The Son of Alar

Chapter 6

Philip was not sure why he woke up. He was still tired, though perhaps a little less so. All he knew for certain was that he had a slight headache and was utterly alone. He didn’t need to open his eyes and look around the dark, still room to know that, but he did so anyway just to make sure. He felt the spot on the bed next to him. There wasn’t a trace of warmth left, so Rory had obviously been gone for a while. What could he possibly be off doing this time of night? And it was proper night now, if not the wee hours of the morning.

He sat up and sighed, suddenly feeling a little strange. What was it about that gray squirrel? He was always so warm and affectionate, but then disappeared without warning or trace once the fun part was over, even here where there was no danger of being caught.

But there is danger, Philip thought. What kind or how close, he couldn’t tell. It was just a tingle in the back of his mind, after all, and he shrugged it off.

“Well,” he said to himself. “No need to linger around here, I guess.” Rory’s earlier words about the streets being a little rough after dark didn’t bother him. He felt this sudden urge, this fierce desire to return to the palace and explain himself. To make sure Adam didn’t worry too much. Alar would yell at him, of course, and he would be forced to apologize—why was he always the one who had to ask forgiveness? But his love for Adam, coupled with that nagging urge to get away from this place, forced him to at last rise to his feet and get properly dressed. He opened the door and cast one final glance around the room to make sure he had everything. But before he could step into the corridor, he heard noises. Between the creaking of the bed next door and the cries of a doe in ecstasy, he discerned that someone was coming up the stairs. Could it be just another guest stumbling late to bed? No, these steps were very slow and deliberate, like someone who did not wish to disturb other guests. Or else, someone who simply didn’t want to be heard?

Philip wasn’t sure, but once again that instinct told him to close and lock the door. But was that really enough? He listened carefully, his ears straight up and alert. Then, as the steps reached the top of the stairs, he decided it was not and made for the window. He unlatched and lifted it. In the quiet of the night, the soft grinding of the wood sounded like thunder to the young noble squirrel. Thank Skiouros for the couple next door, he thought. He paused to see if the steps moved any quicker. They didn’t, though he thought he heard low voices. Heart beating rapidly, he slipped out of the window and closed it behind him, then clambered onto the roof. With nowhere else to go, he simply lay down above his window and listened, forcing his tail to lie as still and flat against the roof as he could.

It seemed like ages before another sound was heard. There was a brief rustling followed by more quiet voices directly below him. They were in his room! The conversation continued for a moment before he heard the window lift.

“Yeah, he’s slipped,” said the voice of whoever was looking out.

“Can’t have gone far, though,” said the other. “The bed’s still warm. Ugh! Warm and wet!”

The other one chuckled. “Well, that’s to be expected, now isn’t it? Come on. We’ll see if we can’t find him out there.”

He listened as the window closed, then they shuffled out of the room. Philip allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief, then shook his head.

Stupid squirrel! he told himself. Should’ve left the door unlocked! Now they know you had to escape out the window.

Well, whatever the case, they hadn’t pursued him onto the rooftop, so he supposed that was some small blessing. Still, he couldn’t wait around forever. He had to get out of here, and fast. Ideally before they got back downstairs.

He clambered quickly down, doing his best not to make too much noise, though it couldn’t be helped at times. Thankfully, all that tree-climbing practice back at Red Fields paid off, and he reached the street out back of the tavern in no time at all. He paused to catch his breath amid the warm, humid air. He couldn’t make out many scents other than the smell of horse from a nearby stable, but at least he was free. He then heard the rapid approach of footsteps from around the side of the inn.

Without pause for thought, he slipped down the next street and turned a corner as quickly as possible. He did not wait to see if they came his way or not, but immediately moved over to another, more open street. He did not care for the exposure, though at least there were a few other squirrels about. Most seemed either in a hurry to get off the street or else looked as though they would rather stay in the shadows. Few were especially interested in him, thankfully, save to make sure he wasn’t interested in them. So, he wandered on in the vague direction of the palace, or at least where he thought it to be. He could have sworn he’d passed this spot before, though whether that had been a few minutes or a few hours ago, he couldn’t tell. Strange how different Parras looked at night. It was hardly the friendly, vibrant city he knew by daylight. Even the lamplight still streaming forth from a few windows felt like the glare of baleful eyes searching him out in the darkness.

