A Tail of Camelot Read Online Free PDF

His grandfather’s silhouette twisted in pain.
    â€œGrandfather!” Calib cried out.
    â€œI’ve got a torch!” someone shouted in the distance,and a torch reignited in a far corner of the arena. Faint, wavering light trickled back into the hall.
    Now, torches were springing up, like fireflies in the dark. At last the light made its way to the stage, illuminating Commander Yvers as he fell to his knees. A dark, wet stain blossomed beneath his fur.

CHAPTER
6
    N o. The word was like a drumbeat in Calib’s chest. No, no, no, no, no.
    Fearful voices shouted in the half dark. “We’re being attacked!” they cried. The Goldenwood Hall was chaos as animals rushed the exits, squashing fur and paws, whiskers and ears, trying to find a way out. But Calib could think only of his grandfather. He shoved against the tide of fur, sailing on the single drumbeat, no . Time moved in quick bursts.
    Sir Kensington was holding Commander Yvers now, cradling his head.
    â€œWe need a healer!” she barked. “Percival! Get over here!”
    Finally, Calib was there, at his grandfather’s side. He grabbed Commander Yvers’s outstretched paws as Sir Kensington laid him on his back. Massive, clawed paw prints led a bloody trail away from his grandfather. Calib couldn’t stand to look at them. Dimly, he registered that Sir Owen and three other knights had taken off in pursuit of the assassin.
    â€œMy grandson,” Commander Yvers gasped, each breath wheezing out like a punctured forge bellows. His blood pooled on the golden embroidery of his cloak. “There’s so much left to say . . . to teach . . .”
    â€œPlease hold on, there’s still time,” Calib implored. He could see Sir Percival running toward them, gripping a medical bag between his teeth.
    â€œThere is never enough time. You are the last Christopher, Calib. You must carry on our legacy. Promise me . . . you will see to . . . protect . . .” Commander Yvers was no longer looking at Calib. His gaze lost focus, and his body stiffened. With a shuddering sigh, Commander Yvers closed his eyes and lay still.
    Calib clutched his grandfather’s limp paws. “Grandfather,” he said, his throat swollen and raw. “Grandfather, stay with us.”
    â€œCome, Calib,” Sir Kensington said, laying a paw on his shoulder, her voice thick with sorrow. “There’snothing to be done.”
    Calib spun away from her, reeling. It was his fault. All his fault. He had wished for an intervention, anything to stop the tournament. And he hadn’t been quick enough to save his grandfather. He hadn’t been strong enough.
    Calib pushed through the crowd bursting from the Goldenwood Hall, and then he started to run. Down hallways and stairwells and twisting corridors, ignoring everything but the throb of shame inside him and the thick, awful pressure behind his eyes. He ran until he thought his lungs might explode from the effort.
    Blinded by tears, hardly paying attention to where he was going, Calib charged out of the mousehole he thought would lead outside the castle. Instead, he found himself on the open marble floor of King Arthur’s throne room. In his misery, he’d made a wrong turn, but he knew there was a shortcut at the other end. He was halfway across the room when he heard someone cough.
    He froze.
    Sitting at the Round Table in front of him was the Two-Legger boy from earlier that morning, the one with big ears.
    And he was staring directly at Calib.
    Calib was so stunned—he’d been seen by a Two-Legger —that for a second, his legs stopped working and he couldn’t retreat.
    â€œYou seem to be in a rush,” the boy said in a friendly tone.
    Calib wondered if this was all part of a terrible nightmare. There was no other explanation . . . unless the Two-Legger was actually speaking to Calib.
    â€œI had a pet mouse just like you back at home,” the boy