The Trials of Alar

4

"Right, Ken, it’s all yours. Take good care of it.”

“Will do, sir,” replied Kendrick the farm helper as he accepted the keys to the house and the stable from Alar. Alar then cast a glance at Adam, who was already mounted and waiting by the road.

“And if we should fail to return within a couple of months,” he continued in a low voice, “feel free to consider the place yours.”

“I’ll wait as long as it takes,” said the burly red squirrel. “But thank you, sir.”

Alar turned and looked over the fields and forest that made up his estate—the estate King Ambrose had given him all those years ago, and which had since become more a home to him and his mate than their birthplace. And now they were leaving it behind, possibly forever. It was absolute madness to abandon such a paradise for lands and perils unknown. And yet, he knew deep inside that it was the right thing to do. He had thought and prayed on the matter several times these past few days, and the only conclusion he could reach was that he had to go. Perhaps Adam was right. Perhaps he had grown too comfortable here and needed a change of pace. Not that this would be a rollicking, danger-filled adventure like his last one if Trellon was to be believed. But all the same, it would be a trial for him. A test of sorts. And he had to overcome it. For the sake of his mate as much as for himself.

Alar nodded, then mounted his horse and trotted over to where Adam was waiting. At his hip was his favorite sword through countless ordeals, Flametongue. It was such a beautiful weapon, old and well used by several generations before Alar, but of exquisite craftwork and well cared for by every one of its wielders. It had served him admirably through many a tight situation before, and he had full faith in its ability to see him through again.

They cast one last look around, then Adam sighed.

“Well, come on, dear,” he said. Though he was likewise just a bit downcast at the prospect of leaving Red Fields behind, the smile on his muzzle and the twitching of his tail showed that his excitement far outweighed his apprehension.

“Right,” Alar spoke at last. He nodded once more to the caretaker. “See you, Ken!”

“See you later, sir,” said Ken with a salute and a wave.

The two squirrels waved, then turned and began the long ride to the capital. It would take a few days, and along the way they would pass through their old home city of Telos.

“Think it’s still the same?” asked Adam later that day.

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Alar cynically. “Who there has the power to change anything?”

“What about the orphanage? Surely it’s still up and running.”

“Probably. And just as full as ever I’m afraid. I don’t know if it’s still being looked after the way it ought to be since Father Rufus died, though.”

“Ahh, good old Father Rufus,” Adam sighed. “One of the few squirrels who was ever decent to us growing up. It’s a shame he’s gone.”

“Aye. But he’s more than earned his place up there, so don’t be too sad. You know he wouldn’t want that.”

“No, I suppose not.”

And so they rode on, stopping at the inn of the small market town of Helion at sunset. It was at the market here that the excess produce from Red Fields was sold, usually by Kendrick on their behalf.

They awoke refreshed and carried on the next morning. Adam was clearly happy to be out on the open road, and this fact alone made Alar feel a little better. His mate had the right idea, he decided. He should stop worrying about the future so much and savor the feel of getting away from Red Fields for a bit. Of reminding himself what the big wide world was like.

The second night they halted at a little roadside tavern. Alar had always considered it a gem in the middle of nowhere, for not only were its rooms kept neat and tidy, but they offered a delicious brand of mead that he couldn’t seem to find anywhere else.

On the third evening, they finally arrived on the outskirts of Telos.

“Well, there it is,” said Adam.

“Aye. Same as always, looks like.”

They paused for a moment to take in the sight. It was not an altogether familiar sight, as they had been used to seeing it only from inside the walls for most of their lives. Still, it was enough to evoke memories both good and bad.

“Well, best get it over with,” said Alar, urging his horse on.

They proceeded into the city proper and looked around at all the familiar places from their youth. They attracted quite a few stares themselves, as riders of any kind were uncommon among all but the wealthiest of Telosians, especially riders in such well-made clothing. Alar had never been one for fancy or fashionable dress, but Adam had been trained as a tailor, and still very much appreciated quality textiles. His embroidery work made their otherwise plain rural traveling garb stand out amid a sea of threadbare, ill-fitting tunics and trousers.

They passed a tavern that had once been a favorite establishment of many in their neighborhood, and still looked to be doing a good business. Alar’s late guardian Ruskin had been a teetotaler, though he himself had stopped by now and again in his youth. Adam’s guardian had frequented it, much to Adam’s chagrin some evenings in his early childhood. Adam was tempted to stop by and see what some of the locals had been up to the last few years, but Alar thought they ought to keep moving.

“There’s nothing going on here that won’t still be going on when we come back,” he said.

“It wouldn’t take that long,” said Adam. “Just a quick drink and lunch, then we’ll be on our way.”

Alar sighed, seeing his mate wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“All right. Let’s get it over with, then.”

The two dismounted and walked over to the hitching posts, giving a nearby lad a coin to look after them. They strode inside and took a look around. It was just as run down and shoddy as they remembered it. The patrons, a mix of hard-working respectable citizens and ne’er-do-wells, sat around splintering tables in chairs that rocked from the unevenness of their legs drinking cheap brew from dirty mugs. The smell of that brew and overcooked, greasy food wafted over to greet them as they carried on toward the bar. An old gray squirrel with a lazy eye nodded in their direction.

