The Son of Alar

Chapter 4

Philip awoke to complete calm. Daylight was barely a factor in the sky, much less in the room he shared with Rory. He turned over and reached for the gray…who wasn’t there!

He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. Even in the dim light, it was clear that Rory had vacated his spot. His clothes were gone too, though it could not have been long, as his place was still warm. Philip sighed and looked out the window. It was a rather dreary day, and there seemed to be no one out and about in it. He sat up and stretched a bit, then decided to get dressed. He paused momentarily and smiled as he beheld the matted fur on his chest and stomach. He should clean himself up, he supposed, but he also needed to go and see what was going on. His parents were probably worried about him.

So, he slipped on his shirt and the rest of his clothes, made himself as presentable as possible, and stepped out of the bedroom.

To his surprise, there was no one in his parents’ quarters. So, he returned to the corridor and looked both ways. Again, he saw no one. Was it really so early? He thought about it a moment and smirked. Probably had a bit too much last night, most of them, he mused. He had always prided himself in his ability to hold his drink, a trait he had inherited from Alar.

As he continued along the corridor, he began to seriously wonder what was going on. At last he heard a distant noise from downstairs. So, he carried on at a brisk trot toward the foyer. He was just in time to spot the tail brush of a servant disappear into a side room. But the noise was coming from the gathering hall. Could there still be squirrels celebrating at this hour? But no, he decided. This did not sound like the noise of celebration. He made his way down the curved staircase, an unpleasant tingle starting to work its way down his spine.

When he reached the ground floor, he could hear voices. They were not voices filled with conviviality, but with concern. He walked to the door, which was half open. A servant looked at him as he went in, eyes filled with worry, but she made no move to stop him. Inside, he found a press of noble squirrels looking toward the head of the room in anticipation and talking in low voices. What exactly they were waiting for, Philip could not tell, as there was no one standing up there.

He took a moment to look around. The tables and chairs of the previous night’s festivities were still present, though the trappings and adornments were all gone. The room looked far blander—one might almost say bleak—by the light of day.

“Philip!”

He turned at the sound of his name just in time to be swept into a tight embrace by Adam. He returned the gesture in kind, though the intensity of Adam’s reaction took him off guard.

“I’m so glad you’re safe, dear,” continued Adam. “But where have you been?”

“I, uhh…”

“Yes, you know we’ve been worried sick about you?” Alar spoke as he strode over.

“Why? What happened?”

“It’s the princess,” explained Adam. “Her carriage was attacked last night.”

“What? Is she all right?”

“She’s fine, but Lord Athos was severely injured.”

“Will he live?”

“We don’t know,” replied Alar. “That’s what we’re waiting to find out. In the meantime, where were you after you gave us the slip last night?” He sniffed in Philip’s direction and recoiled a bit, looking him up and down. “Or rather, what were you up to and with whom?”

Philip could hardly believe his ears. He hadn’t given anyone the slip! He was seventeen now. Did he have to ask permission for every little thing? A thousand such thoughts flitted through his mind, and a few other choice words besides. But, deeming such an outburst unfitting for a lord’s son in public, he replied calmly, “I was with Rory.”

“Rory?” repeated Adam, his tail curving into a question mark.

“Yeah, this nice gray squirrel I met last night.”

“Oh yes, I remember now. I saw you two together near the punch bowl, but then you disappeared. Where were you two…getting acquainted?”

“Why does it matter?” said Philip.

“That’s not an answer,” spoke Alar. “Where did that gray take you last night? Did you leave the palace?”

Philip could tell by the icy look in his father’s blue eyes that he could not worm his way out of this one.

“No, we just…”

He was mercifully saved from further interrogation by the arrival of Prince Ambrose. He stormed into the hall, fires blazing in his eyes. He made for the head of the room, barely giving people a chance to part before him. He ascended the dais and turned to address the assembly.

