A Tail of Camelot (18 page)

T
he tension inside Goldenwood Hall was as thick as honey from the comb but nowhere near as pleasant. From the corner of the room, Calib watched nervously as Commander Kensington limped onto the stage, shooing away a medic who came up to attend to her bite marks. Camelot's leader scanned the crowd.

“Where is General Flit?”

The larks in the hall looked at one another sadly.

“Felled by an arrow in the retreat.”

“And Sir Owen? Where is my second-in-command?” asked Commander Kensington.

Macie stepped forward, the fur under her eyes dark with dampness. “Sir Owen . . . He covered for us—but he didn't make it.”

It felt as though someone had hooked Calib with a claw and gutted him. The first mouse ever to put a sword in Calib's paw, the mouse who had taught him the difference between a gauntlet and a tasset, his first teacher—gone.

Commander Kensington clenched her fist and pounded the table. She shook her head, her eyes clouded over with grief.

“May I speak?” The voice came from behind them.

It was Leftie.

The room hushed as the lynx slowly approached the stage. The lynx's eye patch was caked in blood, giving him a gruesome look. However, his weapons were sheathed. He held his paws up to show that they were empty.

The next seconds seemed to last an eternity, as if the very fate of Camelot were hanging on them. If the two animal groups could not agree, if they could not unite, then Calib knew that Thaddeus's vision would come true: Camelot would fall. Calib nervously flicked the tip of his tail back and forth and prayed that Leftie would be polite—and that Commander Kensington would not lose her infamous temper.

“You are a fierce fighter, Kensington.” Leftie spoke first, his voice a rasp.

“As are you.” Commander Kensington nodded curtly.
She paused before her next words. “We believed you had murdered our leader, the late commander Yvers Christopher. But I see now that it was a deceit orchestrated by someone who had only Saxon interests at heart.”

Leftie nodded grimly. “Your healer . . .”

“Sir Percival Vole did not show up to fight this morning,” Commander Kensington said, her voice growing angry. “When I sent a page to check on him, she saw that his quarters have been emptied. The vole has fled.”

“Then we owe another apology,” Leftie said. “Where is Calib Christopher, son of Sir Trenton Christopher, grandson of Commander Yvers Christopher?”

Calib's heart began to thump as one by one, each pair of eyes in the Goldenwood Hall turned toward him.

“Thank you, Calib,” Leftie said, “for being brave enough to speak the truth when no one would listen.”

Calib saw Kensington's whiskers twitch— Was the warrior mouse smiling? Just as quickly, the fleeting happiness was gone.

“I lost good beasts out there,” she said somberly. “But it's clear to me now that the Darklings were never at fault and neither were you, Calib. On behalf of Camelot, I apologize, and we offer you our thanks.”

Both leaders bowed to Calib. The young mouse felt heat rise in his cheeks, and his ears felt tingly. It wasn't the warmth of pride but of shame. If only he had been faster,
stronger, and more sure of himself, maybe Sir Owen and the others would still be alive.

“But tell me, mousling,” Kensington said, eyeing him sharply. “How is it that you managed to escape from your imprisonment—especially when the door remains padlocked shut?”

Calib gulped. He sensed instinctively that his mysterious encounter with Howell—with
Merlin
—must remain a secret. But he had no other explanation for his escape. Luckily, while he was still fumbling for excuses, Kensington raised a paw.

“On second thought,” she said with a strange twitching of her snout. “Perhaps the less said, the better. Some mysteries are meant to remain just that.”

Calib exhaled, relieved. He then recounted what he had overheard on his way to the Two-Legger infirmary about the invading Saxon army. As he finished, General Gaius and two white snowy owls marched into the room. General Gaius gave a short salute with his wing and snapped his talons together. Merlin's Crystal sparkled against his chest.

“My lieutenants have all returned from their scouting missions. I'm afraid Calib's information is correct,” the owl began. “Saxon Two-Leggers have arrived at the river, and the Saxon beasts are setting up siege weapons at the gate. By the looks of it, they are preparing to launch an assault on the castle before nightfall.”

Distraught, many animals began talking at once.

“We lost half the lark fleet to that ambush,” cried Sir Alric. “We cannot hope to outlast a siege of both humans and beasts!”

“Our archers do not have enough arrows if the Saxon beasts begin to scale the walls,” Macie added grimly.

