The Tale of Alar

10

Another two days of traveling up beyond the tree line into the rocky, snow-dusted heights of the Century Range brought them to their next goal: the Mountain Tower. Like the Forest Tower, the structure appeared to touch the very heavens above. However, unlike the previous tower, this one was made entirely of stone. Huge blocks of masonry were fitted seamlessly together all the way to the top. No mortar bound them, yet there was no question of their falling apart. There was no weathering apparent across their surface at first glance, though they must have stood there for ages beyond count. High above they could see narrow windows with heavy bars on them.

“Skilled must have been the paws that laid these stones,” remarked Colin. “Never have I seen such craftwork before.”

“I imagine there are many things you have not seen in your days, my young friend,” replied Elvar with amusement. “But nevertheless, your remark is apt. For few structures in this day and age contain such stonework as this. It was wrought by the first squirrels to conquer the mountains many eons ago, and it was bound together with a magic more powerful than any wielded by mage or wizard now. The likes of Magus can only ever dream of possessing such power as this, for they lost touch with its source long ago. Only in lasting monuments such as these can the splendor of those former days still be seen by the eye, though it lingers still all around us.”

Elvar paused and sighed, as though feeling the pulse of that ancient energy in the very air they breathed. Even one with no magic training such as Alar could feel something special about this place. Like the Forest Tower, it emitted an aura of something beyond the reach of sense or memory. It was absolutely awe-inspiring, and made him feel even humbler than usual. A remark from Vitrio would have almost been welcome at this juncture to lighten the mood. All of a sudden, Elvar squared his shoulders and stood up straight.

“But alas, it too has been tainted by the evil of Magus, curse his name. Fortunately, the door could not be so easily hidden on a structure where it was wrought of solid materials. There it is ahead.”

He pointed to the door, which was housed within a stone portico. It was made of heavy wrought iron, and all sorts of intricate designs graced its face. There were images of squirrels armed for war, marching, fighting, and conquering lands near and far. The arched entryway above the door portrayed one squirrel holding a banner planted atop the mountain in one paw and an upraised sword in the other as though proclaiming some final victory to his troops on the friezes below. To either side stood a squirrel bearing a spear and holding it out in salute to their victorious leader. It was magnificent to behold, so lifelike were the carvings. And to Alar, the faces of the squirrels appeared almost heroic in their features. At once he felt akin to these creatures so long ago, and could not but wonder who they had been, and how so mighty a people could have simply vanished from the world without a trace.

Or perhaps, he thought to himself, they did not vanish, but simply dispersed, and their blood runs still in the veins of those who live today!

“Alar, my lad,” Elvar spoke, bringing him back from the fantastical world of his youthful imaginings. “It is time. Bring forth the key.”

Alar noticed how all eyes were turned expectantly on him and felt a tad self-conscious. How long had they been gazing at him gazing up at those carvings, he wondered. Producing the key from around his neck, he stepped up and fitted it to the hole. Once more the door swung open of its own accord, and once more it closed by itself when they were inside.

The interior was pleasantly warm in stark contrast to the frigid mountain air outside. The entryway was a small, square chamber lit by torches on wall-mounted brackets. Who had lit them, none could say, for there was nary a sign of a living creature anywhere about. A couple paces away was an arched entryway, which led down a short passage. They followed it and came to a spacious chamber, completely empty save for the marble statues tucked into little alcoves on every side. They portrayed warriors of every description in heroic poses. Some wore armor with intricate designs inscribed upon them and held mighty swords aloft. Others bared their muscular torsos while warding off invisible monsters with spears. Each one had a large, red gemstone embedded in its chest of immeasurable worth. The squirrels marveled at these for a moment, so lifelike were they in every way.

“Verily, the ancient folk who carved these were masters of stonework,” remarked Colin. “Both for building and for crafting.”

“Indeed,” spoke Elvar. “They were a folk of many talents. But alas, even their glory faded away with the ages as hard work and fighting prowess gave way to carelessness and decadence. For so civilizations become when they forget their humble origins and the One that gave them the means to reach so high.”

“Amen to that,” said Fagan. “But if we’re finished with admiring stonework for today, could we be gettin’ on with it?”

“Aye, there’s still a monster to kill and a key to get up top, if I’m not mistaken,” remarked Grant, for whom the finer points of art had never held much interest.

“Right you are, Grant,” said Colin. “But which way do we go from here?”

