The Tale of Alar

12

Fagan was standing up, leaning against the door frame for support when the two descended the stairs. The pain in his leg had subsided somewhat, and he had wrapped a makeshift cloth bandage around the wound. His face lit up at the sight of Alar.

“Faith, but I was sure you’d all been slain when I heard that great racket!” he remarked.

“Has anyone tried to get in?” asked Alar.

“No one yet. But what happened up there? And where are the others?”

So, Alar explained the tragic fate of their two friends. Fagan shook his head. “So, we’re all that’s left, then. ‘Tis sad indeed.”

“Not quite all, brave sir,” came a feminine voice from behind Alar. Fagan looked past his companion to see the speaker and was awestruck by the sight.

“Cor! What an honor it is to meet Your Highness at last.” The young bowsquirrel bowed as best he could with his wound, though his gaze never left the princess. Nor did hers leave him.

“The honor is all mine, good sir,” she replied with another gracious curtsy. Thereafter a pause ensued during which Alar tried to hide a smile that played about his features.

“Er...Ahem. I think I’ll leave Your Highness in the capable paws of my friend here while I go and fetch our companions.”

“Aye, you do that now,” replied Fagan. “I’ll guard the fair princess here with me life, so I will, have no fear.”

“Oh, I haven’t,” Alar quietly remarked as he made for the stairs.

Within a few minutes, Alar had carried the bodies of Elvar and Grant downstairs and laid them in positions of repose beside the wall. The sight of his fallen comrades at last brought Fagan out of his state of enchantment and brought tears to the young buck’s eyes. And the sight of Fagan’s tears caused Alar’s eyes to water again as the many memories of Grant flooded back to him. They were most of them bad, but nevertheless this squirrel had been a major part of his life. Elvar he had known less long, but his wisdom and guidance had been invaluable to them all. The princess did not weep, but did her best to comfort the two bucks in their sorrow by placing her paws gently upon their shoulders and bowing her head out of respect.

When they at last recovered themselves, Alar looked to the door.

“It’s impossible to tell what time it is,” he said. “But it feels like we’ve been here an eternity already. We’re tired, but I doubt I could get much sleep under this roof. So, I suggest we leave now while it’s still daylight and get as far away as possible from this hell hole.”

“I concur,” spoke Ambrosia, looking around. “I have seen enough of this place to last ten thousand lifetimes.”

“Then let’s be off. We’ll lay our companions to rest outside. Then we can make for the road.”

“But is that really so wise, Alar?” questioned Fagan. “Some of Magus’s agents are still out there and mightn’t know that their master is dead.”

“True enough. But I hardly think it fit to drag a princess through a swamp after all she’s been through. And your leg isn’t up to such a hard trek, mate.”

“Of that we needn’t worry,” spoke Ambrosia. “Magus kept a stable with several fine horses in it. We could make much greater speed mounted than on foot.”

“An excellent suggestion. Where is this stable?”

“Around the back of the tower.”

And so, after hauling their two companions outside, Alar left Fagan to begin digging their graves while he went in search of horses. Indeed, Magus kept a small but well-tended stable of six beautiful chargers. Alar chose the lightest and swiftest of the three for mounts and loaded the other three up with provisions from Magus’s generously stocked larder, then brought them around to the front of the tower by the halters. Fagan had nearly completed his labor in spite of his wound, and with Alar’s help, their two companions were soundly laid to rest at the base of the tower in which they had fought their last battle.

“Skiouros knows they deserve better,” muttered Alar, planting Grant’s sword firmly in his grave mound. “But at least here we can mark their presence, whereas in the swamp any markers we made would soon disappear.”

Fagan nodded in agreement with his friend. Alar then helped the princess into the saddle of her horse.

“We may yet be attacked on the road,” he said once he and Fagan were likewise mounted. “But that’s a chance we’ll have to take. At any rate, we should be able to make a quick enough getaway now if necessary.”

“Agreed, my friend,” spoke Fagan. “Now let’s be quit o’ this terrible place once and for all.”

Alar saluted the grave mounds of their companions one last time, then prompted his horse to take the lead. The other mounts followed at a slow, steady trot. Whether it was mere good fortune or the fact that the destruction of their master had somehow reached their ears, the servants of Magus who had previously been searching for the party made no appearance anywhere along the road. As they encamped for the night at the Genatrix River, Alar listened to Fagan amusing Ambrosia with his exaggerated tales. His eyes were only half closed, so he was able to observe the lovely princess’s reactions.

Yes, for a doe, she was lovely, Alar decided. Her paws were slender and graceful, her fur a deep red hue, and her bright hazel eyes lidded by long, delicate lashes. And of course, she carried herself with all the dignity and manners that one would expect. She was every inch the princess, Alar concluded, and would doubtless one day make as fine a ruler as her father did now. Perhaps finer.

Every now and then she would stifle a giggle at one of Fagan’s remarks or exclaim softly “Oh, you brave squirrel!” Alar knew that she was merely playing along with the little rogue’s imaginings, but the fervor with which she did so bespoke one who was truly fascinated. Not so much by the tale as by the teller. He smiled to himself as he closed his eyelids at last. Even had all the rest of the company survived, there was no doubt in his mind that Fagan would have been the one to win Ambrosia’s heart. For despite her own propriety and grace, or perhaps because of it, she found the young buck’s energy and sheer bombast irresistible.

