The Trials of Alar

2

Alar threw on his shorts and buttoned the fly, then rushed out of the bedroom. Another knock sounded out just as he grabbed the doorknob. I must be getting slower! he thought playfully as he turned it and opened the door to reveal a gray squirrel dressed in the velveteen finery of a Kentroan noble. The signet of an oak sprig with two acorns attached on his ring and corselet showed him to be of the royal court. A cap with a single feather sat upon his head and a smile upon his muzzle. He held the reins of a big brown horse in his left paw.

“Greetings, sir,” he spoke. “Are you Alar, son of Ruskin?”

“I am,” replied Alar as Adam appeared behind him wearing his shorts and a loose cotton tunic.

“Very good, very good. Then I have not gone astray.”

“Who are you, sir?” asked Alar.

“But of course!” The squirrel extended a paw, which Alar shook. “My name is Trellon, and I come on behalf of His Majesty, King Fagan and Her Majesty, Queen Ambrosia bearing a message. Might I come in, sir?”

“Of course,” said Alar, stepping over the threshold. “I’ll take your horse to the barn real quick. My husband Adam will look after you.”

“Splendid,” said the gray, passing the reins to Alar and removing his cap as he stepped inside.

“Right this way, Mister Trellon,” said Adam, conducting him toward the kitchen. “I’ll just put the kettle on.”

Alar led the big horse off to the barn, where he put it in an empty stall and gave it some fodder and water. All the time his mind went over what could possibly bring a messenger from the royal court all the way out here. He hadn’t heard from dear Fagan and Ambrosia since he and Adam had attended their coronation some three years ago now. That had been a bittersweet time, for it had meant seeing his friends elevated to the rulership of Kentros, but only due to the death of Ambrosia’s father, King Ambrose, the squirrel to whom he owed so much. He had often thought about writing or even visiting the reigning couple since then, but had always been too busy, it seemed.

He closed the stall door and left the barn, then headed back to the house. Dread gnawed at him with every step he took. What if it was more bad news like before? Or could it be that the two had finally given birth to an heir? He hoped it was something like that as he neared the door.

“Well,” he told himself, “only one way to find out.”

He went inside and made for the kitchen at the back of the house, where he found the messenger comfortably seated at the little dining table while Adam readied a tray with the tea and some candied acorns on it. A quick look from his mate told him that the visitor had revealed nothing yet as he took a seat opposite him.

“So tell us, Mister Trellon,” he began. “What brings you so far from the court in search of me?”

“Well sir, in ten days, His Majesty King Fagan will be leaving the capital with a small entourage on one of the greatest diplomatic missions of the last century.”

“And what mission is that?” asked Adam as he served up a tray bearing a carafe of elderberry tea with candied acorns decoratively arranged around it. He then took a seat beside Alar.

“He will be traveling east through the mountains to visit Boarra, capital city of the Kingdom of Corallia. There he shall meet with their king, Basil II, to sign a peace treaty between our two realms.”

“But we’re not at war with Corallia, are we?” asked Adam.

“Not actively, no. But nor have we been on the friendliest terms for the last fifty years. This treaty will change that, and will bring our realms closer together through trade and possibly the assurance of mutual defense.”

“Intriguing,” remarked Alar. “But what’s this got to do with us?”

“Well sir, Their Majesties would like to request that you join King Fagan’s retinue as part of his personal guard.”

“Does he expect trouble, then?”

“Not per se, but it only makes sense to be prepared for all eventualities.”

Alar did not like the evasiveness of the reply, but before he could press the issue further, Adam exclaimed, “Sounds like quite an honor!”

“Oh, it is, I assure you. Though, His Majesty would be equally honored if you were to accept.”

Alar paused for a moment in silent thought. There was something more to all this. Something this messenger wasn’t telling them, though he couldn’t quite put a claw on it. He leaned back in his chair and shrugged.

“Why us, though? Surely there are plenty of guards to draw on in the capital.”

“Indeed there are. However, for this particular venture abroad, King Fagan wishes to show only his finest. And you, the squirrel who slew the dark wizard Magus and saved our beloved queen, are without doubt among the finest in all the lands.”

“That was years ago,” said Alar, waving his paw dismissively. “I doubt I could do anything like it again.”

“Sure you could,” Adam piped up, nudging his mate in the shoulder. “You still practice with your swords regularly. You’ve even trained me a little.”

“For self-defense, yes, but…”

“And that’s exactly what this would be, right sir?”

Trellon nodded. “Indeed. If even that much.”

“Then I don’t see any reason you wouldn’t be able to go, do you dear?”

Alar shot a look of disbelief at Adam as he replied calmly, “No, I suppose not.”

“Splendid!” exclaimed Trellon. “And you are, of course, welcome to bring your husband on this venture as well.”

“The king said that?” It was Adam’s turn to be surprised.

“Indeed he did. He and the queen remember you with great fondness as well.”

Seeing how quickly his mate was being won over, Alar decided to bring the conversation to a swift conclusion.

“We’ll have to think about it,” he said. “After all, we’ve got the spring planting to consider, and…”

“But of course!” exclaimed Trellon. “We would not ask you to make this decision right away. Please, take time to think on it first. We will not be departing for another ten days. If you wish to join us, you need only present yourself at the royal residence before that time.”

Alar nodded slowly. “Very well. Then you will see us there, if you are to see us at all.” He rose and shook the messenger’s paw.

“Indeed, sir. And thank you for the delightful tea and acorns,” he added with a gracious nod to Adam. “I’ve not tasted such good nuts since I was a boy, even from the royal kitchens.”

Adam dipped his head modestly. “Thanks.”

“I’ll escort you back to your horse,” said Alar.

And so, the burly buck accompanied the gray messenger to the barn, where he saddled up and thanked Alar again for his hospitality.

“I do look forward to seeing you two again at court. Should you decide to come, of course.”

“Of course. And thank you for your message, sir Trellon. Give my regards to the king and queen.”

The messenger nodded, then trotted outside. Alar walked to the barn door and leaned on the frame as he watched him go. Trellon trotted down the path to the main dirt road, smiling to himself all the way. King Fagan had been absolutely right: a lovely and loyal couple. He had little doubt that he would be seeing them again. He then turned north and took off at a gallop up the road.

Alar watched until the last of the dust cloud kicked up by the horse’s hooves had dispersed, then sighed and rubbed his brow. So much for a quiet, peaceful day. He turned and propped the barn doors open, then set to work letting the horses out to graze.