“What’ll it be, m’luds?”

“The usual, if you don’t mind, Greg.”

The barkeep paused and squinted with his good eye at the patron. Suddenly it widened.

“Alar? Is that you?”

“Aye.”

“And you were the young tailor’s apprentice. Er…Alan, was it?”

“Adam, sir.”

“Aye, that’s right, Adam! Well I’ll be. How've you lads been these long years?”

“Better than ever.”

“Well, you ain’t living here, so that goes without saying, don’t it?” He had a good laugh and the two bucks smiled. “Right, now let me see. As I recall, you liked acorn ale with a touch of honey in it, am I right?”

“You are.”

“And for you, Adam? The same?”

“Sure.”

The barkeep deftly pulled out a couple of mugs and filled them with the drink in question. He then placed the mugs before them and leaned in close.

“This one’s on the house, lads. Call it a welcome home brew.”

“Thanks, mate,” said Alar as he and Adam took their first sips. He closed his eyes to savor the taste a moment. “Ahh. Now I know I’m back in Telos. Hasn’t changed one bit.”

“So, what brings the two of you back after all these years?”

“Oh, we’re just passing through,” replied Alar. “We won’t be here long.”

“Oh, I see. Off to more important places, no doubt?”

“To the capital,” Adam blurted out, though a look from his mate told him he ought to say no more.

“Lot of traffic headed that way these days. I hear it’s quite the wondrous sight to behold. Not that these old eyes will ever see it.”

“Oh, you never know,” said Adam kindly.

“Oy! Barkeep! Another round here!” cried one of the patrons.

“If you’ll excuse me, sirs.”

The barkeeper whisked off to see to the customer’s need, leaving Adam and Alar alone to savor their drinks. They hadn’t time for more than a couple more sips before a big hulking red squirrel came up beside them.

“Alar! Long time no see, mate!”

“Carric! Good to see you too.”

“How’s married life working out for you?”

“Couldn’t be happier,” answered Alar for them both.

“Still doing cloth out in the country, eh Adam?”

“When I can. I’m not half as good as Gerald, alas. How’s he doing these days, by the way?”

“Gerald! Oh, I…guess you hadn’t heard.”

“Heard what?” Adam's whiskers and ears stiffened with simultaneous dread and curiosity.

“I don’t know quite how to tell you this, mate, but Gerald ain’t with us no more.”

“Oh.” He paused, then asked, “How’d it happen?”

“I’m really sorry to be the one to tell you this Adam, but…Well, Gerald was murdered.”

“No!”

Carric nodded. “Had a dispute with some foreign cloth merchant about a month ago and got a knife in the neck for his trouble.”

“That’s terrible,” remarked Alar, somewhat inanely, he thought.

“Aye.”

Sensing Adam needed a bit of time alone, Alar placed a paw on Carric’s shoulder.

“Come. I’ll buy you a drink and we can catch up a bit.”

“Thanks, Al.”

Alar touched Adam lightly on the shoulder and gave him a quick reassuring smile before moving off.

It was some time later when Alar and Adam emerged from the tavern, having said their goodbyes to their old acquaintances. As they returned to the spot where their horses remained under close watch, Alar spoke:

“I’m sorry, hon.”

“It’s all right. It was bound to happen sooner or later with his temper.” He smiled wanly. “It’s funny, he was never that great to me growing up. Treated me more like a slave than an apprentice at times. Yet, he had moments of kindness, as though he were trying to make up for all his cruelty or something. And to die like that…” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have wished such a fate on anyone.” He heaved a deep sigh and let it out. “Well, best be moving on, I guess.”

Alar nodded slowly. “Right.”

They mounted up and rode on down the main street. They soon came to the church near the heart of Telos, which they had attended every Sabbath day throughout their youth. Beside it was a relatively new structure with a sign above the door reading SAINT ALAR’S HOME FOR WAYWARD YOUTHS. It had technically been named for a long-dead saint—the one after whom Alar himself had been named—but everyone locally knew that it was really a tribute to the living squirrel who had been its main benefactor. Out front stood a gray squirrel wearing a worn out habit and ringing a little bell every time someone passed by.

“Alms! Alms for the orphans!” he cried.

Alar rode over and tossed a gold coin into his collection plate.

“Blessings upon you, sir!”

“Always glad to do my part,” replied Alar as he and Adam rode on. They soon passed into the finer part of town, where their attire and mounts drew less attention. They passed through without stopping, as they had no particularly fond memories of this quarter.

As they neared the northern gate, they were observed carefully by a gray squirrel in a dark cloak standing in the doorway of a house. He watched as they passed through the gate and carried on northward. Yes, they seemed likely candidates. It would be happening soon without a doubt. His compatriots would find this a very interesting development indeed. He turned and headed back down the street toward the tavern the pair had left just moments before.