As the different bands of animals began to discuss and argue among themselves, Calib felt an idea try to take shape, but it was like a memory that slipped away from him whenever he tried to grasp it. He knew there was something to be done, something obvious he was missing. . . .

“I don't see why we should risk our lives to defend a castle that we don't even live in,” sniffed a Darkling crow, nursing a broken wing. “When all this is over, they'll kick us out without a word of thanks.”

“And yet you were more than eager to take shelter here with the rest of us,” Commander Kensington replied with a dirty look.

Calib's confidence began to unravel. Howell had said that all the creatures of Camelot must unite. Calib had brought them all here, but even with the castle creatures and Darklings united, how could they possibly stand up to the Saxon horde?

“Together in paw or tail, lest divided we fall and fail.” Calib read the words over the hall's entrance, the motto teasing him. . . .

All
the creatures of Camelot.

He recalled how the Two-Legger milkmaids had shooed away the Saxon weasels with their brooms and how some of the otters had provided cover for a few stranded Two-Legger farmers to get to higher ground. He thought of Merlin's Promise, the vow that Commander Yvers had made to keep Camelot safe at all costs.

This
was the path that Howell had guided him toward all along, from the moment they met in his cave. Surely, this protection also applied to the Two-Leggers who inhabited the castle as well.

And as for Merlin's Crystal . . . An ember of an idea sparked in Calib's mind.

“Master Thropper, could you boost me up?” Calib asked. The hare looked puzzled but obliged by lifting the mouse onto his shoulders.

Cupping his paws around his mouth, Calib called out over the hall, “Listen!” The hubbub died down as thousands of eyes—dark and light, mouse and badger, lynx and crow—turned to look at him. He took a deep breath. “Has anyone seen Lucinda the cat?”

S
ir Edmund's quarters looked like they had been ransacked, with the drawers open and contents strewn across the floor. In fact, Galahad would have thought a thief had torn apart the room had Sir Edmund himself not been sitting in the middle of the mess, directing pages to pack his belongings.

“What's going on?” Galahad asked.

“We're getting out of here while we still have heads on our shoulders,” said the knight. He stood up, sniffing. “You can join too. I'll need someone to prepare my meals.”

“You're
running away
?” Galahad asked, setting the tray of dinner down with a clatter. “But shouldn't you be defending the castle?”

“It's a lost cause, boy,” Sir Edmund said crankily, throwing a crumpled velvet duvet into a trunk. “I don't fight for lost causes.”

“I don't believe you.” Galahad felt a flood of anger and shock grip him. “And you call yourself a knight?”

“Watch your mouth,
kitchen boy
,” Sir Edmund said, color mottling his cheeks.

“I'd rather do what good I can as a kitchen boy than stand idly by as a lord!” Galahad said angrily. He stormed out of the chambers, leaving a surprised Sir Edmund.

Galahad knew he had to see the queen.
Someone
had to do something about the oncoming attack. He was filled with an urgent desire to help, to fight. But Sir Edmund was right. What could he, a lowly kitchen boy, possibly do?

He found the queen pacing in the throne room. Her face looked strained. She was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. Malcolm, Bors, and many of the pages were also there. Galahad knew this meant that the knights they served had also fled.

“Apologies for intruding, Your Majesty, but it seems that Sir Edmund . . . ,” Galahad began.

“Yes, I know,” the queen said bitterly. “Sir Edmund
and many other knights like him.” She shook her head. She looked close to tears. “It seems our only recourse is to surrender before we even put up a fight.”

The word “surrender” hung in the room like a heavy blanket. Galahad searched for something to say, some comfort he could give, some plan he could propose. But his mind was blank.

Then Galahad felt something brush against his shins. Guinevere's orange tabby had sauntered by—and, to Galahad's surprise, deposited a rolled piece of parchment right at his feet.

“Oh, Lucinda.” Guinevere picked up the ugly tabby. The queen was too preoccupied to see the piece of paper the cat had dropped. “Always such a bother.”

The squashed face of the cat looked mildly offended.

Checking to make sure that no one was watching him, Galahad bent down and unrolled the piece of paper. His heart hiccupped.

On it, in the exact same cursive lettering as the message written in the sugar, was a short message:
Kom two Sward in Ston.

