The Tale of Alar

11

It took several days of hard traveling to climb down the mountains and emerge on the flatlands to the west. After a few days more, the flatlands began to transform into marshlands in which the paths were hard to find and even harder to stick to. A trail that seemed perfectly clear at first might well lead to a dead end in some stagnant pool, or worse still a hidden patch of ooze that threatened to suck the lead member of the party under. More than once a speedily cast rope made the difference between life and death for the squirrels. By the end of the first hour, they were all solidly coated with mud up to their knees: by the time the sun had passed its zenith, not a patch of fur or clothing remained unsullied.

Grant leaned up against a tree for a moment and mopped his brow, chest heaving.

“Blimey! I don’t see how the road could be any worse than this. You’re sure there’s a way through, Elvar?”

“There is a way, I know,” said Elvar, pausing as well. “Though it has been many long years since last I walked these paths. But even so, it is better going here than upon the road. There would have been naught but magicians to contend with the entire way.”

“At the rate we’re goin’, we won’t be in much shape to face Magus when we reach the end of it,” remarked Fagan.

“We shall manage,” replied Elvar, undisturbed.

“And who’s to say he can’t already see us coming?” Grant spoke up again. “We’re in his territory, aren’t we?”

“That is so. And of course, it is possible that he may try to waylay us upon our emerging. However, there is no way of knowing where exactly we will emerge, for these trails are as unknown to the enemy as they are to us. No. I believe at this point, Magus is afraid of us, and will draw all forces to the defense of his castle, for fear we should slip through his net and take him unawares.”

“He would do well to fear us if he doesn’t,” said Alar. The deadly gleam in the young squirrel’s eyes as he said this left no doubt as to his thoughts.

“An encouraging thought indeed,” spoke Elvar with a nod. “But do not underestimate the power of our foe, my young friend. He could still crush us all with ease if we are incautious.”

“But surely you’re more than a match for him in a fair contest, Elvar,” remarked Grant.

Elvar sighed. “Once long ago that was the case. But I am old now, and even we mages are affected by the steady march of time eventually. Not to mention, he has dabbled in the forbidden arts for many long years now. There is no telling just how powerful he has truly become.”

“Makes no difference to me,” Alar remarked, hacking at some swamp grasses that brushed against his leg. “He will die, even if it takes the whole lot of us to kill him.”

“You must let go of this anger of yours, Alar, or it will consume you.”

“That’s my watch, thanks.”

Fagan and Grant held their breath, expecting Elvar to take a sterner approach with Alar. But he merely nodded again.

“It is indeed your watch. But if it should put this company in danger, what you see will not be pleasant.”

Alar said naught, but pressed on at a slightly faster pace than before, leaving the others behind and seeming to focus all his energy on hacking the tips off various plants that stood in their way. The other three continued in silence, uncertain what else to say to their companion. He had been dark and brooding since they had left the Mountain Tower, and nothing they had yet done or said could bring him back to the light. And at this particular moment, they were too weary with their wanderings to try again.

So, they slogged on through the dark, dingy forest of bare trees and clinging mud. But at last, as daylight was on the wane, they came upon firmer ground. They were still within the confines of the forest, but found that they could walk without worrying about sinkholes or sucking mud anymore. After a time, the trees began to grow more sparsely, then stopped suddenly. They halted just shy of the open and took stock of their surroundings.

“Well? Are we anywhere near the tower?” asked Fagan.

“I don’t know,” replied Magus honestly. “This land has changed so much since last...” He trailed off abruptly, then raised a paw. “Yonder it stands!”

The others looked in the direction he indicated and saw it. Jutting above the treetops about half a mile away stood several peaks silhouetted against the orange light of the sky. There was no doubt in their minds. In this barren land, what else could it be but the home of their foe? They stared for a moment before Elvar turned to them and spoke:

“Now we know the location of the tower, let us retreat back into the trees for a few hours until night is truly upon us.”

