by Julie Leung
The sound of the Two-Legger armies was the most terrible sound Calib had ever heard—the smashing of metal, frightened horses, and angry shouting. Galahad and Calib were surrounded on all sides by flailing limbs and sharp edges.
Galahad pressed on. Frantically, the two made their way to King Arthur as arrows rained down, thudding against the shield that Galahad held high over his head.
“The king!” someone screamed, and, as if there were magic at work, the soldiers suddenly parted, allowing Calib and Galahad to see Arthur, just as he crumpled to his knees, an arrow protruding from his side.
Morgan le Fay lowered her bow and smiled with smug satisfaction.
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“Arthur!” Queen Guinevere’s panicked shouts cut through the ensuing battle cries.
Morgan, sensing the others coming to the king’s rescue, raised both her arms toward the chapel. A giant cracking sound shook the ground beneath their feet. The chapel bells jangled as the entire building was lifted from the ground, rising at least ten feet into the air. The grass around Morgan dried to dust as she worked this magical feat.
Galahad saw that Morgan meant to use the building to separate Arthur from his rescuers. He began to sprint toward where Arthur had fallen. He withdrew Excalibur and willed his feet to move faster.
As it moved through the air, the chapel crumbled into rubble and reformed into a giant wall of debris, threatening to ford the river and block his path to Arthur. Morgan made a throwing motion, and the wall came crashing down.
Galahad slid under the falling barrier just in time. One of the bells nearly took off his head, but he had cleared the wall. Bruised, his ears ringing, he got up and continued to run after Morgan. She was already at the riverbank now, stooped over the figure of King Arthur. She cruelly wrenched the arrow from her brother’s side.
The paper dragon swooped in and intervened.
“Not another move, witch!” the dragon shouted.
The dragon’s chest grew fiery red as the dragon prepared another fire blast from its mouth. But before it could fire, Morgan raised her arms again. A gale-force wind suddenly caught the dragon’s wings like two kites and pinned the whole construct against the wall that had recently been the chapel. Unable to release the fire powder, the dragon’s chest caught aflame.
The witch grinned with wicked satisfaction and sent the burning structure high up into the sky. All the trees that surrounded King Arthur turned gray and ashen as Morgan brought the dragon careening back to the ground.
The dragon deflated as the birds and bats who had powered it flew out of the burning carcass.
Morgan was breathing heavily now. Her recent acts of magic had taken a toll on her, and the garden that had once grown in this place had turned to dried bits of bramble and weeds.
She was moving in for the finishing blow.
Morgan unsheathed a wicked-looking blade that glowed with a black aura around it. The scent of it smelled like death itself. This would bring about the final blow that would kill Arthur.
“You should have listened to the old man, little brother,” she said to Arthur, with a triumphant sneer. She was only a few feet from the incapacitated king. “Merlin always told you not to trust me. But you always had a soft spot for your family, didn’t you?”
“Blood is blood,” Arthur said, spitting out some of the blood that was in his mouth. He put his arm up as if to shield himself from the next blow with his own bare hands. “But yours was always bad, Morgan.”
Morgan waved her hand in the air, and the next moment, the Grail appeared in her hand. “Good thing, then, that you have plenty to give.”
Taking some of Arthur’s blood from the arrow, she smeared it inside the Grail.
Nothing happened. Her armies did not gain speed. They did not gain strength. With a start, Galahad realized that the only reason she had gained some invincibility last time must have been that Galahad had sacrificed his own blood for the hare.
Morgan had been able to see right away that the Grail wasn’t working. In her confusion, she hardly seemed to notice Galahad as he ran to stand between her and King Arthur.
“You again,” Morgan sneered. “It seems the Grail is picky about its blood. It craves yours.” Without warning, Morgan came at Galahad with her sword, but after weeks of combat training with Red, Galahad dodged it easily.
