The Tale of Alar

4

Alar was up well before the sun. He had not slept much due to his excitement, but he had slept soundly, and was more than ready to set out. He quickly got dressed, checked to make sure he had not forgotten to pack anything, then belted on his new sword and headed downstairs. Ruskin was already up as promised, and sat at the table with half an oat cake and an apple a little past its prime. He smiled approvingly at the young squirrel all fitted out for the road. His tatty garments were largely shielded from view by a faded greenish cloak of homespun that had once belonged to Ruskin himself. It had not been used often, and so was in relatively good condition. But of course, all of it was outshone by the beautiful sword dangling from his belt. Ruskin nodded toward it approvingly.

“It suits you,” he said.

“It certainly feels right,” said Alar, patting the hilt with pride.

“Well, my young adventurer, come and eat with your old dad one last time before you head out. It’s not much, but I made sure to tuck a little of what I got yesterday in your pack.”

“Thanks dad.” He sat down to breakfast and delved right in. When they had finished a couple bites later, they rose and stood awkwardly facing each other for a second.

“Take care of yourself out on the road,” said Ruskin at last. “I’ll keep a watch for your return.”

Alar mumbled his thanks, but still hesitated a moment. Ruskin, sensing the source of his hesitation, stepped up next to him.

“Don’t worry about me, lad. I’ll be fine.”

Alar could contain himself no longer, and threw his arms around his foster father.

“I love you, dad. And I promise I’ll come back soon.”

“I love you too, son. And I know you will.”

Alar pulled away at last and slowly turned to the door. He cast one final look over his shoulder at the little one-room dwelling he had called home all his life, then stepped outside and started down the street. He stopped by the church on his way to the gate to receive Father Rufus’s blessing. Afterward, Rufus gave him a little drawstring pouch which jangled as he laid it in the young buck’s paw.

“What’s this?” asked Alar, more out of surprise than ignorance.

“‘Tis a gift from your friends in the neighborhood. I told your story to people, and asked them to donate what they could. It’s not a lot, but nigh everyone gave something.”

Alar accepted the money with trembling paws, swallowing hard to hide the emotion in his voice.

“Thank you so much, Father. And please thank everybody who donated as well.”

“Amply, dear lad. And rest assured we shall pray for your safe return every day that you are gone.”

“And I promise you that should I come back, I shall return this to you a hundred times over.”

“Skiouros willing, you shall come back, my son. That would be reward enough for us all. Go now, and blessings upon you.”

The wise old squirrel embraced Alar, then let him go and made a sign of warding over him. At last, Alar turned and left, waving goodbye to the good priest and praying inside that he would indeed see that kindly old face again.

Finally Alar made for the gate, where he encountered Adam as planned. He looked a little tired, and held a bundle of something in his paws, but smiled as Alar approached. They kissed and embraced, then looked each other in the eyes.

“You look so dashing,” remarked Adam, running a paw down the homespun fabric of the cloak and giving a nod of approval. “Good quality material, that. It should keep the wind off.”

“Comforting words from an expert.”

“Here.” Adam presented him with the bundle. “I had meant it to be a birthday present, but...”

Alar held up the folded fabric and let it unfurl to reveal a new tunic much like the one he had on, only perfectly stitched with straight hems, no holes, and no stains across its beige surface.

“It’s beautiful!” exclaimed Alar, turning it about in his paws.

Adam smiled. “It’s just a little something I set aside a few months ago. I’m amazed it came out so well, actually.”

“The tailor’s apprentice knows what he’s about, it seems. Truly, thank you, Adam. I’ll wear it with pride, and think of you all the while.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Adam tried to smile, but still looked worried.

“Don’t worry, mate,” said Alar, brushing the fur tuft between Adam’s ears with a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back before you know it, I promise. I’ll always come back to you.”

“I believe you,” said Adam with all the confidence he could muster. “But do be careful anyway, Alar.”

“When am I not?” Alar grinned recklessly, then gave his boyfriend one last peck on the cheek. “Must be off now. Be safe, my love, and I promise when I get back, all our fondest wishes will finally come true.”

Thus, they parted ways. Adam stood watching as his lover and protector strode confidently onward through the gate and down the dusty road beyond without a single look back. Only when he was long gone did the young tailor’s apprentice sigh and head back to his workshop to start the day’s labor.

Once out on the road, Alar felt a sensation of sheer ecstasy tinged with just a hint of doubt. He was out in the big wide world now, free to make his fortune however he might on nothing but the skills that sixteen years of smithing had taught him and the strength of his own limbs. Of course, he knew exactly how he wanted to make his fortune, and he would see it through to whatever end.