“Why?” asked Alar. “Why not attack now while they least expect us?”

“Firstly, my dear Alar, because we are exhausted. We’d be little use in a fight at this point. Secondly, we would be seen long before we could get close to the tower itself. Magus may find it difficult to track our movements within the foggy recesses of the swamp, but in the clear lands around his own domain, he would be able to observe our every move. Therefore, we must do everything we can to be unpredictable. And that means attacking at night. Or rather early morning.”

Alar did not look pleased. The others held their breath for fear the hard-headed buck might argue. But after a moment he saw the wisdom in Elvar’s reasoning and withdrew without a fight.

The companions returned to a reasonably dry spot and set up camp there, once again not daring to light a fire for fear of attracting the attention of the enemy. They bedded down to wait out the next few hours in slumber, save for Elvar, who merely rested sitting up against the trunk of a tree dozing now and then. He sat perfectly still, ignoring the noises of the nighttime woodlands to which he and the others had become so accustomed these last few days. Yet, he was alert to the slightest disturbance in this nocturnal ambience, and listened carefully whenever one occurred, knowing that enemy agents were doubtless out patrolling the lands in search of them. This revealed to him that Magus was aware of their approach, and was clever enough to check even the most unlikely route for them. But at the same time, it demonstrated that the dark wizard, for all his cunning and sorcery, did not know their precise location, and this gave him some peace of mind.

When the last hours of the night had transitioned into the first hours of the day, Elvar quietly roused his companions and bade them follow him. They gathered their things and went without a word. Their hearts beat more rapidly than usual as they rose from their sleeping places, for they knew that the next time they lay down might well be their last. But mixed with their apprehension was a sort of excitement. It was a reserved excitement, for they dared not raise their hopes too high, but nevertheless it was tangible. The end of their quest was at last in sight. Whether that end brought about victory or the devastation of their entire kingdom was something they dared not dwell on. They chose instead to focus on what they had to do in order to bring about that end. They thought of all the good friends and companions they had lost to reach this point, and of all the great deeds they had already performed in the service of king and country. And together these things gave them the strength and courage they needed.

Within half an hour, they reached the line of trees just before the final tower. It was not as tall as the others, but doubly ominous. From its dark stonework to the pointed shape of its battlements, there was no term more apt to describe it in their minds than purely evil. The feeling of agitation that had plagued them since first crossing the Genatrix River now returned with a vengeance.

“I smell a trap,” said Alar on seeing the unguarded door.

“Oh, undoubtedly,” replied Elvar.

“Is there any other way in?” asked Grant a little uneasily.

“No. If we are to rescue the princess and avenge our fallen comrades, we must enter through that door.”

Grant shook his head. “They’re sure to be waiting with everything they’ve got. Couldn’t we divert their attention elsewhere and slip in unnoticed?”

“And how would we accomplish that, pray tell?”

“Well,” spoke Fagan thoughtfully. “What if we could set fire to the forest on the opposite side. That might distract them a bit.”

Elvar shook his head.

“It is too far away and too risky. Even if we could get over there and back unnoticed, a sudden conflagration in a wood that has stood for hundreds of years without such trauma would put Magus all the more on his guard. He would know we were in the vicinity and secure his fortress doubly tight against us.”

“Then there’s nothing else for it but a full on assault,” said Alar, drawing his sword.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Let’s be done with it, then.”

“Just a moment. Before we go in, I want each of you to take one of these.” Elvar held out three polished gems: one red and two blue. “These are ward stones. I have been charging them with a little extra energy at the end of each day since leaving the Mountain Tower. They will protect you from malevolent spells until they are shattered or their energy consumed.” They each took one. “Keep them on your person at all times, and keep them out of sight.”

They thanked him and tucked the gems into their pockets.

“Now let us pray before we enter. For despite all our efforts, it is only by the paw of the Almighty that we may leave this tower alive again.”