“People of Kentros,” he began. “I come bearing some good news on this most dreadful morn. It appears that Lord Athos, who was severely wounded in several places, may yet pull through.”

A few half-hearted cheers and soft clapping from a couple of ladies ensued. The prince waited for silence to resume before continuing:

“He is not out of danger yet, of course, but please pray for his swift and full recovery. Princess Trina is unharmed, though badly shaken. Thus, thanks to the efforts of our brave guards, it looks as though this cowardly assassination attempt was a complete failure.” He paused for a moment, then his gaze hardened as he proceeded. “But rest assured, the same will not be said of those responsible for this vile act. I promise you now that they will be found out. And when they are, no force in heaven or on earth will save them from the justice that is due them, if I have to hunt the whole lot down and administer it personally. In the meantime, my good squirrels, you are welcome to stay on or return home as you see fit, now that the wedding will have to be postponed indefinitely.”

He stepped down from the dais and made for the door, leaving the crowd to explode into a confused hum of voices discussing the prince’s pronouncement.

“Your Highness!” Alar hailed him as he strode by. Ambrose stopped and turned as Alar walked over to him. They held a brief conversation, and the prince nodded, at which point Alar waved his family over.

“Follow me,” said Ambrose, and they left the room without a word. He led them across the foyer to a smaller side chamber on the right. The curtains were drawn, making the view inside very dim, but in a bed by the window, Philip could see the wounded baron. A shiver went down his spine on beholding the bloody bandage on his bared shoulder and a cut near the base of one ear. His other, presumably more severe wounds were hidden beneath the blanket that covered his body. Sitting beside the bed was Princess Trina, fighting back tears as she grasped her fiancé’s arm tenderly. Philip could tell she had already shed many tears by her red-rimmed eyes and the channels of damp fur running down either side of her muzzle. On the other side of the bed stood a nurse, the king and queen beside her looking very solemn.

Alar and Adam strode directly over to Trina to offer their sympathies.

“Oh, thank you!” she said, rising and embracing Alar tightly to keep from shedding further tears. “It was so horrible!”

“I know, dear, I know,” spoke Alar, giving her a comforting embrace in turn.

“Why? Why would they do such a thing? What have we ever done wrong?”

“Why indeed?” echoed Alar. “I don’t suppose you managed to capture any of the assailants?”

Fagan shook his head and Ambrose stepped forward.

“Alas, no,” he replied. “The approach of the guards and the carriage behind scared the cowards off.”

“Did you get a good look at any of them?” Alar asked Trina.

She shook her head.

“No. It was all over so quickly, and they wore hoods to cover their faces.”

“Hmm,” was all Alar could say.

“Well, you’re safe now, dear,” said Adam. “That’s what matters.”

“Safe?” scoffed Ambrose. “None of us is safe as long as these assassins are on the loose! If they attacked the royal family once, who’s to say they won’t do it again?”

Alar shook his head. “Assassins are not aimless killers. They have a set target, perhaps a pawful at most, and that’s all. Anyone else who gets hurt was just in the way.”

“What you say may well be true, Alar,” spoke Ambrosia. “But it is little comfort to us or our daughter at this time.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty. I wish we could do more, but I believe the efforts to find these assassins are in more capable paws with the prince and Captain Corryn in charge. However, I am more than willing to offer my sword to protect this household, if you will have it.”

“To be sure, there’s no one in the world I’d trust more readily with my life or the lives of my kin than you, my brother,” Fagan spoke up. “Of course we accept for as long as the offer stands.”

“We will stay as long as it takes,” Alar affirmed.

“Thank you, my dear baron,” said Ambrosia. “Once again.”

A quiet pause ensued, in which they all looked once more to the convalescent. Fagan at last sighed and turned to Ambrosia.

“Well, I think first thing’s first. We’ve still got guests to look after. Has the cook got breakfast on yet?”

“I’m not sure, but you’re right,” said Ambrosia. “Let us find out. Will you be joining us, dear, or shall we send a plate in?” she added, turning to Trina.

