seek the king and queen immediately.

  From out of the corner of his eye, Galahad could see subtle movements from small shadows at people’s feet. Leftie and his Darklings were moving into position.

  The sound of half-hearted trumpets made Galahad jump. His eyes went to the stage as Morgan stepped out with her hawk, Theodora. The bird preened on Morgan’s shoulder, as the woman looked over the crowd triumphantly.

  By the looks of it, Morgan had raided Queen Guinevere’s wardrobe and put on her most lavish evening dress: a plum velvet number with silver larks embroidered in intricate detail. Over it, however, she wore a sturdy chestplate. No matter how much she wanted to show who was queen now, she still didn’t trust those around her.

  On her head, she wore King Arthur’s golden crown. The crowd murmured their displeasure but was quickly silenced by the threatening Saxon soldiers.

  “Today you will have the pleasure of seeing true power rise to the throne,” she said, as prideful as ever. “Too long have you had to live with an imposter king. One who has let magic slip away from his grasp like a child. I am here to remedy that.”

  “You lie!” yelled out an old cobbler.

  Morgan glared as two guards apprehended the man. Only the Saxons in the crowd cheered as the old cobbler was escorted to the dungeons. Morgan smiled serenely and resumed her speech, reciting the many reasons King Arthur made a poor king.

  “You may all think the Round Table is a noble concept. But it has always been Arthur’s excuse to shirk the responsibilities of true leadership. A real king does not rule by committee!”

  As the crowd around him became more outraged, Galahad grew anxious. Where were King Arthur and Queen Guinevere? Why hadn’t they been brought out yet? Were they already dead?

  Morgan kept rambling on about her vision of a kingdom ruled by magic. “On the other hand, if you place magic in the hands of someone who knows how to wield it with precision . . . why, I could make Camelot the most feared kingdom of all. There would be no more war.”

  But the crowd was no longer paying attention. All faces were turned upward, at a dark speck in the sky that had suddenly blotted out the morning sun. Slowly, it grew bigger and bigger, until . . .

  “IT’S A DRAGON!” someone shrieked.

  Choruses of panicked shouts pierced the air. Morgan went silent, and her expression turned livid.

  A cold sweat broke down Galahad’s back as he saw the shadow of the winged dragon. Calib was far, far too early with his distraction—Camelot’s humans were still in chains, unable to help.

  The chains that were holding the hostages began to glow blue: Red’s doing. At last, the chains broke in half and fell at the prisoners’ feet with a collective clang.

  Sir Lancelot leaped to his feet. “For Camelot!” he bellowed. “For King Arthur!”

  The other freed prisoners—Sir Edmund, Sir Kay, Bors, Malcolm, Father Walter, lords and ladies, members of the castle kitchens all the way to the gardeners—joined in with Sir Lancelot:

  “FOR KING ARTHUR!”

  Suddenly, Theodora froze in place with an alarmed squawk. She fell off Morgan’s shoulder like a rock. Red’s stun spell had missed his mother, hitting the hawk instead.

  Morgan recognized the magic. “Mordred le Fay! You insolent boy!”

  There was a crack as her spell lifted Red out from his hiding place beneath the platform. He was suspended in the air, as if held up by invisible talons.

  “You can’t keep using others, Mother!” Red shouted, twisting. “Stop this now, and maybe it can all end without any more harm—to any man or beast or you!”

  “You are weak, Mordred,” Morgan retorted, seething.

  Morgan’s hands formed into claws, and she made a slashing motion in the direction of Red. Bright daggers of light shot forth and struck Red, square in the face, and he dropped to the ground with a thud. He curled on his side, clutching his eyes.

  Morgan, meanwhile, had vanished.

  “Red!” Galahad shouted, running to the injured boy’s side, but Red pushed him away gruffly.

  “It’s just a blinding spell,” Red said, the heels of his palms covering his eyes. Galahad saw tears leaking out, but he didn’t think it was all the spell’s fault. “The curse will wear off, but she’s transformed again. Probably back into that ferret form she loves so much!”

  Leftie and his Darklings sprang into action. They were now gnawing at ankles, clawing at toes, and tripping the Two-Legger Saxons. Hidden Saxon creatures streamed out from the platform, ready to counter them.

  Someone began to ring the chapel bells. Hidden villagers charged out of the chapel, armed with candlesticks, broken glass, and chairs for weapons. The town blacksmith swung two of his massive hammers, smashing in breastplates, shields, and helmets of any Saxon who came within arm’s reach.