He looked at the three doors leading in different directions from the room in which they stood. The doors were old, but not too worn looking, and the hinges were not the least bit rusty.

“I say right,” answered Fagan. “Straight ahead’s too obvious.”

“Why not left?” asked Colin.

Fagan shrugged. “Why not right?”

“Fair enough,” concurred Elvar with a flicker of a smile. “Right it is.”

They hauled the door open by its dull brass knob and passed into a narrow corridor with another arched roof. It was likewise lit by torches mounted in wall brackets. They wandered down the corridor and several offshoots afterward past dining rooms, armories, and sleeping chambers alike.

“It’s like one big barracks,” noted Colin. “Only without the soldiers.”

“So it would seem,” muttered Elvar. “Or at least not soldiers that we can see.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Grant, tail twitching uneasily.

“I do not yet know. But I feel a presence. There is something about, even if our eyes cannot yet detect it.”

“Well, that’s a great comfort to be sure,” remarked Fagan, placing a paw on his arrows and looking about.

Just then they rounded a corner and came to a dead end. A bone-chilling draft flowed in through the single barred window there, which overlooked foggy mountain tops stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Well, so much for the right path,” said Grant.

Crunch!

They cast uneasy glances at each other as though to determine that others had heard the sound as well, then slowly turned around. There, standing in the middle of the corridor, was a statue like those they had seen before. It stared at them for a second with glowing red eyes and they stared back. Then it opened its mouth, and with a voice that rang as hollow as if it were emanating from a metal tin, it cried out:

“Intruders! Strangers in the tower!”

“Shut it, you great lump!” shouted Grant, lashing out with his sword. But his strike barely chipped the stone surface of the statue’s arm. He stepped back as several more animated statues joined their companion, each armed and prepared for a fight.

“How do we beat them?” asked Fagan, nocking an arrow.

Elvar stepped forward and launched a blast of energy that severed one foe’s arm. It did not even flinch, and moved forward alongside its brethren.

“I’m not sure,” replied the wizard.

Further speculation was cut short by the attack of the nearest statue. It engaged Grant in a duel, in which Grant came off far quicker and more skilled. But every chip he made in the stone did nothing but dull his blade, and unlike Grant, the stone squirrel did not tire. The others defended themselves admirably from the onslaught, but their counter strokes were equally useless. Slowly but surely the statues hemmed them into the confines of the dead-end alcove, restricting their movements more and more.

“This isn’t working, lads!” Fagan announced the obvious.

Elvar stepped back and tripped over the hem of his robe. The others were too hard-pressed to assist, and could only watch in horror as his assailant raised a huge hammer above its head with which to finish him off. Out of sheer desperation, Elvar slammed the end of his staff into the statue’s chest ruby, cracking it. The monster staggered backwards, then crumbled completely, weapon and all. The wizard stood up.

“The jewels!” he exclaimed. “Of course. Aim for the jewels!”

They took his advice, and within seconds another had fallen to Colin’s swift stroke. Fagan was too closed in to use his bow, and so slammed his dagger point into another, which also crumbled. Thereafter the squirrels took the offensive, and in mere minutes the floor was littered with marble dust.

“Pity,” remarked Colin. “To destroy such ancient marvels of artisanship seems a terrible shame.”

“Save your pity, friend,” spoke Elvar with a shake of the head. “They were destroyed by Magus ere we ever set foot in here. It was he who cast the enchantment upon them to turn them into his servants. Alas, he knows no bounds in his quest for power.”

“Right. Shame on him, I say. But shall we be movin’ on now?” spoke Fagan.

They hastened back through the winding corridors and traversed several new ones in their attempt to dodge more warrior statues. Dispatching a couple more who barred the way, they proceeded through another door. They found themselves back in the main hall, this time opposite the main entrance. But this detail meant very little to them as they regarded the twenty alcove warriors now come to life.

“This way!” cried Elvar, leading them to the only door remaining.

He knocked several foes aside with a blast and the five squirrels made a dash through the chamber. They made it through without a scratch and slammed the door shut behind them, barring it with a couple of decorative spears leaning against the wall beside some shields. A few steps in, they came upon a helical staircase winding upward.

“See? I told you the left door was right,” remarked Colin.

“So you did,” said Elvar. “We would do well to heed your council from the outset next time. As it is, we will follow your lead henceforth, though the way should be clear enough. However, while I do not think it wise to tarry overlong, I suggest we rest here just a bit before venturing on. If our encounter with Jord is anything to judge by, then the trial that awaits us at the top of these stairs will require as much strength as we can muster.”