Only then did it strike him that this quest could indeed mean his end. He could very well be killed and never come back, like Adam had feared. He stopped marching and cast a wistful glance back at the city of Telos, the only home he had ever known. He had always hated it and wanted to get as far away as possible. Now, against his own better judgment, he felt just a little bit nostalgic, and even a tad vulnerable being outside its walls at last. But there was no going back. He had made his decision and said his goodbyes, so there was nothing more to it. Shaking off any nagging notions of guilt or regret, he turned and once more trudged off down the dusty country road, not bothering to look back until he knew the city was far out of sight.

For three days he traveled, staying at a couple of inns in the towns he came to along the way. He was astonished at the size of these settlements, though he had heard all his life that they existed. The fact that he did not know anyone and had to ask for directions to the nearest lodgings was a lonely experience for a squirrel who had always known exactly where he was and known every other squirrel in town by name.

Fortunately, Alar had never been the most outgoing of squirrels, so keeping to himself and speaking only when necessary was not a problem. Still, it was one thing to be on constant guard from dangers you understood in a neighborhood you knew like the back of your paw. It was quite another to be on constant guard against dangers from people in a place completely unfamiliar, and the experience proved taxing enough that he had no trouble falling asleep at night.

Upon the evening of the third day, he arrived in the capital just as the sun was going down. He looked around in genuine wonder at the spectacle. This was no Telos. Here there were wonderfully carved fountains, tall buildings, and streets of smooth pavement stones. He felt completely out of place among such fine, well-to-do squirrels as well, even with his new tunic and some new shorts he had seen fit to purchase in one of the towns along the way.

He didn’t have much money left, so he stayed in a run-down little place called the Golden Crown in a less reputable part of town. It was dirty, the food was bland, and there were all sorts of shady individuals occupying the rooms, but it was enough. Alar took a while getting to sleep that night. Partly due to the noisy ramblings of the couple in the next room, but mainly due to the realization that he was here at last. He had made it! And just in time, too, for tomorrow was the last day of the month.

He said his prayers, then looked out the window.

“Good night, mum,” he said softly. “Night, dad. Whatever happens, I promise I’ll do you proud in the end.” He turned over and did his best to get a good night’s sleep.

He was up and dressed early the next morning, such was his eagerness to get going. The audience with the king was not until noon, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t arrive fashionably early. So, he wolfed down a meager breakfast and hurried off to find the castle of King Ambrose somewhere nearer the heart of the city, head held high.

He had to stop and ask for directions several times, but he eventually found his way to the royal residence with time to spare. Already a sizeable crowd had gathered on the street before the gate. Some were merely interested citizens, but others appeared to be warriors of every type and description. Being raised in the smithing trade, Alar had naturally seen his share of veteran fighters over the years. But the sight of so many armed, hardened squirrels in one place at one time was a thing of wonder to him. They had come from every corner of Kentros to have a chance of going on this expedition for the king. And yet, Alar was no mere spectator this time. He was actually one of them!

Suddenly a dreadful thought occurred to him. The king had not specified in his notice how big a party he would be sending. Would all of these squirrels be going? Or would only a select few make the cut? And if so, what if all the openings filled up before he got his chance?

His worry only increased as he saw one strapping young red fresh from the countryside emerge from within the palace grounds with shoulders slumped, looking as though his whole world had collapsed in the blink of an eye. Evidently they weren’t taking just anyone, and this only added to his fears.

Calm down, Alar, he told himself. They probably had a good reason for turning him down. No point getting all worried before you’ve even started. Thus, dusting himself off and brushing down his fur as best he could, he strode up to join the press of squirrels with as much confidence as he could muster. The guards at the gate were doing their best to make some semblance of order out of the crowd. One squirrel of rank came forward and rapped out orders in a brisk, official manner.

“Those here to answer His Majesty’s summons, line up along the street in this direction! Those here to watch, please stand to this side and keep your distance, thank you!”

Alar found himself jostled into position with the rest, with most of the others behind him and only a couple ahead. Once everyone was in place, things moved along in a swifter, more efficient manner. A steady stream of squirrels entered through the one set of gates and an almost equally steady stream came out the other set. Was anyone being accepted into the king’s company, Alar wondered?

It was mid-morning by the time Alar came up to the main gates. The squirrel in front of him, a tall red, turned to cast a glance behind. Upon catching sight of Alar, he smiled and uttered a polite “Good day.”

“Good day,” Alar replied, returning the smile in kind. He instantly liked this squirrel, who was perhaps seven or eight years his senior. From his dashing appearance in a fine woolen cloak of green and gold and the ornate basket-hilted sword at his hip to his handsome smile and rich baritone voice, Alar knew a worthy squirrel when he met one.

