A Tail of Camelot by Julie Leung Page A

the questions he asks. Galahad may be mistaken, but he’s made a better observation today than you’ve had all year, Malcolm.”
    Galahad cringed as Malcolm shot him a glare. Galahad was going to pay for this later; he just knew it. But as Sir Kay droned on about the wisdom of knights, Galahad realized that his original question remained unanswered. If Sir Kay were wrong about the Saxons . . . If they did push west . . . then Camelot would be completely defenseless.

CHAPTER
11
    S lowly, Calib began to climb down from the Sword in the Stone, following the fissure to the ground and landing with a slight thud. When he stood at the base of the rock, the sword was so tall that he had to tilt his head to see it.
    â€œWhy are you back?” Calib murmured.
    The wind ruffled his fur, and for a second, Calib thought he heard a voice whisper back to him, scratchy and faint, like the rustling of brushes. Goose bumps raised on the back of his ears.
    He had a hundred questions, but each answer, he was sure, would tell him that Camelot needed to prepare for danger. Now Calib was sure of it: they needed arrows.
    Calib began to run. Darting across the meadow that separated the road from the beach, he remembered to keep a careful eye out for shadows that would mean birds circling overhead, and he stopped only when he felt cold sand underneath his paws.
    The beach looked dim and desolate this late in the afternoon. The sun trickled timidly through a blanket of fog. He was farther than he’d ever been from Camelot, wandering in forbidden territory. Strong gusts of early winter wind whipped his fur back. Calib pulled his cloak’s hood closer about his ears.
    He hurried toward a rocky section of the beach, a steep landscape that would eventually grow to form the cliffs that protected Camelot. He knew he had to move quickly—examining the sword had taken up precious time—but the slippery rocks did not provide sure footing.
    Step by step, he tiptoed along the crags, taking care not to fall into the water. Nonetheless, he was soon drenched through with sea spray.
    The clams were lodged between the stony crevices, in tide pools sometimes much too deep for a mouse. Calib squatted down and painstakingly dislodged what he could reach. He piled the shell pieces in his rucksack,like precious white truffles. Each one would eventually be whittled into an arrowhead—sharp, piercing weapons to keep Camelot’s enemies at bay.
    After an hour, Calib had filled only half his bag. He had been so focused on maintaining his footing, he had not noticed the sky graying. The water inched higher and higher on the rocks until a wild wave crashed and soaked him completely.
    â€œRat whiskers!” Calib turned to go back, only to realize that high tide had come in behind him. Much of the way was now submerged. Calib stared in disbelief, cursing his own stupidity. He was stuck on these rocks until the tide went out. The other mice would certainly notice he was missing by suppertime—if Barnaby had not told on him first.
    With the sun dwindling by the minute, and Calib drenched in saltwater, the wind grew unforgiving. Calib gritted his teeth to keep them from chattering. He had never been so cold! Not even when Devrin had pranked him last winter and put snowballs in the Hurler during an early morning practice.
    Calib ducked into a crevice between two big rocks to avoid the wind. He was surprised to find himself illuminated by a pale blue light. Shuffling farther between the rocks, he saw that he was standing at the mouth of a large cave leading up into the cliffside. Light poured outfrom inside, as if a small moon was buried underground. Calib wrapped his damp cloak across his shoulders tighter, but it offered no warmth.
    Cold, wet, and miserable, Calib couldn’t resist the promise of a dry place to spend the night. Praying that he would not encounter any unfriendly creatures, Calib ventured deeper into the cave.
    Inside,