So, they took their ease, seating themselves along the walls or lying down upon the hard stone floor with packs behind their heads as pillows. All the while they kept their eyes on the stairwell or back up the short passage down which they had come, though they heard no sound of the statues attempting to break down the door they had barred. Two torches and a single window served as their light sources, and the afternoon outside was bright but cold.

From his place on the floor, Alar looked outside from beneath half-closed lids. He wondered if the day was this beautiful back at home. It was comforting to think that Adam and Ruskin could see the same clear blue sky as he, and more so to think that perhaps they were wondering about him right now as well.

“My love to you both,” he whispered softly to himself. He then looked about at his companions taking their ease in their own fashion. At last his gaze rested upon Colin, who was sitting with his back up against the wall, knees bent and ready to spring up at the first sign of trouble. His head was turned away, watching the bottom of the stairwell. Against his own better inclination, he wondered just what Colin would do when they returned and claimed their reward. Obviously he would not be marrying the princess, though goodness knew there was no one in the party more deserving of such an honor. Come to think on it, he had never said what he intended to do when all was said and done. Most likely he did not bother thinking about it until it was assured, practical as he was. But that did not mean Alar could not think about it. And so, in spite of himself, think about it he did, letting his mind wander to forbidden corners he knew could never be, but which he longed for nonetheless.

Suddenly Colin’s head turned and he spotted Alar watching him. Far from making him feel awkward, however, Colin’s gaze only brought further calm, and his reassuring smile only encouraged Alar’s musings. Perhaps he was thinking of the same things, but alas, there was no way of knowing for certain. At last, Elvar stood up.

“Right. The time has come. We are as rested as we can be without spending an entire night here, and I would not dare tarry that long. Let us carry on and meet whatever fate has in store for us up above. After you, Colin.”

“Very well,” said the swordsquirrel, springing to his feet and raising his blade. “Up we go.”

Colin mounted the stairs, and the others followed him up the helical passage. At every rotation of the stairs they encountered another small window, so the passage was well lit, even if it seemed never-ending. But at last they could see daylight above as well, and put on a final burst of speed to emerge onto an ordinary-looking rooftop with crenellated battlements and braziers burning in the far corners. Before them stood a small structure lined on the outside with decorative columns. But it was from behind that the deep metallic voice addressed them thus:

“Welcome, warriors from below.”

They whipped around to see the biggest statue yet gazing down upon them. He was carved with exquisite patterns in his segmented armor and a crested helm upon his head. And in this helmet were embedded five different-colored gems.

“You must be worthy adversaries indeed to have passed through my guard. But your journey ends here. I, Brand, will finish you myself.”

He grabbed a javelin off a mighty weapon rack and hurled it at them. The five scattered and it shattered against the battlements. The questers took up the assault from all sides. Their impact was minimal, and Brand laughed them off.

“Impudent fools!”

He began lashing out left and right with his sword, blocking with a shield he had pulled off the rack. The agile squirrels dodged most of the blows and warded off others, but only grew weary with their efforts while Brand’s strength did not show any sign of waning. Fagan took advantage of the chaos to get in close and loose an arrow at the back of Brand’s helmet. The blue stone there shattered and the colossus staggered.

“Get the others!” cried Fagan.

This was easier said than done, for Brand knew the source of his own weakness just as they did, and he guarded it furiously with sword and shield alike. Thus, it was only slowly and with very concentrated efforts that they managed to smash three more gems. Only the one on the front remained intact, and Brand blocked every spell or thrust aimed to get at it.

“Looks like he’s got us,” said Fagan, reaching for his last arrow.

“Not yet he hasn’t,” said Colin, parrying another thrust.

Brand laughed once more. “Magus was right to warn me of your prowess. Jord was a powerful creature, and you must have been equally powerful to come through his realm unscathed. But no matter. For I am Brand, and I will finish what he started. Your bones will ever serve as a warning to those who would dare oppose the will of the master wizard.”

The others felt a sinking sensation in their hearts, but nevertheless took up arms one last time in the hope of selling their lives as dearly as possible. Colin, however, did not seem the least bit troubled. Indeed, Alar had never seen him more focused or serene as he turned to them.

“Hold back ‘til I say, then hit him with all you’ve got,” he directed Elvar and Fagan in a low voice.

“Why? What are you...”

“Just trust me.”

He ran over and climbed the nearby weapon rack.