  The villagers were not skilled at battle, and they were badly outnumbered, but this was their home. They knew every nook and corner of the town, and they used that knowledge to their advantage. If they ran into a Saxon force too large to handle, they
could scatter down back alleyways and onto rooftops, melting away only to regroup one street over.

  The sound of high-pitched screeching filled the air. Above, an army of larks, crows, and owls had appeared from the south to join the battle. They dive-bombed the Saxons while squirrels and hares and otters fought them on the ground.

  And above them all flew the dragon, spitting flames and growling with a voice that sounded very much like Thomas the weasel.

  In the ensuing chaos, Galahad snuck behind the platform and ran into the castle. Most of the Saxons had emptied out of the hallways. They were outside trying to quell the revolt. The halls were eerily quiet. Galahad was stumped. King Arthur and Queen Guinevere could be held anywhere—in a tower, in the dungeons.

  Galahad paused and tried to see the world through Morgan’s eyes. In all the training she’d given him, what was the one thing she always stressed? Magic was balance. If Morgan needed to perform any magic, she always needed a life force to draw it from, usually a green and growing thing.

  There were many gardens, but only one garden that connected to Morgan’s childhood rooms: Guinevere’s cliffside garden.

  Galahad began to sprint in the direction of the throne room. It was thankfully empty, though Galahad noticed with annoyance that Morgan had already carved a giant M onto the back of Arthur’s throne. Galahad climbed on to the Round Table and did a running leap through the stained-glass window; thankfully, it hadn’t yet been fixed from his and Red’s duel months ago.

  Galahad caught his fall on a bramble of bushes. Ignoring the cuts and scrapes on his knees and palms, he took off running down the moss-covered hedges and overgrown fruit trees.

  “King Arthur! Queen Guinevere!” he called out to the vegetation.

  “Over here!”

  Galahad’s pulse raced and he ran even faster. He found the king and queen lashed against an old willow whose branches hung precariously over the stone wall that overlooked the cliffside.

  “Galahad!” King Arthur cried. “You found us!”

  “What is happening in the village?” Guinevere asked anxiously. “All we hear are shouts and screams!”

  “Not to worry, Your Majesties. We’re taking the castle back,” Galahad said confidently. Using Excalibur, he sliced their bindings.

  King Arthur rubbed his wrists. “Where’s my sister?”

  “Morgan has the Grail,” Galahad blurted out. “She carries it with her.”

  “The Grail?” King Arthur’s eyes widened in shock. “But how? I’ve spent years looking for it!”

  His words caught Galahad off guard. “You believe in its powers? But you forbade anyone from seeking it!”

  King Arthur bowed his head. “I have searched for it many times these long years—that’s why your father and I have so often been gone from the kingdom. But when last I left searching for it, the Saxons attacked, and I realized that I needed to stop hoping for magic to save us. That perhaps peace was truly impossible. So I prepared for war.”

  Queen Guinevere patted the king’s shoulder and said, “Arthur has always taken each misfortune to Camelot as his own fault, and he sometimes forgets that the burden of ruling should fall to a group so that we may all support one another.”

  Arthur nodded. “Indeed. I had forgotten. I thought Merlin had abandoned us, but I see now that Merlin’s intent was for the power to be shared.”

  “Somehow,” Galahad said grimly as the sound of battle rose in his ears, “I don’t think Morgan shares the same philosophy.”

  “Then I have a meeting with my sister,” King Arthur said. “Come, Galahad. Let us end this.”

  CHAPTER

  43

  Calib saw Camelot’s spires from a dragon’s point of view. He sat squarely in the glass bowl that served as the dragon’s left eye. The dragon that he and all the creatures had created together for a distraction. Unfortunately, things hadn’t gone as planned.

  And now, if Arthur used the Grail as the plan intended, he would die!

  “To the left! The main battle is gathering on the cliffside!” he shouted into a hollow tube that relayed his message to the owls and crows manipulating the recently crafted dragon’s winged movements.

  “Understood,” the owl general, Gaius Thornfeather, said, his words traveling down to Calib’s ear from Sir Alric’s contraption. The entire body of the dragon groaned and shifted against the wind.

  Exhilaration chased away Calib’s exhaustion. He looked down at the Two-Leggers far below, moving in ant-like formations. All of them had paused to stare up in wonder and fear as the dragon blotted out the sunlight. Occasionally, an unnerved soldier would peel away from the chaos to run into the woods.