And so the four bowed their heads and closed their eyes as Elvar intoned:

“Dear Skiouros on high, give us the will to complete this task which has been set out before us. Shield us in the folds of Thy divine cloak so that we might survive to see this fell deed done and this hateful bloodshed ended. Thy strength and grace guide us always. Amen.”

“Amen,” repeated the rest.

“Right. No more delays. In we go.”

They walked up to the door at an unhurried gait, certain that Magus could see them now regardless of their speed, and Elvar promptly turned the key in the lock. The gate swung open with a horrible squeak and they stepped in. There was no time to be shocked by the green flames burning in braziers throughout the six-sided room, nor to be awed by the illusion of a cloudy sky above. The room was positively packed with nearly two score dark magicians with their hoods up and paws neatly tucked into the wide sleeves of their robes. And standing in the center of them was their dark master himself.

He did not seem that old to Alar, though it was no doubt some illusory trick on his part. He had penetrating gray eyes that bespoke a frenzied mind within, and held a staff with a large diamond on the end. His fur was standing totally on end, contrasting sharply with the smooth silk of his pitch-black robe. When he spoke, his voice was calm almost to the point of meekness.

“Welcome, Elvar. It has been too long.”

“Not long enough for my liking, Magus.”

“So, King Ambrose thought he could take back his dear daughter by force, did he? Well, we’ll soon sort out that little miscalculation, I think. The second full moon is but two days away. Then all of Kentros will learn the error of their ways. But first I shall deal with you and your minions.”

“Your arrogance will be the end of you yet, Magus,” said Elvar. “When will you learn that to rule all is not a blessing, but a curse?”

“When I finally achieve that rule, I suppose, but not a moment before then. Goodbye now, old friend. I told you back at the academy that this day would come, but you scoffed like all the rest. I regret that you shall not be here witness my final triumph for yourself, but alas.” He signaled to his magicians. “Finish them.”

Magus disappeared in a cloud of green smoke, and a wave of spells surged toward them. Elvar cast counter spells and Fagan shot off arrows while the other two scurried about, striking back where they could. The four companions took direct hits several times, but their wards protected them faithfully.

Arrow after arrow Fagan shot. Some were blocked: others found their marks. Alar and Grant, meanwhile, had a harder time getting in close enough to strike. They were swift and strong, but trying to catch some of these mages was like trying to catch smoke, especially with the need to dodge missiles hurled their way by the fleeing foes. But their experience and skill shone through in the end, and slowly the four thinned the enemy ranks to but a pawful.

Alar felt a jolt against his hip that knocked him flat on his back. At first he was afraid a spell had penetrated his wards, then he felt the shattered bits of stone in his pocket. Elvar slew his attacker, bringing the total down to three, and Grant bent over him.

“You all right, mate?” he asked, helping Alar up.

“Fine. Look out!”

He shoved Grant out of the way in time to avoid a bolt aimed at his head.

Fagan and Elvar killed yet another between them, but not before he let fly one last spell. Fagan fell upon his back with a cry, grasping at his thigh. Another magician grinned and cast a missile his way, but it was blocked by Elvar. In a dazzling display of wizardry, Elvar warded off every bolt of the remaining two skillfully in between sending bolts back their way. After several minutes, he emerged triumphant, then came over to where Fagan lay, panting and leaning heavily on his staff.

“Are your wounds grave?” he asked of the downed bow-squirrel.

“I think not,” replied Fagan. “But they hurt like the plague, so they do.”

“Here,” said Elvar, drawing a small phial from his belt pouch. “Sip this slowly. It should dull the pain a bit. Can you walk?”

“Aye,” said Fagan, heaving himself painfully up using his bow as a crutch. “I think so. But not far.”

“Very well. Rest here for a while. If you are able, I suggest you leave this tower and make for our meeting place in the woods to await our return. If we should not return by daybreak, you may assume the worst and begin the homeward journey as well as you are able.”

