The Son of Alar

Chapter 8

Rory trembled as he crossed the parlor floor. He still could not believe he was doing this. When he had heard Alar’s scheme, it had seemed so unlikely to succeed that he was only too glad to accept. But now he actually had to see it through, he found himself afraid. Pull yourself together! he thought. One sign that you’re up to something and you’re dead!

He went over what he was supposed to say in his head once more as he neared the door. He stopped just outside and sighed. Time to show some courage for once, he told himself, and opened the door. The reception chamber felt especially cold and empty at this wee hour, though he knew it was anything but. The moonlight cast magnificent shadows of swirling lines upon the floor as it streamed in through the grand windows at the far end. But this was lost on Rory as he walked past the throne of Kentros and approached a small, almost hidden door beside the window. Looking around first, he knocked three times in slow succession.

“Over here, Rory,” came a voice from behind.

Rory nearly leaped out of his skin as he whipped around to see a gray guardsquirrel standing behind the throne.

“Tonos! They agreed, then?”

“Aye,” said the guard. “We’re to go there now.”

“The usual place?”

“Of course.”

“And the guards?”

“That’s why I’m coming.”

“Ah.”

So, the lieutenant led the way back across the throne room and out the door. Rory followed, doing his utmost to act naturally despite the many eyes he knew were watching him from the shadows.

Remember, no harm will come to you as long as they’re there, he reminded himself. Just do your job!

With the lieutenant present, the gate guards stepped aside without question and allowed them to pass into the streets beyond. They then began the long trek to the east end of Parras. Rory looked side to side in his usual cautious manner as though to make sure they weren’t being followed. He thought he caught the shadow of a tail tip duck for cover. Good, they were still there. He felt a little less nervous knowing that Philip was watching his back.

It was a quiet walk, as expected. They arrived at the familiar tavern door and Lieutenant Tonos held it open for him.

“Thanks,” he said, stepping inside. As usual, the tavern owner ignored them as they walked straight to the back and down the cellar stairs. Rory took a deep breath and slowly, quietly let it out before descending. How he now regretted ever going down these stairs that fateful day.

Well, time to reap what you’ve sown, squirrel, he told himself.

They carefully descended in the half dark. Every step felt heavier and heavier to the young gray squirrel. Ahh, yes, there was the familiar creaky stair. There was that noticeable nick in the paw rail. Would he ever see it again?

At last they reached the cold stone floor of the tavern cellar. There, at the other end of the long chamber, stood the conspirators.

Good, they’re all here! he thought. At least, it was good for the plan in that they could all be caught at once. On the other paw, if things didn’t work out…

He wouldn’t think about that now. He would simply do what he was here to do, and the rest was in the paws of Skiouros. He stopped beside the lieutenant, and they both bowed.

“Ahh, you made it,” spoke Diana. “What have you to say for yourself, traitor?”

“My lady?” spoke Rory, genuinely perplexed.

“Oh, don’t think we don’t know what you’re about. We’ve figured out your little game.”

“Wha…No! No games. Just let me explain.”

“We’re not here for an explanation,” said Diana as Lieutenant Tonos drew his sword and advanced on the young mage. “We’re here for an execution.”

“Not so fast,” spoke Alar, stepping out from behind one of the wine racks. The conspirators paused momentarily. But before they could recover, the king, queen, Philip, Adam, and Princess Trina all appeared on the scene as well. The back door flew open, and Captain Corryn entered with several royal guardsquirrels and Lord Halos. Rory took advantage of the bustle to retreat out of Tonos’s reach.

“How could you, Ambrose?” spoke Trina first, hot tears of rage in her eyes.

Ambrose smiled sardonically at Rory. “You’re a traitor to everyone now, eh?”

“No, Ambrose,” spoke Rory, stepping back. “I’m finally choosing a side, and it’s the right one this time.”

“Ha!” scoffed Diana. “Then you will die with the rest here.”

“No one needs to die,” spoke Alar. “Just surrender now.”

Diana looked at Alar as though looking at a fly that had just landed on her plate. “Surrender? When you’ve brought all our enemies together for a convenient slaughter with your little plan? Not likely!” She turned to Rory. “I do owe you some thanks, my young friend, for bringing this happy meeting about. Ambrose was right, you have proved most useful.”