“I think I will stay for the moment, thank you.”

“Very well.”

And with that, Ambrosia led the way out, followed by her husband and son, then Alar’s family. Philip was the last one out, and he cast one final look at the wounded baron before leaving. To think that such a lovely night for him and so many others could have turned out so tragic. He left the room and quietly shut the door behind.

The rest of the morning went by in a blur. Philip barely remembered the details later. They had a light breakfast with less conversation than usual and the occasional intrusion of servants to deliver messages to the royal family. Afterward, everyone seemed to be moving about at once. Prince Ambrose took a pawful of guards out to investigate the scene of the attack while Alar conferred with Captain Corryn about securing the palace. Philip had not seen his father so animated in years, and once again felt a tinge of grudging admiration, though he stayed closer to Adam for the most part. He managed to sneak away once to check Rory’s room, but found it empty with the bed neatly made as though nothing had ever happened. He spotted Lord Halos once or twice: a tall, saturnine gray squirrel with a somber face and sad, brown eyes. He wanted to ask where Rory was amid all the hubbub and ensure that he was all right, but the severe old squirrel proved too intimidating to approach.

Eventually Alar returned to his family and heaved a tired sigh.

“Well, we’ve done about all we can to make the palace secure against outside threats,” he said. He paused as though he had more to add, but refused to say it for some reason. Adam nodded, apparently understanding the unspoken words.

“That’s good,” he said. They paused, and once more Alar’s penetrating gaze fell on his son.

“That means no more escapades with your little gray acquaintance there. Henceforth, you’ll have to stay much closer to home. In fact, you might do well to stay in our chambers instead of yours.”

Annoyed by Alar’s reference to his “little gray acquaintance,” Philip retorted, “But why? It’s only royalty they’re after.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and in case you’ve forgotten, you’re the son of a noble family. That could be enough to make you a target.”

“But what’s that got to do with avoiding Rory? He’s the ward of a noble too. What if they target him as well?”

“Not likely. He’s a gray for one. And frankly, I don’t trust him.”

Philip stepped back, appalled. “That’s not fair! Just because he’s gray…”

“You know damn well that’s not what I meant, Philip!” exclaimed Alar, doing his best to keep his voice down despite his rising temper. “Now quit this whining backtalk and just do as you’re told for once!”

Philip scowled at his father. He wanted to say something back, something that would embarrass him in front of his precious noble friends. But he could think of nothing, so he merely turned away and stalked toward the door.

“Where are you going?” demanded Alar.

“To lock myself in my chambers where it’s nice and safe,” Philip replied with more than a hint of annoyance.

Alar took a step to go after him, but Adam held him back.

“Let him go, hon. He can’t possibly get into any trouble in his room.”

“Not as long as he’s alone, perhaps.”

Adam shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Rory’s one of the squirrels Ambrose took with him to investigate.”

Alar hesitated, but was apparently satisfied with that, as he let Philip leave unhindered.

The young squirrel had to brush a tear away as soon as he was out of the room. Why did his father have to be such a prick all the time? He felt a little sorry for his other father, having to constantly placate that irascible temper. Why couldn’t he just be left alone like a normal squirrel to live life as he wanted? What was it that made Alar treat him differently from everybody else, including his brother? He did not understand, and probably never would.

He marched upstairs and down the corridor to his room, which he shut and locked as promised. He went over and sat down hard on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, and sighed. He tapped a foot on the floor and looked around. This was going to be a dull afternoon indeed with nowhere to go and no one to talk to. Still, he reckoned he’d make the most of it. He got up and went over to rummage around in his bag. He pulled out an old book that had once belonged to Adam. Adam had always been more refined than Alar, who Philip doubted had ever read a book in his life.