Galahad moved with precision and confidence that he hadn’t possessed when he’d first arrived at Camelot. His powers and command of magic were more advanced too. Now that the witch had overextended her powers, Galahad realized he could defeat Morgan on his own, once and for all.
Spells flew back and forth between the two. Galahad shot wild, lightning-bright bursts of energy from Excalibur, fueled by his anger. Morgan responded with lashes of black magic that whipped out and tried to entangle Galahad’s limbs. The grass around them turned black and crispy, crunching underneath Galahad’s feet. They couldn’t do this indefinitely; they’d turn the entire cliffside into sand.
The time to act was now or never.
Galahad began to pull all the magic he could muster from Excalibur—through himself. It traveled from his fingertips, up his arm, and filled his body like an electric current. Every joint and muscle seemed to twist in pain.
Galahad grit his teeth and reached out with his free hand, willing the magic out of his sword and toward the Grail. His hands began to tremble.
Finally, when it seemed like he might reach his breaking point and explode into nothingness, the Grail flew out of Morgan’s hand and into his. The cup felt heavier than it should, like it was already filled to the brim with some unseen liquid. The grainy pattern in the wood of the Grail began to swirl. Everything moved in slow motion now, as if Galahad had fallen out of step with time itself. Morgan raised her blade over her head, her face twisted with fury.
An otherworldly voice sounded in Galahad’s mind. It was a voice that he imagined might have belonged to a god.
What is it that you wish?
There was no other choice. King Arthur was unconscious, and no one else besides Galahad knew the secret of the Grail. Morgan, he knew now, would stop at nothing to become queen.
She would rather see Calib, Cecily, and all the others die than lose. She would kill her own brother; her own son.
She would rather have war than peace. And Galahad knew that his home at Camelot would never truly be a home until peace reigned.
“I wish to trade my life for Camelot,” Galahad whispered.
The Grail answered Galahad’s plea with a blinding ray of light.
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A searing golden beam of light shot out from the Grail. It unfurled just like it had always been depicted on the Christopher crest.
Calib squinted against the light. He could see the silhouette of Galahad dropping Excalibur to place both his hands on the Grail’s stem. Galahad’s arms shook as he tried to maintain control of the Grail’s power.
The light shot into the sky and arced like a rainbow across the battlefield. Where it traveled, drops of iridescence fell onto Camelot’s armies, both human and animal. It spread and formed an armor of light around their bodies. Camelot’s forces suddenly seemed reenergized. A rallying roar sprang up through the ranks as the troops regrouped for a final showdown.
Calib felt a drop of something on his head and then his snout. It tingled as it ran down his fur, and his mind became calmer and more alert. Looking down at his torso, Calib could see a near-invisible layer of armor wrapping him like a glove.
“Give it to me!” Morgan’s expression was a mixture of fear and jealousy as she charged toward Galahad. “You can’t control it. Let me teach you, Galahad. I will never abandon you the way your mother and father have. Come, become my new son, and we will rule Camelot together.”
Surprised, Galahad directed the Grail’s ray right at Morgan.
It froze Morgan to the spot. She let out a bloodcurdling shriek, and then suddenly, she disappeared. King Ar
thur’s crown fell onto the heap of clothing left in her place.
A surprised-looking ferret crawled out of the clothing pile. The Manderlean.
The ferret that was both the Manderlean and Morgan looked dazed for a moment, but then her eyes fell on Calib. With a vicious hiss, she charged at him.
“You! This is all your fault.”
Calib barely had time to draw his sword before Morgan was upon him. She did not break stride but lowered her shoulder as she slammed into Calib.
His magical armor absorbed most of the impact, but the hit was enough to send Lightbringer flying from his grip. Calib scrambled up, almost losing his balance on the slick moss that covered the rocks. He turned to face Morgan, but she was nearly on top of him.
He scampered backward, trying to put as much distance between himself and the ferret as he could. The ferret hissed and lunged after him.