“Wha…” Rory looked completely bewildered.

“That necklace I gave you was no mere necklace, but a charm. Through it, I could hear all your conversations long before you told us.”

Rory tore the necklace off and flung it across the room, but Diana merely laughed.

“It’s too late for that. The damage is done, and so are you.”

“I give you one last chance to back down, my lady,” spoke Lord Halos, storms brewing in his dark eyes. “You know you are no match for my power.”

“We’ll see about that,” replied Diana with a smirk. She struck the empty wine keg behind her twice, and but a moment later, another dozen armed squirrels descended the stairs and flooded the cellar, cutting off any route of escape for the royal party.

“Now that we’re all here, I believe we may require a larger arena.”

Diana raised her paws and began to mutter an incantation in a language no one but Halos could comprehend. Her amulet glowed brightly, and a wind that should not have been possible even in a long cellar like this one began to blow. The candles went out, and the entire room disappeared, becoming a flat, gray plain extending endlessly to the distant horizon. Tall, jagged boulders jutted up from the ground and formed a loose ring around them. The ceiling transformed into a mass of storm clouds before their very eyes.

Philip was stricken speechless by the sight. He had heard tell of the things powerful mages could do, but this was beyond even his wildest imaginings. Was it all an illusion? Or were they truly transported to another realm? It was impossible to tell as Diana lowered her arms and smiled.

“There. That’s better.”

Only Halos, Alar, and Fagan seemed unfazed by the whole affair, and closed in cautiously.

Diana sent a bolt of lightning directly at them and gave a signal with her tail for the mercenaries to advance. Halos deflected the lightning bolt and began to launch spells of his own in her direction.

The plain erupted into chaos as the melee fighters clashed. Philip drew his sword and stood close to the royal family—his family. Adam and Fagan were also armed, and together they formed a defensive ring around Ambrosia and Trina. Philip could not believe how quickly things moved. His fathers had tried many times to describe what a battle was like, but even their detailed accounts couldn’t quite do it justice. He warded off every blow aimed at him just as he’d been taught, but rarely did he have the confidence to take the offensive. He left it to others like Fagan or Captain Corryn to lay the enemies low.

During a brief lull in attacks, he looked around the hellish landscape. So many enemies! How had Ambrose and Diana managed to build such a following in secret? Or had they simply bought the loyalties of many former guards? He did recognize a couple of faces in the enemy ranks. His heart raced as he beheld Alar confronting Ambrose, even as Rory joined his master in confronting Diana.

Oh please, Lord Skiouros, protect them all! he silently prayed as another of Ambrose’s thugs approached him. This was a big brute of a red squirrel, and despite his best efforts, Philip found himself pressed back. The queen and princess had to dodge to either side as Philip found his back up against a rock formation. The assailant lashed out once…twice.

“Ah!” Philip grasped his upper arm where his foe’s blade had nicked him. Through the stinging pain he felt a burning rage, and through that rage he saw an opening. In a flash his sword went up as his enemy raised his arm to strike again. The big squirrel winced and reached over to feel the mortal wound Philip had landed in his chest. He staggered back, then fell to the floor.

“Oh, Philip, are you all right?” asked Trina.

“Fine,” he replied distractedly. His attention was once more riveted to the fight between Diana, Halos, and Rory. It was hard to keep track of what was happening between all the flashes, but he thought the pair was making progress. Diana, now perched atop a boulder, seemed to be concentrating harder than before, her face contorted into a horrifying grimace. Who would have thought such a lovely vessel could contain such a twisted soul?

He then looked to the duel between Ambrose and Alar. The prince was very skilled, he could not deny. At first he was afraid his father might not be a match for his agility, but Alar held his own admirably. In fact, Philip couldn’t help thinking he was holding back. Despite all the bad things Ambrose had done, Alar still did not wish to harm his own son.

