CHAPTER

32

For the first time in a long time, Calib was hopeful. Looking around the embers of the rebellion campfire, he saw Thomas, Rosy, and Silas snoring softly, while Leftie the lynx personally stood watch over them.

When they had arrived back at camp with the bats and the weasels, there had been a moment when Calib thought everything was about to go wrong. But once Leftie had heard Thomas’s story—and met Rosy and Silas—he’d immediately placed all the Saxon weasels under his protection.

“I ignored your words once before, young Christopher,” Leftie had said. “I swore I would not do so again.”

In the early hours of the morning, King Mir of the Iron Mountains and Chieftain Leftie of the Darkling Woods, together with Cecily von Mandrake and Calib Christopher of Camelot, had agreed to a plan. In just a few hours, members of the rebellion would sneak back to the prisoners above and help them find their way to the old abandoned tunnels, where they would be delivered to their freedom by the Dragon of the Iron Mountains.

“We may be few in number and short in stature,” Leftie said, “but we are large in courage.”

Then, raising his voice, he yowled at the top of his lungs the way only a wildcat can. Creatures shot awake, rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Leftie said. “We leave—today.”

The rebellion slowly woke, stumbling toward Leftie, stifling yawns. But by the time Leftie had explained everything, they were all wide-awake.

As the rebellion went over the plan to sneak back to the prisoners, a lark named Flora agreed to fly with Horatio and deliver a warning to Camelot. No sooner had she left, however, than she and Horatio came hurtling back, arrowing down headlong through the tunnel.

“Flora! Horatio!” Leftie exclaimed. “Why aren’t you on your way?”

“Because,” Horatio panted, “we’ve run into a bit of trouble—of the magical sort.”

“It would be better if you saw it yourself,” Flora said sadly.

“You can show us all,” King Mir said. “Bring forth the dragon’s nose!”

Two of the bigger bats of the group came forward, carrying between them a woven contraption that was shaped like a large lizard’s snout, with two rows of sharp rocks lining the edge of the mouth. The bats flipped the mouth open and motioned for Calib and Cecily to sit inside.

“I hope you two are not afraid of heights,” Horatio squeaked, and with a rapid flapping of wings, they shot up vertically to the top of the cave and emerged into a cool, starry night.

The bats’ wings moved at a frantic pace. Calib’s stomach lurched as the basket dipped and swayed. Bats were not built with the sturdy flight patterns of owls or even seagulls. As the ground disappeared underneath them, Calib braced himself against the dragon’s head and tried to keep the pastries down.

Calib breathed deep. After days of stifling heat and sulfuric smells, the air was sweet as syrup, cool as a freshwater brook. The stars blinked in and out like thousands of fireflies in the summer sky, and the blue moon shone down like a distant lantern.

The dragon came to a halt just outside, however, landing abruptly at the top of the Iron Mountains. Calib and the others disembarked uncertainly. Everyone seemed confused as to why the bats had stopped here instead of taking them into the Darkling Woods for safety.

“Watch,” Horatio instructed. The bat took off with a pebble in his claw. When he got about three feet into the air, he threw the pebble upward. It ricocheted off an invisible surface just above him and nearly struck Calib’s head on the way down.

“There’s a magical barrier blocking us from leaving,” King Mir observed. “We’ve never gone much beyond our caves. This whole time, we have been imprisoned too.”

“Does it go all the way to the ground?” Cecily asked.

Calib ran to the mountain’s edge and threw another pebble. It arched out and got stuck, as if it had landed on an invisible ledge in front of him. Like a punch of strong wind, he could feel the magic surge to push the pebble back, and his whiskers burned. He clapped his paw to his snout, trying to soothe the sharp ache. With a barrier that strong, there would be no way to send a warning to Camelot.

“No!” Cecily shouted. “We didn’t just break out of our prison for nothing. We can’t release all those creatures from their shackles only to be defeated by some big, ridiculous wall!”

Calib winced. It was a very strong wall—his whiskers still burned. They hadn’t hurt this badly since he and Galahad broke through the barrier to get into the mountains. But if they’d passed through that one before, they could do it again. All Calib needed was Galahad—assuming he was still in the fortress.

Focusing on the tingle of his whiskers, he thought he felt a slight draft of magic that seemed to belong to Excalibur, and another, slightly stronger breeze that reeked of rosemary and iron. So Morgan was still at the fortress. Surely that meant she still had not solved the mystery of the Grail.

Unless, with the Grail in hand, she was strong enough to conduct battle from here. He shuddered at the thought and hastily turned to King Mir. “Can you fly me to the Two-Legger section of the fortress?”

The king tilted his head. “Of course I am able, but what good would that do us?”

“I know someone who can help us. His name is Galahad du Lac. He’s the one who pulled the sword from the stone this past fall.”

The bat king’s ears twitched. “Another sword in the stone?” he asked. “And tell me . . . does this sword have a name?”

Puzzled, Calib nodded. “Yes. He named it after me. It’s called Excalibur.”

King Mir let out a thundering hiss while Horatio looked downright terrified.

“What’s wrong?” Calib asked, but the two bats were staring at each other, seeming to have a soundless conversation. Finally, Horatio turned to Calib.

“Some of the mountains’ crystals contain powers of prophecy,” King Mir growled. “We’ve been seeing two competing visions in the crystals for many, many years. One deals with the sword called Excalibur.”

“But how can that be?” Calib asked. “The sword was named after me—how could you know that a sword by that name would ever exist?”

King Mir shook his head. “Time does not always run straight, young mouse. It twists and turns, doubling back on itself sometimes.”

“Er, all right, then,” Calib said, though he was still slightly overwhelmed that he appeared to have at least a small part in a prophecy. “What do the prophecies say?”

King Mir fixed his eyes on Calib. “One shows the wielder of Excalibur training under the powers of Avalon and defeating the witch Morgan. The other—”

The king of the bats broke off sharply, as if uncertain whether he wanted to continue. Taking a deep breath, he said, “The other vision says that the wielder of Excalibur will bring Morgan to power—and that they will betray Camelot.”