  Calib and the rest of the free animals of Camelot and the Darkling Woods had spent the whole night working in the forest to construct this dragon. It had to be lightweight enough for the owls, crows, and bats to hold aloft a great distance. So far, the willow branches were holding steady. Time would tell if the reinforced wings made out of The Salty Pup’s sails would be strong enough to withstand arrows. To fill the body, they had molded papier-mâché and scraps of linen over the wooden framework. Ginny had the brilliant idea of using a glue-like substance made from the thistle weed. Dandelion had chosen the metallic-gray paint, created with flour and ash. Finally, with a few of King Mir’s illusion spells thrown here and there, they had a functional dragon.

  “Rawwwwrgh, I’m hungry for Two-Legger meat!” Thomas bellowed into the instrument. The Saxon weasel was having the time of his life.

  Calib motioned to Cecily, who sat in the dragon’s right eye. She nodded. “Get the fire powder ready!” she shouted into her tube. “Let’s give them a show, boys!”

  Calib held his breath—this would be the biggest test.

  Sir Alric’s trumpet served the dual purpose of spewing the fire powder they’d brought from the Iron Mountains. They’d have just enough for three displays of fire breathing.

  As the dragon rose up alongside the bluff, Calib took heart in seeing their hard work already paying off in the frightened faces of their Saxon enemies. Thomas continued to roar nonsense into the sound amplifier.

  “Taste our fury!”

  At that moment, Devrin and Warren set off a great fan of flames from the dragon’s snout, showering their enemies below with ash and sparks.

  That seemed to do the trick perfectly. The Saxons were panicking and abandoning their posts. With the sun high above them, the dragon must have looked like it was turning red for another attack. Pure chaos ensued down below.

  “I think this is going to work!” Thomas shouted. “These Two-Leggers are running like cats out of water!”

  “Now we just have to find Galahad and King Arthur,” Cecily said.

  Calib had told the animals the truth of how the Grail worked as soon as he’d returned from the mirror. But Galahad had already left for his part of the rescue mission. All the creatures agreed that the Two-Leggers did not know what they were dealing with. The animals had to retrieve the Grail before anyone got hurt.

  Cecily pivoted her telescope to scan the crowd. “Wait, I think I see Galahad!” she exclaimed, pointing off into the distance. “He’s with Arthur already. By the cliffs in Guinevere’s garden!”

  The dragon groaned and shuddered as the orders were relayed. The body slowly tilted to glide toward where Cecily had indicated.

  They were going to pass above King Arthur and Galahad, but Calib could already tell they would be too high off the ground for him to jump out.

  “We need to get lower!” Calib shouted. “I can’t land safely from here.”

  “This thing was not built for speed or maneuverability,” Sir Alric complained to them from above. “If we get too close to the ground, we could crash! This is the best I can do!”

  “Looks like you need some more nimble wings,” a crow’s voice cawed brightly.

  “Valentina!” Calib could not believe his eyes and stared at the healthy-looking crow who had joined him in the bowl. “You’re all
healed!”

  “I couldn’t miss out on another big adventure, could I?” the crow declared with a wink.

  “I . . . don’t know what to say,” Calib said, tears in his eyes. For weeks, he thought he might have crippled Valentina. “I’m so sorry for not listening to you that night in the storm. . . .”

  Valentina ruffled Calib’s fur. “Save your tears until after we save Camelot. Come, I’ll give you a ride to Galahad!”

  Calib brushed away his tears and nodded. He jumped onto Valentina’s back, and the crow took a running leap from the dragon. They took to the air and banked back toward a flash of white-blond hair. Galahad stood waiting to give the signal to the vanguard of the Camelot forces. They were about to charge the encroaching Saxons.

  “There! Off to the side!”

  Valentina maneuvered closer in, landing on Galahad’s head.

  Galahad shouted in surprise. “Calib, why aren’t you on the dragon?”

  “The Grail’s powers aren’t what Arthur thinks!” Calib gasped, out of breath from his sprint. He climbed down to Galahad’s shoulder. “It cannot be used for selfish reasons. It only truly works if a great personal sacrifice is made in exchange.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For the Grail to truly work, King Arthur would have to give up his life.”

  Calib quickly recounted all he had seen in the mirror, including how his father’s death had woken the Grail. Galahad’s eyes widened. “I wonder if that would explain Merlin,” he said. “If he gave up his human life for the castle. He wasn’t eaten by a wolf—he turned into the wolf.”

  “We need to tell King Arthur,” Calib said. They began to push forward to where the king stood. “We need to warn him!”

  “Your Majesty!” Galahad tried to shout above the noise. But the soldiers mistook Galahad’s movements as a signal to advance. The boy and the mouse were swept away from the king in a rush of bodies.

  The Saxons had divided their forces in two, splitting them on both sides in a pincer movement. In between them stood Arthur’s men, in the last stand of Camelot. At the very front, King Arthur was fighting his way to Morgan.