CHAPTER

9

Calib gripped the strap of Galahad’s knapsack to keep from falling out. Each jolt from the Two-Legger’s frantic sprint threatened to throw him into the woods. Merlin’s Mirror jostled in the bag, its thorns coming perilously close to slicing Calib’s tail.

“Wait! Galahad!” the mouse cried. “Stop running!”

His shouts had no impact.

Desperate, Calib looked for a physical way to stop his friend. He spied his chance as a large branch loomed in their path. Timing the chaotic swings of the knapsack just right, Calib hooked the strap on a passing branch.

Boy, bag, mirror, and mouse came to a violent halt.

Galahad fell into the dirt, yanked backward by the force. The torch flew from his hands and sputtered out on the ground.

Calib lost his grip on the satchel and hit the ground on his haunches. He rubbed his tail, surprised it wasn’t broken, then looked around for the knapsack. It had caught on the branch and now dangled precariously over them both. Gingerly, he got up and limped over to the dazed Galahad.

“Wh-what just happened?” the boy asked.

“I’m not sure,” Calib said. “One second, everything was normal, and then the next, you were sprinting away, saying you had to leave.”

“Really?” Galahad said, brow furrowed. “I don’t . . . I don’t remember anything.”

“We should try again,” Calib said. “But this time, maybe keep your hand on Excalibur’s hilt.”

Nodding, Galahad collected both mouse and knapsack and headed toward the mountains again. This time, they got a little farther before Galahad again turned heel and ran.

Again, Calib stopped him with the tree branch.

Galahad sat up, groaning. “I will be feeling that for a few days.” He grimaced as he stretched his shoulders.

“Sorry,” Calib said. “I didn’t have any other way of stopping you.”

“No, thank you,” Galahad said, putting the knapsack across his other shoulder. “If it weren’t for your quick thinking, I’d probably still be running back to Camelot, or straight off a cliff for all we know. What’s happening here?”

This time, Calib had a theory—a strange, wild one that still, somehow, managed to feel true. “I think,” he said slowly, “that there’s some kind of protection around the mountains. A magical one. Every time we get close, my whiskers start to tingle.”

Galahad tilted his head. “They tingle now?”

Twirling the ends of his black whiskers, Calib eyed Excalibur. “I think when you healed my whiskers, they grew back magical. I think they can sense when magic is afoot.”

The boy looked puzzled. “You think I did that?”

Calib climbed back up Galahad’s arm and settled onto his usual perch under Galahad’s ear. “Or perhaps Excalibur intended it.”

“If you say so.” Galahad sounded doubtful, but he offered Calib his palm and put him back into Galahad’s hood. “Why doesn’t the spell work on you? Is that because of your whiskers, too?”

Calib shook his head. He couldn’t help being amused by his friend. “Two-Leggers are usually the first to be bamboozled, because of their size. I, on the other paw, am a mouse—easy to miss.”

“Fair enough,” Galahad said with a slight smile. “Now how am I going to get past the spell?”

“Swords cut, don’t they? Why couldn’t a magical sword cut through a magical barrier?”

Despite Galahad’s misgivings (“It’s just luck that your whiskers turned out magical and not poisonous!” he protested), Calib knew they were on the right track. And so together, they started back down the path with a relit torch and Excalibur unsheathed.

When they passed where Galahad had turned the last two times, Calib held his breath. But with Excalibur held out, Galahad merely hesitated and then pressed forward. A few more steps, and a burned oak suddenly appeared.

Calib eyed the black branches that spread out across the sky like a clawing hand. All around the tree, the ground was covered in ash. Nothing grew around it for about six feet.

Suddenly, he could feel the temperature around him drop sharply. Cold dread welled up in his lungs. A denseness clung in the air, making it hard to breathe. Part of him wanted to run far from this place. Another part sensed that some otherworldly force was almost certainly at work, trying to repel them. His whiskers felt weighted down with the dark magic. Calib focused on moving beyond his fear and forced himself to look past the dead tree.

Sure enough, the moonlight and the red light of the Dragon’s Eye illuminated a shadowy barrier that shimmered in the air like a veil just beyond the tree line.

Calib tugged on Galahad’s ear. “Do you see that black fog past the trees, but right before the mountains?”

Galahad squinted, then shook his head. “I don’t see anything.” He sounded slightly out of breath and came to a stop.

Was he about to run again? Calib had to get them out of there quickly. The spell must be incredibly strong if it could work against one of Merlin’s treasures. But they didn’t have just one of the wizard’s treasures. . . .

“Use the mirror!” Calib said. “Not to see the future, but to see through the magic.”

Galahad seemed unable to speak, but he reached into his bag and withdrew the mirror. Turning his back to the oak, he held it up to look at the reflection of the mountains.

Triumph surged in Calib’s heart like a firecracker. For there, in the mirror, he could clearly see a thin dome of translucent blue light covering the nearest mountain peak.

“I see it,” Galahad breathed. “That must be Morgan’s home. That’s where we’ll find the Grail.”

“And Cecily,” Calib said grimly. He flashed back to Cecily’s whisker-kiss on his cheek after the victory feast of the Battle of the Bear, and the triumphant feeling fizzled. Until she was back with them, there could be no victory.

Using the mirror as a guide, Galahad sidled up to the ward. He raised Excalibur a little higher and pointed the blade at the barrier. The sword trembled in Galahad’s hands, and Calib’s whiskers shivered in response, as a wavering string of golden light emerged from the sword’s tip.

“Do it,” Calib said, his teeth clattering together as his whiskers danced, as if they had a mind of their own. “Cut the barrier!”

“What am I doing here?” Galahad asked.

Calib’s heart fell. This close to the barrier, even Excalibur wasn’t enough. “You’re here for Cecily! The Grail! The Saxons!” Calib shouted any number of words he hoped might jog Galahad from the spell’s clutches. “FOR CAMELOT!”

But the Two-Legger still didn’t respond. Scampering up the boy’s raised arm, Calib turned and saw Galahad’s eyes had glazed over. The boy’s body began to shake.

They were so close. As Galahad started to turn, Calib ran down the rest of the length of Galahad’s arm and then chomped hard on Galahad’s hand.

“Ow!” Galahad jerked his arm away in pain, slicing downward with Excalibur in the process.

A gust of cold, damp air rushed out all at once, bringing with it the scent of rosemary and iron: the scent of dark magic.

Galahad’s eyes cleared.

“Go!” Calib urged, dangling from Galahad’s bleeding finger. Kicking his hind legs up, Calib somersaulted onto Galahad’s arm and ran back to his shoulder. With the mirror in one hand and the sword in the other, Galahad hacked away at the rip in the blue light, creating a larger tear. With a last push of his shoulder, the Two-Legger tumbled through, bringing them to the other side—

And into a cave.

The trees, the forest—it had all been an illusion, hiding what was truly here: the entrance to an underground cavern in the Iron Mountains.

Calib’s heart beat rapidly against his chest. This was the kind of magic the world hadn’t seen for years. Centuries, even.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” Galahad whispered, his voice echoing slightly as he looked up at the arched ceiling of rough rock and roots overhead. “Do you?”

“I do,” a new voice said.

Calib gripped onto Galahad’s ear tightly as the Two-Legger turned around.

A stocky boy of about fifteen with auburn hair stepped out of the shadow of the cave. His brown eyes studied Galahad the same way a cat studied its prey.

“Had we known you were coming,” Red drawled, “I would have put on a pot of tea.”