Shocked, Galahad reread the message several times. And then, all at once, it was as if a jigsaw puzzle in his brain had suddenly slotted into place, and he understood.

“Don't worry,” Galahad said. His voice echoed in the enormous chamber, and he looked up to find everyone staring at him. But he felt no fear. “I think I have a plan.”

F
rom far below, a glint caught Calib's eye. “There!” he yelled into the wind.

General Gaius nodded once to show that he had heard him. Calib clung to the owl's feathers as they veered downward. Looking below, the mouse was relieved to see that Lylas, the Darkling badger, was able to keep up with the owl.

“Do you think we'll get there in time?” General Gaius called to Calib. “Are you
sure
this is the only way to get the Two-Leggers to join the fight?”

“I think so,” he said. “The Two-Leggers believe that
whoever pulls the Sword in the Stone is Camelot's true leader. If we manage it, they'll have no choice but to rally behind the sword wielder. We need to show them how to fight again.”

“But will the Two-Legger understand your message?” he pressed.

Calib wanted to say,
Yes, of course.
But deep down he wasn't sure. The mice and Two-Leggers had never worked together before. At best, they had lived in a state of precarious truce. At worse, they had been all-out enemies, with the mice raiding the Two-Leggers' kitchen, and the Two-Leggers fighting back with brooms and traps and, occasionally, kitchen knives.

It was no wonder that the war council had been incredulous when Calib suggested that they ask the humans to join the animals in the castle's defense.

“If they want to run, let them run!” an old mouse-knight had snorted from her spindle chair. “Good riddance to those cowards, I say! Back in my day, a knight was a knight!”

The council had remained doubtful even after Calib repeated what Sir Kay had said in the infirmary: that the human knights were sworn to follow the Sword in the Stone.

But even that announcement had drawn opposing murmurs from the creatures in the Goldenwood Hall. It
wasn't until Leftie spoke up that they began to consider Calib's plan in earnest.

“I, for one, trust you, Calib Christopher,” the big cat had announced to the room, laying down one of his sharp blades at Calib's feet, in front of the awed crowd. “Last time we didn't heed your warning, we paid a very high price. I will not make that mistake a second time.”

In the end, Commander Kensington organized a small expedition, led by General Gaius, Sir Alric, and the Darkling badger Lylas Whitestripe. Calib and Cecily were to accompany them to the Sword in the Stone, using Howell's secret passageway to escape the castle without being detected.

By using the tunnel, the group had managed to avoid the attention of the Saxon weasels lying in wait at the edges of the castle's fields. Nonetheless, there was still a chance a Saxon might spot them as they made the final leg of their journey to the small vale that concealed the Sword in the Stone.

Looking down at the battle-scarred badger carrying Sir Alric and Cecily, Calib wondered what it meant that Leftie had insisted that the surly Lylas join them. Did the lynx even expect them to come back alive?

As Gaius swooped down into the clearing, Calib's breath hitched in his chest. Somehow, the Sword in the Stone seemed even more majestic, even more
magical
, than
it had when he'd seen it earlier. In the sun, the blade dazzled like a bolt of lightning.

Gaius alighted gently on the sword's hilt, and a moment later, Lylas, Sir Alric, and Cecily appeared. For a second, all the animals stood there in silence, bound up in the beauty of the strange sight.

Calib roused himself first. “All right, we need to figure out a way to get the sword out of the stone.”

“If the Two-Leggers have yet to manage this, what chance do you think we have?” asked Lylas.

“We have the key!” Calib pointed to Merlin's Crystal.

Everyone looked at Calib, confused.

“Merlin's Crystal is supposed to unlock a
great strength
, right?” The words tumbled from him in his excitement to explain. “Well, what if the
great strength
meant is the Sword in the Stone?”

Lylas slammed his paw to his chest. “It could be entirely possible, young mousling. None of us ever thought it could be a Two-Legger weapon.”

Calib nodded. “Exactly. Gaius, could you bring the crystal closer to the sword?”

The owl dipped his head to dangle Merlin's treasure near the blade. After a few uncertain seconds, the crystal and the sword suddenly began to glow the same milky blue. The runes that decorated the blade seemed to shimmer and change shape.

“Old Magic,” Sir Alric said in an awed whisper. He wiped away a tear that rolled down his snout. “I never though I'd see the day . . .”