“With all due respect, sir, I doubt I could make it so far on me own in this condition. And at any rate, I’d much rather perish alongside friends, if such be the fate of our quest. Therefore, I think I’ll abide here a bit, then head over to guard the door from any unwanted intruders.”

“A wise idea.” Elvar paused, then nodded. “Very well, my brave lad. Stay here and guard the door. We shall return to fetch you within the hour if we be fated to return at all.” He turned to the two remaining swordsquirrels. “Are your wards intact?”

Alar shook his head.

“Mine is,” answered Grant. “Though, it’s got a crack in it.”

“Then it may or may not function when needed. So, when we get up there, stand aside and leave Magus to me. Do not interfere. Understood?”

“Understood.”

So, they bade Fagan farewell for now, and up the stairs they went. They tried not to wear themselves out by moving too fast, for haste was no longer essential. Another hexagonal room with green-burning braziers greeted them, and a single window looked out across the marshy wilderness. The floor was the same polished black marble as that below. Sitting on an obsidian throne directly opposite them was Magus, and beside him in a cage was Princess Ambrosia, her hazel eyes alight with newfound hope at the appearance of the three.

“One of four?” Magus shook his head as he rose. “I shall have to find worthier pupils when I am finished here.”

“As Skiouros is my witness, you shall never corrupt another young mind again, Magus,” responded Elvar.

The room was instantly lit up like a star as the exchange of spells began. Alar and Grant stood helplessly by, watching two masters of their element initiate the duel with all their might and covering their eyes when things got too bright. The whole time Alar tried to figure out how he might get across the room and get the princess out, but nothing came to him that wouldn’t involve the risk of a stray spell smacking him or Grant. Grant, for his part, remained admirably calm, both paws gripping the hilt of his sword, which rested point down upon the floor. His cloak fluttered in the storm-like winds stirred up by the mages and his eyes squinted against the light. Yet, he could never fully tear his gaze away from the awesome sight.

Alar’s concentration was utterly shattered as the wizards’ spells linked together in a single continuous chain of brilliant colors and sparks. The young smith’s apprentice and his erstwhile nemesis watched in sheer wonder as the two streams surged back and forth against one another in a climactic struggle. Such a display of raw power was a sight both wondrous and terrible to the young bucks from the slum of a small provincial city. It was as though the might and terror of the Lord had manifested itself in visible form, and though they could not look upon it without getting burned, they nevertheless could not by any mortal strength alone turn away. Only as he slowly became accustomed to the spectacle did Alar even assay to understand what was going on. And when he did, he hoped fervently that he was mistaken.

For though it was hard to tell with the constant fluctuations in the lines and the many extraneous distracting lights and sparks, he began to suspect that Magus’s stream was making more progress. The longer he watched, the more certain he became, and a single thought began to dominate his mind: Elvar was going to lose!

After a time, he could tell Grant had reached the same conclusion, for his grip had tightened painfully about his sword hilt. Despite Elvar’s warning, they both raised their swords, ready to jump in and help. Time seemed to slow for Alar as he and Grant took one step forward. They both saw the old wizard grin right as Magus’s stream reached the end of his staff. Then came a tremendous explosion, which threw them flat onto their backs.

The braziers went out all at once, leaving only the faint light of the earliest dawn streaming in through the window to show what had happened. Within seconds the two bucks had sprung to their feet and surveyed the scene. Elvar lay dead on the ground, an oddly peaceful expression on his face. On the other side of the room they saw Magus similarly laid out. Indeed, it looked as though he too had perished in the explosion. His eyes were tightly shut, and the top of his staff had been shattered by the impact. Alar took a few timid steps forward, but was outpaced by the unhindered advance of Grant. He walked right up to the fallen Magus, from whose robes and staff alike rose thin pyres of smoke. Grant looked to Alar and smiled.

“He’s dead.”

Alar barely had time to blink before Grant had let out a cry of anguish and lay writhing on the ground grasping at his back. Over him stood Magus, sneering triumphantly.

“Dead, is it? Let me show you how dead truly looks.”