The swordsquirrel looked as though he wished to say something more, but was interrupted by one guard telling him “Your turn, sir.”

“Thank you,” uttered the contender, and he promptly disappeared around the corner to try his paw. Alar stepped up to take his place. He earnestly wished he could peek around the corner and see what awaited him beyond this wall, but he had to stop just shy of the open gate with the guard blocking his view inside. He also wished he could see just what that warrior squirrel was capable of. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be turned down like so many before. And despite the fact that his joining the company would mean one less spot for himself, Alar secretly hoped that he did. It could only help to have companions like that if he was to face down a dark wizard.

It was not long before the guard looked to him and jerked his head toward the interior.

“Good luck, young ‘un,” he said, stepping back to permit him entry.

“Thanks,” said Alar as he finally turned the corner and passed through the gate.

The courtyard before the palace was very spacious, with the finest red pavement stones he had yet seen and a beautiful big stable to house the king’s horses off to the right. To the left stood several targets and practice dummies like the one he had back at home. Some were already nearly in tatters from the previous contenders’ efforts. But no sight compared to the magnificent palace itself. It stood a whole three stories tall, and every facet of it was designed with the most intricate detail possible, right down to the lowest windowsill. He managed to take all of this in as he walked up to the two guards standing at the bottom of the palace steps. They examined him from ear to tail tip.

“So, you think you’re worthy to serve your king and country, do you lad?” spoke one, a tall squirrel with bright green eyes several years Alar’s senior.

“I do,” said Alar.

“And what makes you any more worthy than any other young ragamuffin who’s come by here with a sword this morning, eh?” spoke the other guard. “Why should we let you in when we’ve already turned down a score like you?”

Alar did not care for the second guard’s tone one bit, but answered as politely as he could:

“I’ve been raised for sixteen years as a blacksmith’s apprentice, and have practiced with the sword every day since I was strong enough to lift one.”

“Ha! So have they all, I’m sure.”

“I can prove it if I must,” said Alar, getting slightly annoyed.

“If you insist,” sighed the guard. The other one looked to him with an encouraging smile and urged him to “Go ahead and show us what you’ve got on that dummy there.”

He pointed one out and Alar drew his sword, his heart racing. This was it: his chance to show them everything he had! He took a deep breath to ready himself.

“Get on with it!” urged the rude guard.

Alar ignored the guard’s impatient tone, did his best to recall his most elaborate practice routine, then launched himself at the dummy. He wasn’t two moves in before he stumbled.

“Er, false start,” he muttered, readying himself to try again.

“No room for false starts in this company, boy. We’ve no more time to see you make a fool of yourself. Be off with you!”

Alar could not believe it. He was being dismissed just like that? He looked to the first guard as though seeking an ally. Indeed, Alar could read sympathy in his eyes.

“What’s your name, lad?” he asked.

“Alar, sir. Son of Ruskin of Telos.”

“Who cares what his name is? If he’s not worthy, he’s not worthy. Now be off with you and let’s have a look at the next in line.”

“Come on, give him a chance, Andreas,” said the green-eyed guard.

“He’s had his chance, and here are a lot more squirrels out there awaiting theirs. Now get going!”

Alar once more wished to object, but the pushy guard’s almost threatening posture showed he wasn’t going to get anywhere by being stubborn. Even the friendly guard finally had to give in. He sighed and shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Alar,” he spoke. “But my companion here outranks me, so I’m afraid his word is final.”

“But…”

“Go on, lad. Back to your father in Telos. Perhaps another day.”

Alar could not believe it. Just like that, his quest was over. There would be no journey to distant lands, no slaying of dark wizards, and no grand reward for him. He would have to travel all that way back to his home city with his head hung in disgrace. What would Ruskin say? And Adam! Poor Adam. He would be so disappointed. He would no doubt find the bright side of things and try to make him feel better about the whole affair. But deep down, Alar knew he would never be able to look his lover in the eye again, assuming they weren’t utterly destroyed by the evils of Magus in the meantime.

He could not help letting a single hot tear of shame trickle down his cheek as he turned away. All his dreams destroyed in an instant. And all because of one hard-nosed ass who thought he knew everything. It was enough to set Alar’s teeth on edge. He took one leaden step toward the gate—the one all the rejected would-be champions had walked through before him—before the guard named Andreas called after him.

“Aye, go back and cry to your misbegotten mum and dad.”

Alar stopped dead in his tracks. He had received his share of insults in his time on this earth, but somehow that guard’s remark stung more sharply than all the rest. Any other day he might have shrugged off such a remark, but given his downcast mood, this was one insult he would not let lie. He turned slowly.