“Ambrose, help me!” cried Diana suddenly. The field she had put up against the assaults by Halos and Rory was slowly but surely being driven back. Ambrose, hearing his lover’s distress, redoubled his efforts against Alar. He managed to push him back several times, but that wasn’t enough. Finally, out of sheer frustration, he kicked him in the stomach. Alar fell to his knees in a fit of coughing.

Ambrose took advantage of the lull to run to Diana’s aid. Philip watched anxiously as he dove in to attack Rory. He missed. But he pressed on against the mage’s apprentice, forcing him to break off his attack on Diana and defend himself with a mere dagger. He warded off a couple of Ambrose’s blows, then struck out, but too soon. Philip’s heart skipped a beat as he saw Ambrose step aside and land a thrust in Rory’s leg. The gray squirrel stumbled away to the side and fell.

“Rory!” Philip cried. He could do little more, as he still had his mother and sister to defend. Rory held his wound, but did not seem to be in immediate danger anymore as his father stepped in to defend the gray. Philip watched with increasing anxiety as the two faced off again. His father fought off all of Ambrose’s blows and threw a few back at the prince. But Ambrose had learned the way of the blade from the best tutors in the land, and his youthful agility more than made up for any shortcomings. Thus, they fought their way around the strange arena, the older buck battling the stiffness in his joints as much as his opponent. But despite the bouts of coughing that occasionally wracked his frame, he never lost his concentration.

Nor did Lord Halos, who continued to press Diana despite the loss of his assistant. Truly, Philip realized, this ancient magician was a force to be reckoned with. Still, he needed help. Something to give him the edge needed to finally force Diana to yield.

He looked around for some object to throw, but found nothing. Only one thing for it, he decided. He turned to Adam.

“Dad! Hold my spot, would you?”

“Why? What are you…”

But Philip was already gone, dashing across the arena toward the eye of the storm.

“Philip, don’t!” cried his father. But Philip wouldn’t listen. He knew what had to be done if all this was to end. He did not stop for anyone or anything, but ran relentlessly onward. Even as a couple of mercenaries tried to stand in his way, he neatly sprang over them and kept going. Diana caught sight of him from afar and a look of fear flashed in her eyes for a moment.

“Ambrose!” she cried again. But Ambrose was hard pressed by his father, and could not break away. Onward Philip ran. “Somebody stop him! Kill him!”

But as Philip sped past Lord Halos, her fate was sealed. Her eyes went wide with terror and she stepped back just as Philip struck. His stroke fell upon thin air, but he had done his job. The momentary break in her concentration had given Halos the opportunity he needed.

“NOOOO!” screamed Diana as her field collapsed on her. A hot wind blew across the plain, knocking a few combatants flat. Philip himself went sailing through the air and skidded to a stop beside Adam, who knelt down and placed a paw on his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine,” replied Philip as he sat up. The hellish landscape had gone, and they found themselves in the tavern cellar once more, candles lit and everything. He watched Diana writhe on the cold stone floor for a moment in a daze. Lord Halos stood over her, panting hard.

“You, my lady, are under arrest.”

Diana groaned in response as he bent over and ripped off her golden amulet. He examined it carefully and nodded. “Very clever,” he muttered.

“No!” came a despairing cry from Ambrose. He lashed out at Alar more viciously and recklessly than ever. Several times Philip winced as blows rained upon his father, but each time Alar came out unscathed.

“Give up, Ambrose!” spoke Alar calmly after parrying another. “It’s not worth it. To begin your reign over Kentros by spilling the blood of the innocent…”

“Bah! A ruler must make examples of his enemies if he’s to be respected. This land has grown fat and weak in the years of prosperity. They could use a bit more order in their lives.”

“Life is too precious to throw it away so pointlessly.”

“The lives of those squirrels are what’s pointless!” retorted Ambrose, punctuating each statement with another thrust. “I will give them purpose when I rule.”

“Impose your purpose on them, you mean,” spoke Alar, skillfully deflecting the thrusts. “That is not the duty of a monarch. His power exists to ensure his people have the chance to live their lives as they will. Any king who uses it to do otherwise must be removed!”