Suddenly he felt that tingle again as he passed an alleyway. Someone was watching him—following, even. He instinctively sped up his pace, but the unseen entity sped up accordingly. He cursed himself for not bringing his sword along. How many times had his father told him to never go about strange places without a weapon? Even as a boy on the farm he had always carried a knife. Now he didn’t even have that.

Stupid, stupid squirrel! he berated himself. Why didn’t you listen? Why do you never listen?

A hundred such thoughts assailed him one after the other, along with the brief notion that he could now see his pursuer. A quick turn of the head revealed a shadow in his peripheral vision. He didn’t pause to look for details on the figure. It was enough to know he was being followed, and at this time of night, it couldn’t be for a good reason.

He sped up again, almost to a run. The pursuer followed suit. He began to panic, his heart to race. He had to get back to the palace. He had to!

“Umph!”

Philip reeled as he rounded a corner and smacked nose first into the solid chest of a huge fox squirrel.

“What’s the hurry, mate?” spoke the stranger.

Philip cast one glance over his shoulder. The figure had disappeared. He sighed with relief.

“It’s nothing,” replied Philip. “Just…a little lost.”

“That’s understandable. This time o’ night everything’s turned upside down.”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you come with me? I’ll escort you where you’re bound.”

“I…” He hesitated. What had been a tingle before was now a full-blown churning in his stomach, especially when he spotted another shadow moving in from the corner of his eye. “I can find it from here, thanks.”

“Nonsense! It’s no trouble. We’ll make sure you get where you need to safe and sound.”

“No thanks,” said Philip, breaking into a run. He heard the squirrel utter something to his companions, but did not need to look back to know they were chasing him. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? Surely there were other targets out on the street they could catch easier.

But they’re after you, dumbass! he reminded himself, and ran even harder.

He turned another corner and ducked into an alleyway, then paused momentarily. His heart raced as his pursuers came nearer. Then at last they came to the mouth of the alley…and kept running. He was safe! At least for a moment. He wondered briefly if it might not be a better idea to creep farther down the alley and disappear into the shadows entirely. But who knew who or what was lurking back there? His apprehension and impatience won the day, and he poked his head out, but a moment too soon.

“Here he is, lads!” cried the big squirrel, who was only just turning the corner. The other two immediately turned and started running back toward the alley. He was trapped!

He backed slowly down the alley, not wishing to corner himself any sooner than he had to. Delaying the inevitable, he realized grimly as the three squirrels approached.

“Look here, we just want to talk,” said the big squirrel. “Or rather, our master does. So you’re coming with us.”

Philip shook his head, looking side to side for something he could climb. Nothing. Well, he resolved, may as well go down fighting. He waited for the first to approach, then reached out and took hold of his wrist. The unexpectedness of the move allowed him to take the knife the robber squirrel held and shove him back into the others.

“Oho, tricky, are we?” said the big squirrel, drawing his own knife. “Nab him!”

The other two closed in and he swung.

“Agh!” Clank!

Philip couldn’t believe how quickly he’d been disarmed and grabbed by the assailants, though one clasped a paw to his arm, proving his one stroke had not gone astray. The unarmed red squirrel grabbed hold of Philip and pressed him to the wall. Philip kicked out, scratching the wounded one in the leg.

“Ow! You little s**t!” exclaimed the squirrel, a gray. “Lemme knife him, Brod!”

“Help!” shouted Philip, remembering his voice at last. He found a huge paw clamped around his muzzle in a heartbeat.

“Shut up!” ordered Brod. “No knifing, Garric. But you can take his ear.”

Philip whimpered a little and kicked out weakly. So this was how his life was to end? Why hadn’t he listened to his father? Why had he even left the farm? He closed his eyes and braced himself for the knife stroke.

“There!” came a voice from farther up the alley. The three thugs turned, and Philip opened his eyes. He heard several pairs of feet advancing rapidly, but saw nothing around the big fox squirrel. At once the attackers seemed agitated and dropped Philip to face the new threat. They advanced on the interlopers, and he heard swords come out of sheaths. Suddenly the red squirrel bandit fell to his knees, grasping at his chest before falling to the ground. The wounded assailant, Garric, fought back with his dagger. The clash of steel against steel rang out in the night. The big fox squirrel struck back as well. Another red squirrel darted about and struck once, twice with his blade.