“Did it— Do you think it did something?” Cecily asked. “I mean, do you think we can pull it out now?”

“Step aside,” Lylas rumbled, “and I will prove to you that badger strength is unparalleled.”

But though the badger pulled and tugged at the hilt with all his might, the sword remained as stuck as it ever had. Lylas began to punch the rock.

“What are you doing?” Gaius asked.

“Trying . . . to . . . loosen . . . the . . . sword,” Lylas grunted between breaths. “Stuck . . . solid.”

Calib's heart sank. His plan wasn't working. He had failed them all.

“We could try to chisel it out,” Sir Alric suggested. He had climbed up to the sword's hilt and had begun measuring it with a ruler made from leftover embroidery thread.

“We don't have time!” Cecily said, anxiously waving her sword. “And the Saxons could find us any minute!”

“This doesn't make sense.” Calib sat down on his haunches, trying not to let defeat overcome him. They were so close to completing their mission! He was so sure Merlin's Crystal was the key. There
had
to be a way to remove the sword.

Sitting on the ground, Calib noticed for the first time that the crack in the stone widened at the bottom of the rock, creating a slight crevice at its base. Perhaps when Lylas punched the sword, it had widened the split. Calib's ears began to tingle. The large fissure looked just like the entrance to Howell's cave, only mouse-sized.

Calib sprinted toward it. Peering in, he saw that it extended back, creating a passageway into the stone just big enough for a mouse to squeeze through.

“Sir Alric, come quickly!” he said. “Lylas and Cecily, stand guard with Gaius.”

The badger lifted the mouse-knight from where he stood on the stone and placed him next to Calib.

Gesturing for Sir Alric to follow him, Calib squeezed into the passageway. After only a few mouse lengths, the tunnel opened up into a small cavern within the stone.

In the center of the cavern, the lethally sharp tip of the Two-Legger sword bathed the cavern in an eerie blue light. The sword had cut all the way through the granite, stopping just short of resting on the dirt floor. The runes on the blade glowed strongest at the tip.

“Sir Alric, are you able to read these runes?” Calib asked.

The knight squinted a moment. “It's been a long while since I learned them, but I think it reads: ‘There is great power in small warriors.' However, there's one mark here
that doesn't make any sense.”

The knight pointed to the last one etched closest to the point of the sword. A tingle raced up Calib's spine. He ran his paw down the blade carefully, tracing the edges of the rune. It was larger than the rest—about as big as Calib's arm. And it was in the shape of a dagger.

“This isn't a rune at all!” Calib said. “Quick, we need the crystal!”

Sir Alric was already running out of the crevice, and Calib followed only a whisker length behind.

After listening to the mice's careful explanation, Gaius bowed his head so that Calib and Cecily could pull the crystal over his tufts. The crystal was even more beautiful up close. It was as clear as a raindrop and seemed to hum with its own excited energy. Or maybe it was only reflecting the excitement that Calib felt in his own heart.

Using all their strength, the three mice were able to pull the unwieldy crystal into the cavern.

Once there, Sir Alric and Cecily helped Calib prop the crystal into place. With a satisfying click, Merlin's Crystal slid into the empty shape of the rune.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then the sword exploded with blinding light. Calib held his paws over his face to protect his eyes from the brilliant rays.

There was a loud cracking sound, and the sword dislodged from stone ceiling. It slid down in a sudden
avalanche of pebbles and dust and then thudded to the bottom of the cavern.

Sir Alric let out an undignified whoop of joy, and Cecily threw her arms around Calib's neck. Blushing, Calib disentangled himself and rushed over to examine the ruins.

Merlin's Crystal had melted into the sword, turning into a dagger-shaped rune. Calib put his paw to it, and it felt cool. There would be no removing the crystal from the blade now.

Sir Alric and Cecily were still cheering when Gaius's worried voice echoed toward them.

“We've got company!” he squawked.

“Who is it?” Cecily asked, planting her footpaws into the attack stance.

“Two-Leggers from Camelot!”

Calib slipped through the fissure and into the sun, turning to look where Gaius was staring.

A boy with oversize ears and a determined expression appeared, riding a stubborn-looking white pony, and Calib could hear that more Two-Leggers followed behind him.

“What do we do?” Lylas asked, straightening his breastplate.

Calib smiled.

“We welcome them.”