Yes, dear Fagan has found his match, he mused to himself just before drifting off. Now it’s high time I returned to mine.

But before his musings could take him down the long road to Adam, and the confession that awaited at the end of it, he had fallen fast asleep.

It took but six short days to get back to the capital on horseback. By the time they arrived, they were well recovered and quite ready to make a splendid entry into the city. Exclamations of joy at the return of the princess could be heard all over as they rode through the streets, so that by the time they arrived at the stairs of the palace, nigh half the city was already in an uproar. They were permitted entry immediately and guided upstairs by Jacob. No sooner had he opened the doors to the king’s chamber than the princess rushed forth with open arms.

“Father!”

“Ambrosia!”

Alar’s heart leapt with joy at the sight of the king and his daughter reunited. They touched whiskers and embraced for nigh a whole minute before Ambrose turned to him and Fagan. The two bowed low.

“We return to you your lost daughter, Your Majesty,” Alar spoke for them both. “And the news that Magus is dead.”

“And welcome are both of these most precious gifts, my brave champions. But there were eight of you when first you set out. Are the two of you the sole survivors?”

Alar nodded.

“Alas, we are.”

“I am most sorry to hear that. Though I am, of course, glad for you both. And for all of Kentros. You have my sincerest gratitude, and on my oath you shall be rewarded as promised for your brave efforts, my good...”

“Alar, sire.”

“Fagan, sire.”

“Well, Alar and Fagan, I congratulate you on the successful completion of this most impossible of tasks. I confess, when you left my presence those long weeks ago, I had feared I had sent the finest warriors of Kentros to their deaths.”

“That is mostly true, sire. Our companions were far better warriors than us.”

“If I may, sire,” spoke Fagan then. “My friend here sells himself far short. ‘Twas his blade that put an end to ole Magus, so it was. And a fair number o’ rascally foes besides. He’s the true hero o’ this quest, no doubt.”

“Brave and humble,” remarked the king, shaking his head. “Truly, there are no qualities that you lack, Alar.” He turned to Ambrosia. “Well, daughter, I suppose they have told you of the promise I made to them when first they set out?”

“They have, father.”

“And you do not object to this?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then I ask you now, Ambrosia, are there any of these brave warriors whose paw you would favor in marriage?”

“They are noble squirrels both, I cannot deny. But as one is already betrothed, I can but choose he who is not.”

“Oh? And who might that be?”

“Fagan.”

“Really?” said the king, trying not to look too disappointed as he turned to the young bowsquirrel. “And do you, Fagan, agree to take my daughter as your wife?”

“Aye, sire. She is without doubt the most charming lass that ever this poor squirrel had the privilege to set eyes upon, and she is as wise as she is fair. Not if I searched a hundred years do I believe I could find a match as perfect as she.”

King Ambrose nodded in approval of the young buck’s carefully chosen words. “Then, I take it that you, young Alar, will lay claim to your just reward of the payment I offered, is this so?”

“Aye, sire. Since Your Majesty is so kind as to renew the offer.”

“Very well. Then it will be so. But what is more, we shall have a grand celebration, and a wedding. Nay, make that two weddings! For my daughter says you, too, are engaged, is it not so, Alar?”

“I am, sire. Though, if it please Your Majesty, I should prefer mine to be a quieter affair.”

“If you so desire it, then so it shall be,” said Ambrose graciously. “Nevertheless, you and your betrothed shall be invited to our grand celebratory feast, which I shall begin preparations for right away. Where do you live, Alar?”

“In the city of Telos, sire.”

“Aah, Telos. I’ve not been there in some time, I fear. No matter, return to your family there. Give them news of your safe homecoming. Then, please return hither with them and your betrothed.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“The same goes for you, my good Fagan,” said Ambrose.

“Thank you, m’lord.”

“Now then, it is nigh time for lunch. Please join us in the dining hall, good sirs. I should like nothing more than to hear your whole story from the beginning.”

“We would be honored,” said Alar with a bow.

“Right this way, sirs and my lady,” spoke Jacob, who proceeded to conduct the king, his daughter, and the two warrior squirrels downstairs to the dining hall. There they ate and drank as the two bucks narrated their harrowing tale. The king listened with utmost fascination, as did Ambrosia, even though she had heard most of this story before. King Ambrose was particularly saddened to hear of Elvar’s death, for the two had been good friends a long time ago. But he was equally pleased to hear of the end of Magus, who would trouble his land and people no longer.

“I shall have to send out parties to garrison the abandoned towers on the frontier, lest some unsavory elements find their way back into them again,” he mused aloud.

He then proceeded to ask questions about the bucks themselves, about their families and so on. He was naturally a bit surprised to hear that Alar was engaged to another buck, though he did not speak openly against it, and renewed his invitation at the end of the meal. Afterward the two were given guest quarters for the night, where they fell asleep in peace and comfort for the first time in nearly a month. Their quest was at an end. Now it was time to reap the rewards of their hard labors.