“Oh no you don’t!” Devrin jumped down from a muddy embankment, twirling a length of rope knotted into a lasso over her head. On her heels were Barnaby and Cecily. Morgan kept running straight for Calib, but Devrin let fly the lasso, entangling Morgan’s hind leg. The ferret pulled up short as the three mice grabbed on to the rope. It took all their strength to hold her in place.
“Exsolve!” Morgan hissed.
She was trying to do magic. She waved her paws in the air in a complicated pattern and attempted to pull free again, but the rope held fast. Her spells weren’t working.
Galahad and the Grail must have stripped her of her magic, trapping her in the Manderlean’s form.
With a snarl of frustration, Morgan lunged at the rope with her teeth, snapping it cleanly in two.
“Run, Calib!” Devrin shouted.
He had no more time to think, as Morgan darted toward him, impossibly fast. He turned and ran for the river. Not daring to look behind him, he scrambled up the trunk of a fallen tree that stretched out across the rushing waters. Its narrowest branches reached almost as far as the opposite bank. The tree was rotted through, its bark crumbling in places and slick with spray in others. A heavy rain would probably send it over the falls for good.
Calib ran as fast as he could on the treacherous surface, but he almost lost his footing twice. He was halfway across the river when he heard the scratching of Morgan’s claws on the bark just behind him. It was time to stop running.
He turned to face Morgan. The ferret slowed her pursuit, eyeing Calib carefully as she closed the remaining distance.
“There is nowhere to go.” Her voice dripped malice. “Call off your armies if you value your life.”
Calib was trapped. He thought back to what Galahad would do in this situation. An idea came to him. Calib lowered his head carefully, as though considering Morgan’s offer. His paws were shaking. He saw Morgan relax her defensive stance slightly.
“All right, I surrender,” Calib whispered to himself. “For Camelot.”
He looked up at Morgan and took a step. The ferret smiled a victorious smile, full of teeth. That was the moment Calib lunged.
He ran as fast as he could, plowing into Morgan’s side. She gave a surprised yelp of pain as she twisted, trying to catch her balance, but she lost her footing on the wet bark. An instant later, she was falling, and Calib was falling with her.
The water was cold. It was all Calib could do to keep his head above the surface. Swimming against the current was impossible. Morgan’s paws flailed wildly, but she was making no progress.
The river was carrying them both toward the waterfall. It was all Calib could do to keep his head above the surface. Morgan’s paws flailed wildly. She was struggling as well. Calib knew he could not stay afloat for very long. Though the Grail might be able to heal injuries, he wasn’t sure how much protection it would offer from a plunge over a cliff.
A few more seconds, and they would go over.
“Calib! Catch!”
Calib saw Devrin standing on the riverbank, almost at the top of the waterfall. She was spinning her rope once more. Calib kicked toward her with all the strength he had left, and as the rope arced out over the water, he leaped for it. He had the rope between both paws and between his teeth, and he held on for dear life as Devrin, Barnaby, Thomas, and Cecily pulled him to safety. Behind him, he heard one last angry shriek from Morgan as she plummeted over the edge.
“Nothing that goes over ever comes back,” Cecily said grimly.
Camelot’s greatest enemy was defeated. For the first time in what felt like years, the burden of protecting Camelot lifted off Calib’s shoulders. His castle was safe again, and he had fulfilled his promise.
“We did it,” Calib whispered, overcome with emotion. “We’ve saved Camelot! We’ve stopped the prophecies!”
“Not yet,” Cecily said, her eyes suddenly wide in horror.
The dragon, still impaled on the bell tower and abandoned by its controllers, began to list sideways sharply. Finally, it ripped away from the tower.
Calib watched as the dragon fell, like a slayed beast, onto the boats moored on the river.
The sound of splintering wood was followed quickly by a gigantic BOOM!
It shook the ground beneath him, and a blast of debris showered the battlefield. Humans and animals alike rolled away from the barricade.
Fiery bits of paper dragon fell all around Calib. The mouse watched in horror as the thatching on the roofs, and the hay in the stables, caught on fire. The fire jumped from roof to roof, the dry straw acting like kindling.