“How’s that, sir?” His voice was drawn dangerously taut.

“I said, young whelp, that you can crawl back to the mudhole backwater you came from and whine to the mongrels that spawned you about those mean guards in Parras who wouldn’t let you in.”

Alar’s paws trembled with rage, and he barely controlled the waver in his voice as he said, “Draw steel, sir.”

“What?”

“Say what you will about me, but when you speak against my family, I can’t let it lie. Draw steel, sir.”

Andreas just laughed as the other guard shook his head vehemently at Alar.

“While I’m sure the world would be better off with one less of your kind in it, I wouldn’t want to stain this ground with your tainted blood.”

Alar’s fighting spirit was aroused now, and he would not be denied.

“Without weapons, then, I don’t care.”

The guard sighed and shook his head.

“You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

For a second, Alar thought that his challenge would remain unanswered, and that he would have to leave in utter disgrace as before. But then, the guard did a miraculous thing. He leaned his spear against the wall and unfastened his sword belt.

“All right, have at you, you filthy little rat!”

Alar needed no second bidding. He cast aside his own sword and leapt at his opponent. The guard was taken aback by Alar’s ferocity, and only his quick reflexes saved him from being taken down immediately by the young buck’s headlong rush. He laughed audibly as Alar fell to all fours on the ground, but his laugh came too soon. In half a second, the smithy’s apprentice had bounded up and delivered a hefty uppercut to his foe’s jaw. Against any but the king’s finest, such a blow might have decided the contest. As it was, the squirrel reeled and took several steps back before shaking it off and facing Alar again.

Realizing that his opponent was not to be taken lightly, the guard approached with much more caution than before, delivering feinting jabs and blows meant to throw Alar off balance. The experienced lad deftly avoided them all before countering with a quick jab to his foe’s ribs. The guard cried out in pain and flew into a rage, doing his best to hammer Alar into submission with his sheer size and strength. But nothing worked.

Alar smirked confidently as he decided that the time had come to finish his foe. He waited patiently for Andreas to make another rush for him, then moved aside and gave him a shove that combined with his own momentum to send him sprawling on the ground. Alar pounced, but was unpleasantly surprised to find himself kicked back. He landed hard on his own back, and lay there stunned for a split second. This was just the opportunity the heftier squirrel needed.

Alar found himself pinned by the hulking guard, who stood on both knees and raised his fist to strike. But before the first blow fell, a voice rang out loud and angry from the crowd.

“What in hell’s name is going on here?”

Both squirrels immediately stopped the contest as the captain of the palace guard strode purposefully across the grounds. The green-eyed guard stood to rigid attention and saluted immediately.

“Andreas!” shouted the captain. “Get off that young buck immediately!”

Like lightning the big guard was up and also standing to attention despite his heaving chest.

“Sir! I can explain…”

“Like hell you can! What were your orders?”

“To screen the newcomers and determine their worthiness to serve the king, sir!”

“Exactly! To screen them. Not to attack these squirrels who were brave enough to come from all over the kingdom to offer their lives for the sake of the princess.” He paused on examining the two combatants. “Although it looks as though this one was more than a match for you.” He turned to the smithy’s apprentice, who had risen and dusted himself off. “What is your name, lad?”

“Alar, son of Ruskin of Telos, sir,” replied Alar proudly.

“And is there any particular reason you decided to quarrel with one of my guards, pray tell? Violence is no way to handle a rejection of your services, you know.”

“I know sir, and I’m sorry. But it wasn’t because of that. It was a point of honor. This squirrel insulted my home and family, and I couldn’t let it lie.”

The guard captain turned to his other subordinate. “Is this true, Arran?”

“It is true, sir.”

“I see.” He blew a heated sigh, then nodded toward Alar’s sword belt. “Put that back on, lad.”

Alar did as he was bidden with practiced speed, then stood to attention.

“Yes, you’ll do, I think. Follow me.”

“Sir?” Alar spoke hesitantly.

“Follow me, I said,” repeated the captain, who turned to his guards. “Arran, get things back in order here and keep things moving. Andreas, get yourself back in order, try to act like one of the king’s squirrels, and I shall talk with you later.”

“Yes, sir!” spoke both squirrels at once with a sharp salute.

The captain turned and strode back toward the stairs leading to the door of the palace. Alar took a couple timid steps forward and paused until Arran nudged him.

“Go on!” he urged.

Without further hesitation, Alar darted up the stairs behind the captain, who stopped at the doors and turned.

“Welcome, my lad, to the company of King Ambrose.” He opened the door and stepped inside. Heart beating madly with glee, Alar braced himself and entered the royal palace.