“Now!” he cried, at which Fagan shot his last arrow and Elvar cast the most powerful spell he could still manage.

Brand moved to block these with his shield, at which point Colin leapt from the rack. Time seemed to slow as Alar watched. Brand espied Colin from the corner of his luminous eye. His sword went up. Colin’s came down. The squirrel fell back to the ground in a kneeling position, one paw held to his middle. The statue let out a hollow roar, then fell to pieces before their very eyes.

“That was a bit too close, lads,” remarked Fagan. “Good thinking there, Colin.”

“Colin!” cried Alar, dropping his sword and rushing forth just in time to catch his fellow swordsquirrel as he toppled over sideways.

“Got him,” said Colin, smiling despite the bloody gash across his torso.

“Aye, that you did, mate. But you’re wounded.”

“So I am. I guess it’s up to you to finish it now, Alar.”

“What? No!” exclaimed Alar, shaking his head. “We’ll finish it together.”

“I…can’t, Alar. We both know…”

But the lad wouldn’t listen and turned to Elvar.

“Help him, please! Use some healing spell. Anything!”

But Elvar simply stood there, a look of sheer helplessness and sorrow for his young friend engraved in his features. This only served to frustrate Alar further.

“I said help him, damn you!” he cried as ferociously as his grief would allow. He turned once more to Colin. “You can’t die. I won’t let you!”

“There is…no help for me, Alar,” Colin said calmly. “My time is over.”

Alar could say nothing, but shook his head feebly.

“Save the kingdom. Marry your Adam. Be happy. And please…remember me.”

“Always, Colin,” said Alar softly, squeezing his eyes shut in a vain effort to stop a rogue tear from working its way down his cheek. “Always.”

“Farewell, my dear, sweet Alar. Skiourosspeed. And...thank you.”

He attained a faraway look in his eyes, sighed, then lay still. Alar felt a pain in his chest such as he had never known before. He wanted to keel over and die beside Colin. He wanted to break down into a river of tears that would wash away his grief. He wanted to scream and hurl the foulest, most vengeful curses imaginable at the sky so that they would land upon the head of Magus many miles distant. And yet, he could do no more than kneel there, the head of his fallen companion in his lap, and stare into the peaceful visage of the kindest, fairest, and noblest squirrel he had ever known. He had been a warrior whose skill he readily admitted surpassed his own. Yet now he too was gone long before his time. It was more than the young smithy’s apprentice could comprehend.

Elvar sighed, then bent down to pick up a tiny, shiny object from Brand’s rubble.

“It appears we have the key, thanks to the heroic actions of Colin.”

Alar did not respond. What was left to say that would matter? Grant placed a paw on his shoulder and he shook it off, glaring at him with a ferocity that surprised his companions.

“Come, Alar,” said Elvar soothingly. “Let us go and lay our good friend to the rest he has so valiantly earned.”

Alar grew a tad calmer, but shook his head sharply.

“I’ll do it. By myself.”

“Very well,” said the wizard, knowing better than to argue. “But do come along now. We cannot linger.”

And so, in arms that never once faltered despite their weariness, Alar carried Colin’s body all the way down the tower and outside. Along the way they saw numerous piles of statue dust, among which were scattered several of the undamaged gemstones. Elvar collected a few of these on their way out, muttering incantations of some sort as he went. The ground was too frozen to dig a grave, so Alar built a cairn of stones up around his friend and planted Colin’s sword up to the hilt in the mound. The others watched in anguish, both for their own grief and for the grief they knew weighed ten times as heavily upon Alar. Never once did he ask for help, nor did he complain of the blisters and calluses that the task produced on his paws. And when all was said and done, he did not speak for the rest of the evening, even when Elvar rose to say a few words over the grave.

After a long, respectful silence, Elvar and Fagan withdrew to prepare the night’s supper. Grant tarried a moment longer, however. He approached Alar hesitantly, as though he did not know quite what to say. At last he sighed and did the best he could.

“He was a fine squirrel. I know you two were...close. I...I’m sorry.” He shook his head in frustration at his own lack of eloquence, then spoke once more. “For what it’s worth, I’d be honored if you would allow me to stand vigil with you tonight. It just seems right somehow.”

Alar gave a barely perceptible nod, then turned to face the grave once more. That was enough for Grant, who went back to join the others. After they had supped and urged Alar to do so in vain, Grant did indeed join his friend. And together they spent a cold, lonesome night beside Colin’s cairn.