Camelot was burning.
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Galahad slid to the ground like a rag doll, barely clinging to consciousness and only vaguely aware of the remaining Saxons turning from the flames and fleeing. The dark, terrible visions he and Guinevere saw in Merlin’s Mirror were coming true.
The Saxon animals ran for cover, taking shelter in the Darkling Woods. Some of the Two-Leggers, who were too terrified, simply jumped into the river or laid flat in the tall grass, hoping for cover from falling debris. The flames danced like a rage-filled demon, consuming everything they touched.
Even with Morgan le Fay gone, the world was filled with many dangers. Galahad wished he were able to help the kingdom in this next fight for survival, but . . .
His body had gone completely numb. He could no longer feel the Grail or Excalibur in his hands. Everything went very cold and distant. His mind felt removed from his body. He thought how wonderful it might feel to shuck his body away, like a corn husk, and float freely into the lands beyond.
But where do you belong? a voice inside him asked. It sounded very much like his mother’s. Galahad could almost sense her warm hand brushing out the knots from his hair.
The king’s sudden grip on his arm brought Galahad’s mind crashing back down into his body. The pain followed immediately. Galahad grit his teeth. The king was repeating some question.
“How did you do it?”
Arthur lay next to Galahad, his face deathly pale. Blood trickled down from his arrow wound. The king looked at Galahad with astonished eyes. “How did you do what Morgan could not?”
“A mouse told me that the Grail’s power cannot be taken,” Galahad said. The weariness had settled into his bones and made it hard to talk. “You must offer it something of great value.”
“What did you give it?” Arthur’s breathing was also becoming labored. He coughed up some blood. The arrow must have punctured his lung. He did not have long to live.
From afar, Galahad could see the first of Arthur’s men trying to climb over the wall of debris Morgan had created.
The world around Galahad faded in and out of darkness. He was tired, so very tired. All he wanted to do was let the darkness take over. Let it take everything he had left, and let him rest.
“My life,” he whispered.
Smoke filled his lungs, making him cough. He was dimly aware that somewhere behind the debris, the castle still burned. He could hear the shouts of men and animals trying in vain to put out the flames with water
.
Galahad wanted to do more to help. Perhaps he could use Excalibur to raise the water from the river. He tried once more to draw power from the legendary sword, but it was useless.
Without words, King Arthur took the Grail from Galahad. He gripped it so tightly, Galahad could see the whites of his knuckles. It looked like a small child’s cup in his hands.
“Please save my people,” he whispered to the Grail. “Save Camelot.”
With a gasp, Arthur shut his eyes with sudden pain. His hands went limp, and the Grail rolled away, falling with a small splash into the river. Neither Arthur nor Galahad made any attempt to retrieve it. They were too weak.
These were probably their last moments, Galahad realized. This was where it would end, with everything still in the balance.
Nothing happened for a few breathless seconds.
Perhaps it was too late, Galahad thought. Arthur had already been dying when he offered his life. Perhaps the Grail would only work once.
Suddenly, a crack of thunder and lightning rent the sky in two.
At long last, a steady rain began to fall.
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The rain dampened the flames and kept them from spreading into the town. But where the grand castle once stood was now a blackened husk of rubble and brick. The castle would become an old ruin like St. Gertrude, lost to time and memory.
Calib buried his head in his paws. It was too painful to watch. His beloved home.
Tears mixed with rain as Calib mourned.
“Calib, look.” Cecily pointed over his shoulder. “Something is coming.”
He turned to where Cecily was directing him. At first, Calib thought it was a moving cloud, but as he watched, a silver boat sliced through the mist and smoke, flying through the air like a dragon.
The boat approached Camelot, sailing high in the sky.
At the sight of the ghostly ship, the remaining soldiers who were standing on the cliffside fell into a stunned silence. Like a gentle leaf, the boat descended onto the river. It floated against the current, skimming the churning surface.