He sat down on the bed again, then thought better of it. Might as well get comfortable if I’m not going anywhere, he reckoned. So, he set the book aside, undressed, then took it up again and lay upon his bed propped up on his elbows. Much better! he thought as he opened up and began reading.

He could see why his father loved and reread this book so many times. A tale about a young squirrel arriving on a mysterious island from some distant shore to perform noble deeds, meet his life’s love, and live out his days in peace and plenty. What a wondrous existence that would be! If only some rogue current could sweep him off to some exotic isle, far away from his troubles, and especially far away from his father. In his mind, he traveled to that distant, dream-filled land of good food and beautiful bucks. The wonderful tastes, the mischievous antics he and his new friends got into…

He sighed as the biggest, handsomest of them, a gray squirrel with deep brown eyes and an irresistible smile came closer, a knowing gleam in his eye. Philip leaned forward expectantly. The gray’s expression suddenly grew worried, and he reached out with both arms. The red instinctively mirrored the gesture, reaching, reaching…

Clunk!

Philip awoke abruptly to find himself staring at the floor. He quickly rose onto his elbows, rubbing his lower jaw. He had to be more careful about reading fantastical novels before bed. Not that he’d meant to fall asleep, of course. He looked up to see the sun had almost set.

“Damn,” he remarked, rubbing his eyes and hauling himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Evidently the morning’s excitement had taken its toll on him. Along with the previous night’s, of course. He wished he could have Rory here right now, as a matter of fact. Where was that squirrel amid all this chaos? And why had his room looked totally abandoned? Was he the only one who cared?

Maybe I should go and find out, he thought.

But first, of course, he supposed he ought to go and apologize to his father for making such a scene. He didn’t want to. Every fiber of his being recoiled at the thought. But it was expected of him, and deep inside he knew that he had been wrong to deal with the situation as he had.

So, heaving a sigh from his broad chest, he rose and got dressed, then unlocked the door and hauled it open. He looked up and down the corridor. All clear. He stepped out and closed the door. He made for the stairs at first, but then noticed the door to his parents’ chamber was ajar.

Strange, he thought. Adam was usually more careful about such things. He heard muffled voices from within and pushed the door open a little wider. There was no one in the antechamber, so he stepped inside. The voices were coming from the bed chamber, and at first Philip hesitated to approach. He hated it when he accidentally intruded on his parents during one of their intimate sessions. But these weren’t unintelligible noises. There were actual words, and occasionally a female voice. The queen? He stepped up to the door, which was firmly closed, and pressed his ear to it.

“…safe to leave the palace now.” It was Alar speaking. “And it may not be for some time.”

“But how?” Adam spoke. “Surely these assassins have to be caught sooner rather than later?”

“Not necessarily,” Alar said. “They haven’t been caught yet, and the longer it takes, the less likely they are to be caught. Remember Rowan and his rebels? Theirs was a feud going back generations. This could end up the same way. Unless, of course…”

There was a brief pause, and Philip feared he might have missed something. But then Ambrosia spoke.

“Unless what?”

No answer was forthcoming. It wasn’t like his father to hesitate like that.

“Unless what, Alar?” asked Ambrosia again. But it was Adam who answered.

“Alar believes that the plot may emanate from within the palace itself.”

“Fagan thinks something like that as well.”

“We have to face the possibility, Ambrosia,” Alar continued. “Who or why, it’s hard to tell, but it simply doesn’t make sense that anyone outside the palace would stand to gain by assassinating the princess, or even the whole royal family. We are at peace with our neighbors, harvests have been good, and our merchants have been seeing better profits than ever, as I understand it. The next in line should the entire family be wiped out is the royal minister, but Trellon’s loyalty is beyond question. That narrows the possibilities down considerably.”

“What are you suggesting?” spoke Ambrosia, a nearly undetectable edge creeping into her voice.

“Well…” Alar hesitated for a long moment before stating plainly, “Ambrose is next in line to inherit should anything happen to Trina, is he not?”

“That’s absurd!” exclaimed Ambrosia. “My own son?”