As he spoke this last, he thrust his blade through the basket hilt of his son’s sword and tugged sharply. Ambrose’s sword went clattering across the floor. The prince merely stood there stunned as Alar’s sword point hovered beneath his chin. He turned to flee, but found himself facing a wall of wine kegs. He looked from side to side, but there was no way out.

“It’s over, Ambrose,” said Alar. “Surrender.”

Ambrose did not move to resist, but remained defiant as the royal guards surrounded him.

“I had hoped you would be able to share our vision, father,” he said. “I see you’re just like the rest.”

“Father?” repeated Trina, thoroughly confused.

“Your brother is rambling, dear,” spoke Ambrosia. She then whispered something quietly in Trina’s ear that seemed to soothe her.

Ambrose scowled at his mother, but said nothing to contradict her as Alar finally turned and walked over to Rory, sheathing his blade. Rory had managed to rise to his feet, though he leaned upon the staff Lord Halos had loaned him.

“That was a brave thing you did, Rory,” he said, extending a paw. “You have my thanks, and the thanks of this kingdom.”

Rory smiled and shook the proffered paw. “Anytime, sir.”

The sight and words warmed Philip’s heart. Everything had been put right with the capture of Ambrose and Diana, he was sure. But that feeling was short-lived as the cry rang out, “Look out, he’s loose!”

Time seemed to slow for Philip as he watched Ambrose spring toward Rory, knife drawn.

“Death to traitors!” he cried as he lunged forth and struck. Rory was too shocked to move as he looked his doom in the eye. Not even when the body of another squirrel slammed into him did he seem to comprehend that he was falling.

In the chaotic scuffle that ensued, Philip was completely numb. He did not even hear as Adam cried out in anguish, nor did it matter to him that Ambrose was once more in the paws of the guards and being hauled away, looking as shocked as the rest by what he’d done as Lord Halos held the charm that had once hung from his neck and cried for the rest to be collected. All that mattered to him were the two squirrels sprawled out on the ground: a gray sitting up and hugging his leg close in agony and a red who lay with his head in the arms of his loving mate. Alar breathed with greater difficulty than usual, though his gaze remained as calm as ever. Philip sank to his knees beside several others who had gathered around. Many eyes welled with tears, but the queen allowed them to flow freely. Philip tried not to focus on the bloody dagger lying on the floor, nor on the dark stain spreading on the side of his father’s tunic. He focused only on Alar’s steady gaze for as long as it lasted.

“Send for a healer, someone!” cried Fagan.

“I doubt I’ll be needing that, mate,” said Alar. “Not this time.”

“Here now, don’t be talking like that,” admonished Fagan weakly. “You’ve got to live. What on earth would we do without you?”

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty. I’m sure you’ll manage as well as ever.” He regarded the princess. “I’m sorry we didn’t meet sooner, Your Highness. But I know you will make a fine queen someday.”

Trina could not bring herself to speak, but nodded.

“Philip,” Alar addressed him next. “You were right…about Rory. He is a good squirrel, and I’m happy for you. Promise me you will look after your father...when I’m gone.”

“I promise,” replied Philip with a sob.

“I’m so proud of you, my son. Live your life, be happy, and know that…” He took hold of his and Adam’s paws. “I love you both.”

Every moment thereafter passed in a blur for Philip. Each of the gathered squirrels gave and received their farewells. It took an interminably long time for the palace chaplain, who doubled as the resident healer, to arrive. In the meantime, they debated whether or not to move Alar upstairs, but after one attempt that clearly caused him great pain, they decided to leave him where he was.

Philip could not remember the exact words spoken: only the old priest examining the wound and doing what he could to lessen the pain. He then gave Alar his last rites and placed a paw on his brow. Thereafter they waited in silence as the noble squirrel faded in and out of consciousness. At last a moment came when Philip was sure his father had passed. But after a brief silence, Alar opened his eyes once more and looked out the window. The first light had begun to creep in from the outside world. He motioned toward it and said in a weak voice, “Air.”

“Open it, quick!” ordered Fagan. One guard who had remained behind ran over and did so. Alar took a deep, shuddering breath of the fresh outside air as it came pouring in, then let it out.

“Much better,” he whispered, closing his eyes. His chest rose, then fell. Then it rose no more.