Flametongue! Philip recognized it. Father!

At last he placed himself where he could see Adam engaged in a duel with Garric, even as Alar fought with Brod. Suddenly the gray squirrel let out a jarring “Gack!” and grasped at his side, from which blood streamed forth. Adam stepped back as Garric fell beside his dead companion. Brod fought on against Alar with his knife and brute strength, but he was far too slow for the able swordssquirrel. With a final, spine-wrenching maneuver, Alar darted to the side, then leaped onto the big squirrel’s back and lay his blade across his throat.

“Hold still or die!” growled Alar.

In reply, the fox squirrel grabbed Alar’s tail. Before he could even give it a tug, there came a splash of red. He fell with a bloody gurgle, and suddenly Adam was by his son’s side.

“Philip!” he exclaimed, looking more distraught than Philip had ever seen him in his life. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“I…I…” he stammered.

“Come on,” spoke Alar with remarkable calm as he wiped his sword clean. “Let’s get back to the palace, quickly.”

So, they hurried back to the mouth of the alley, where Captain Corryn and two guard squirrels stood waiting.

“Three dead down that way,” Alar told them, and Corryn nodded.

“We’ll take care of it, sir,” he replied.

They moved on toward the center of town. Philip could not believe how simple it was for his parents to find the way, and felt doubly ashamed that he had so easily forgotten. Adam plied him with questions all the way, from “Are you all right?” to “What were you thinking?” Alar was ominously silent. Philip wasn’t sure whether he was genuinely preoccupied or simply waiting until they got back to explode. Either way, he felt utterly wretched.

They passed through the gate without much ceremony, one guard merely remarking, “Thank Skiouros you found him, my lord.”

Alar grunted in reply, then walked briskly on. They didn’t stop until they had marched all the way back up to Alar and Adam’s chambers. Adam sent for some water, then closed the door. They took their seats around the room. A heavy silence filled the air for a moment as Alar seemed ready to speak at last. He coughed a bit in agitation, and Philip noticed for the first time in his life just how old his father looked by the soft candlelight. Frail, even. Aged, no doubt, before his time with worry and hardship. And he, Philip, had caused a great deal of that worry. Especially tonight. Why, this squirrel had killed two others to save his life just moments ago, and Adam a third. Three horribly misguided squirrels who would never have a chance at redemption now. And it was all his fault. He wished he could curl up in his bed and cry, but just then Alar spoke, sounding not angry, but tired.

“Well, let’s hear it.”

“I wanted to investigate.”

“Investigate?”

“You know, see if I could find out anything about the attack.”

“By getting attacked yourself?”

“Well, no, I…”

“You disobeyed a direct order, Philip,” spoke Alar, leaning forward with some of his old vigor returning. “What did you think you could find out that we didn’t know already?”

Philip tried to think up an answer, but Alar continued:

“You’re sure this wasn’t just some elaborate scheme to see that gray again?”

“Rory had nothing to do with it,” Philip lied outright. “I just happened to run into him at the inn, and…”

“For f**k’s sake, Philip! Why can you never do as you’re told?”

Philip’s sympathy for his father momentarily dried up, and he shot back, “Why did you two lie to me about my parents all my life?”

Alar and Adam could not have looked more surprised if he had told them he had discovered he was a wizard.

“What do you mean, dear?” asked Adam.

Philip realized too late he would have to admit to eavesdropping, but decided it didn’t matter at this point. “I…I overheard you talking to the queen earlier.”

His parents exchanged troubled glances, and Alar sighed.

“It was done to protect you and the royal line,” he explained. “If anything were to happen to Trina and Ambrose, there would still be a legitimate claimant to the throne.”

“And I suppose I was to simply go on forever not knowing that Ambrosia and Fagan were my real parents?”

“Fagan…isn’t your father, Philip,” corrected Adam hesitantly.

“What? Then who is?”

Adam threw a mildly exasperated look at his mate. “Should we really be telling him all this?”