“I’m merely stating the facts, not accusing him. He’s leading the search for the culprits, after all, and seems to be taking the matter very seriously.” He paused. “On the other paw, what better way to cover up one’s guilt than to volunteer for such a task?”

“It sounds as though you’ve already made up your mind against him despite your words.”

“All right, so I have my suspicions! I’ll admit, there is something that’s struck me as a little bit off about that buck from the very start. Something in his eyes, his intensity…”

“You tread a very fine line, Alar,” spoke Ambrosia in the quietest, deadliest tone Philip had ever heard her use. “I pray you do not cross it.”

Another pause ensued, followed by a sigh from Alar.

“Perhaps Ambrose will miraculously come up with a culprit. Perhaps he will even get this apparent culprit to confess. Then he may be punished and all parties put at ease. But only time will tell if they are right to let their guard down.”

Another silence ensued, at the end of which Ambrosia let out a curt, irritable “Hmph!” then spoke in a calm, level voice again. “And what of Philip? Does he know?”

Know? Know what? wondered Philip. No answer came, and he assumed his father must have answered wordlessly.

“Are you planning to tell him?” she continued.

“I was hoping to put it off for as long as I could…”

“He has to know sooner or later, dear,” Adam urged. “Especially now that…”

“I know,” said Alar. “Which is why I have to tell him. Tonight, if possible. He has to know his true origins, or else he might find himself in danger from this plot without understanding why.”

“Agreed,” said Ambrosia.

Philip stepped away from the door, his head spinning from the conversation. His true origins? What did he mean by that? Was Alar not really his father? His first instinct was to simply barge into the room and demand answers. But no, that wouldn’t do. He needed to take time and think about things, like Tuck had told him. And for that, he needed fresh air.

He turned and hurried out of the room, surprised and relieved that he had not been caught by some servant wandering in by now. He made for the foyer at first, but realized walking out the front door was out of the question. The whole palace had been locked down. Perhaps he would be permitted to take a stroll in the garden?

He returned to his room, resigned to his fate until suddenly it dawned on him. There was a way out! He shut and locked the door again, then ran to the window and lifted it open. Yes, there it was! He reached out and grabbed the gutter, pulling on it to test its strength. It was well bolted in place. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he looked down. At least he wasn’t wearing his absolute finest, though it was still a very nice shirt and trousers. No doubt Adam would reprimand him in that gentle way of his. Philip felt a pang of guilt at what he was about to do. But it had to be done.

Summoning all his youthful tree-climbing experience, he took firm hold of the gutter pipe and hauled himself out the window. The height itself didn’t bother the young buck as much as the prospect of being spotted from afar by some terribly alert guard patrolling the grounds. So, he descended as rapidly as he could, one paw below the other, each foot probing for some purchase below on the wall or else some bracket holding the gutter spout in place. Within mere minutes he had touched the ground. He checked his surroundings to make sure he hadn’t been seen. Then, without hesitation, he worked his way toward the hedge-covered fence.

His heart raced more than he had expected. After all, what he was doing wasn’t really so wrong, was it? He was merely going out for a bit of fresh air. He’d be back well before dinner—before he was missed, even. Consoling himself with that thought, he came to a neatly shaped tree beside the hedge and quickly scrambled up the side facing away from the palace. As soon as he reached a substantial limb, he took hold of it and hauled himself atop it. The branch bowed ever so slightly beneath his weight as he crept out toward the end. No longer was his heart racing with fear, but excitement. He was free at last!

He dropped neatly down to the ground on the other side of the fence and stood up. He looked around to find himself on a side street scarcely populated by this point in the evening. Perfect! He brushed himself off, stuck his paws in his pockets and ambled casually down the street. How he would get back equally unnoticed was of little concern to him right now. He would worry about that when the time came. Right now he was hungry, and just a bit thirsty as well. He strode confidently off in search of a solution to both.