But ere he could strike with his staff again, Alar had bounded over and knocked the blow aside.

“You would dare strike a downed warrior? You have no honor!”

“Don’t lecture me, boy!”

Alar neatly jumped over the swing aimed at his legs. Magus faced the young squirrel with a crazy stare. It was now Alar’s turn to smirk as he saluted his foe, then attacked. The old wizard was highly skilled. No doubt he bore some enchantment to enhance his speed and strength. But Alar was in his element, and despite taking a couple of sharp jabs to the ribs, the smirk never left his face.

It was over with stunning rapidity.

Magus made a deadly thrust at Alar with the sharp, shattered end of his staff. Catapulting himself off the outstretched staff, Alar somersaulted forward. He landed behind Magus and gave a full rearward thrust. He did not need to glance backward nor see the wizard’s shocked expression to know that his blade had found its mark.

He held his pose for a second, savoring the thought that dear Colin and Vitrio and all the others had finally been avenged. Their deaths had not been in vain! Then, at last, he withdrew the bloodied sword. Only when he heard the muffled whump of Magus hitting the floor did he turn around.

“One should never bring a staff to a sword fight,” he muttered an old maxim of his foster father’s. He had always considered it a silly, arbitrary point until now. He quickly sheathed his sword and knelt down beside the ailing Grant.

“Grant! Oh, you brave, foolhardy squirrel, what have you done?”

“Sorry, mate. Guess I won’t be coming back with you and Fagan after all.”

“Don’t talk like that!”

“Alar, there’s a hole in my gut bigger than a ducat. I’m done for and you know it.”

He spoke with a wan smile despite the pain that wracked his frame and the sorrow that filled his eyes. This, more than any noble words he had uttered or heroic deed he had accomplished on their quest, inspired Alar’s admiration, and he could not but smile back at the bold, brash squirrel.

“I’m so sorry...for all the times I fought you...or called you my enemy.” He winced as another wave of pain shot through his body. “But I’m pleased...to go to my maker...able to at last call you...my friend.”

Alar tried to smile in spite of the tears that coursed down his cheeks and failed. “Forever and always, mate. Forever and always.”

Grant smiled one last time before his body was wracked with convulsions. He grasped Alar’s arm tightly and their eyes met one last time before Grant’s gaze strayed into the middle distance, where it remained until he stopped convulsing and the rattle of his final breath sounded. Alar felt his friend’s grip slacken, and he could not resist hugging him close as a ward against the well of tears that decided to come forth in that moment. And for the longest time he remained in this position. Only after the dull stabbing sensation in his heart began to slowly recede did he at last lay his friend’s head down and pass a paw over his eyes to close them.

He waited a moment to compose himself and try to get his breathing under control before turning to face the princess. He felt no embarrassment that she had witnessed the whole final scene of her deliverance, but only a sort of grim satisfaction that she had beheld at least this final portion of the price that had been paid for her freedom. At last rising and wiping his eyes with his arm, he turned and approached the waiting princess.

“Your Highness,” he spoke, performing an elegant leg. “Your father sent us to rescue you.”

“For which I am most grateful, brave knight,” she responded with a gracious nod. “I am very sorry that such worthy souls need have perished to save mine. Rather I had died first.”

“Your words are very kind, miss,” replied Alar as eloquently as he could. “But I don’t believe that any one of them would have traded the opportunity to die in so worthy a quest for anything. Now, let’s see about getting you out of here. Where’s the key?”

“There is no key. Magus kept it locked by his dark power alone. You need only turn the paw-hold and it shall open.”

He did so, and the princess stepped out. She curtsied politely.

“Thank you, good sir. I owe you and your companions my life and liberty.”

“Please, call me Alar.”

“Very well, good sir Alar. What is your plan now?”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me a moment, I must see to my companions, including one we left downstairs who still drew breath when last I saw him. Then, if it’s all the same to you, I think we’ll leave this accursed place.”