“He’s right, hon,” replied Alar. “He has to know.”

Adam sighed and continued with his explanation.

“King Fagan couldn’t produce an heir, so he and Ambrosia asked your father here to step in and, uh…help.”

Philip looked down almost disappointedly. So, he really was the son of Alar after all. He stood up slowly and walked over to the window as if in a daze, his arms folded tightly across his chest; gaze fixed on the floor. He stood there taking everything in silently for a moment. Then, all of a sudden, he snorted and smiled as though suppressing a laugh.

“What?” spoke Alar.

“So, what you’re saying is that you and Ambrosia…” He made a lewd gesture with his paws and giggled slightly.

“I was there too,” said Adam, placing a paw on Alar’s shoulder.

Philip’s eyes widened. “You mean you also…”

“Oh, no! I was just…helping your father out.”

Alar reached up and held his mate’s paw fast. “He’s as much your father as I am.”

Philip sat down once more in deep thought. It was all a bit much for one who was raised as a simple farm boy. His father interrupted his musings once more.

“Have you told anyone else about this?”

“Just…” He hesitated, sudden dread overcoming him. “Just Rory.”

“I knew it!” exclaimed Alar, rising. He slammed a fist into his other paw. “When I get my paws on that little s**t…” He shook his head. “He’s not a squirrel, but a rat with an overgrown tail.”

“You don’t know that he told anyone,” argued Philip weakly. Yes, he did, his heart said. You know damn well he did.

“If he’s such a good friend, then why did he leave you to find your way back alone?”

Philip couldn’t answer quickly enough, so Alar continued:

“Exactly! He found out what he wanted to know, ran off as soon as he could, then suddenly assassins show up on your way back to…” He left the thought unfinished, as though it was too terrible to utter.

Philip sat motionless, looking to his other father for some words of comfort. But Adam merely shook his head.

“He’s right, Philip,” he sighed. “There’s no other explanation for what happened.”

Philip slumped deeper into his seat, tears coming forth unbidden. “I f****d up really badly, didn’t I?”

“I’m afraid so.” Adam strode over and patted him gently on the arm. “But you’re safe now. That’s what’s important.”

But Philip only shook his head weakly. “I guess.”

Then Alar strode over. He was not angry, but the calmest Philip had seen him in a long time as he took up a spot on the other side of Philip and knelt down, placing a paw on the other arm as he looked straight into his son’s eyes. To Philip’s utter astonishment, his eyes glistened as well, and a single tear had found its way down his muzzle.

“I’m so sorry, Philip,” he said. “I know how strongly you feel for Rory, and I know how strongly you thought he cared for you. And losing that hurts. I’ve been there before.”

Philip wasn’t sure what was more surprising: his father’s use of Rory’s name or the idea that he had ever felt such hurt before.

“I suppose in the back of my mind, I was always afraid something like this might happen,” Alar continued. “That’s why I did my best to keep you from straying too far or exploring the city. But what I didn’t realize was just how much I was afraid of losing you. And when I saw how close we came to that tonight, I…” He held back a sob, and more tears began to trickle down his cheeks. “Your dads love you so much, Philip. I love you.”

Philip could resist no more, and slid from the chair awkwardly into his father’s arms.

“I love you too, dads,” he said, throwing one arm around Alar and holding the other out for Adam, who promptly joined in. And there they remained for some time, a huddle of tearful bucks in their awkward but heartfelt display. After a long moment, Alar lifted his head and spoke in a clear voice to Philip once more:

“I want you to stay in here tonight, all right?”

Philip nodded. “Yes, dad.”

“Good.” They all stood. “If you need anything, there’s a servant in the other room there.”

“I think I just need to be alone now.”

“Fair enough. It’s been a rough night for us all.” He looked around and sighed. “Well, sleep tight, son.”

“Good night, Philip,” bade Adam.

“Night, dads,” said Philip, and his parents at last retired to their bed chamber. Philip plodded over to the little guest bed by the window and sank into it. Gazing at the crack of night sky showing between the curtains, he whispered, “Oh, Skiouros…” He paused, not knowing what to say. “Thank you.”

He hadn’t time to think of anything more before his eyes closed and exhaustion took hold of him.