The Trials of Alar

8

The riding was fairly easy the first day, though it turned gray and began to drizzle a bit in the afternoon. The land northeast of the capital was flat and grassy with an abundance of farmsteads and small hamlets scattered throughout. It was a peaceful, rustic region which had seen little of war or strife throughout its long history. It was inhabited mainly by red squirrels, and was where Fagan himself had grown up. The incident of that morning was nigh forgotten as he regaled his companions with tales of his childhood in the little village of Hazelwood.

“Ahh, those were grand old times indeed,” he said. “We didn’t have much, but we made the most of it, we did.”

“Sounds kind of like Telos,” remarked Adam. “Only less the lumpy streets, dirty alehouses, and resident assholes.”

“Ten brothers and sisters, though.” Alar shook his head. “That’s hard to imagine.”

“Even harder to survive at times,” admitted Fagan. “But it had its good sides too. We were always there to support each other, you see. And if one sister was mad at you, you could always find a brother who wasn’t and spend a bit of time with him until the one who was angry forgot all about it.”

“To each his own, I guess. I’d be fine with a smaller family myself.”

“Oh, planning to have young uns yourselves, are you?” spoke Fagan with raised eyebrows.

Alar exchanged looks with Adam, then replied, “We’ll see.”

“You should. You two’d make great fathers.”

“Yeah. Sure I’d make a great chamber maid too.”

“No, I mean it, mate. You remind me a bit of my old dad, rest his soul. He was a stern fellow, but in the most loving way. A fine pater he was.”

“Well, that’s all for the future. What say right now we worry about getting to Corallia and back alive?”

Without awaiting a reply, he sped forward and took up a position at the head of the column. Fagan looked to Adam as though to ask “What’s eating him?” Adam shrugged it off with a smile, though inside he couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed with his mate.

They rode on until they came to the edge of a great lake. Known as Lake Lyrikos to some and Lake Saphros to others, it was the largest body of fresh water in the squirrel kingdoms, though they had heard tell of an even larger one far away to the east with ever-shifting waters that were bitter to the taste called the sea. It was said that squirrels there were great sailors and avid swimmers. The squirrels of this region were neither, however, so the lake served as little more to them than a source of fresh water and occasionally fish for those who lived around its shores.

The royal procession stopped for lunch beside Lake Lyrikos, then carried on east and north along its shore following a road that led towards the Ondega Mountains. They came to the foothills by sunset, and there made camp for the night.

“Well, lads, good progress today,” spoke Fagan as supper was served. “Hopefully you’re not too saddle sore to keep it up tomorrow.”

“I might be,” admitted Adam as his plate was given him. “But it’s absolutely worth it. I’ve never seen a landscape like this before. It’s so beautiful.”

“Aye, it is that,” spoke Alar. “Hard to believe how much there is beyond the walls of Telos, isn’t it?”

“Or beyond the boundaries of Red Fields,” remarked Adam coyly. Alar acted as though he hadn’t heard.

The last squirrel soon received his plate, and they all bowed their heads to utter a quick prayer of thanks to Skiouros before digging in. They ate in silence at first, though it was soon enough broken by Fagan.

“Ahh, ‘tis truly nice to be out on the road again after so long. I’ve not had a proper adventure like this in years. Reminds me of the good old days, eh Alar?”

“Old days, yes. I don’t know about good.”

“Oh, come now, you know what I mean. We had some grand times with our companions when we weren’t fighting for our very lives. Like that night in the tavern at Alba Longa, you remember?”

“Oh yes. How could I forget you and Vitrio’s little drinking contest with the gray squirrels? Or…” He stopped short of bringing up anything else about that night, as he and Adam had agreed long ago not to speak of it.

“Ha! Those two didn’t know what they were getting themselves into, for sure,” remarked Fagan. “That was truly a lark. And the way Vitrio started that little fire on our way out of town.” He shook his head. “Ahh, what a fine lot they were.”

“Aye. Elvar, the brothers, Vitrio. Good squirrels in the end, all.”

“Don’t forget dear old Colin.”

“Yeah,” said Alar, avoiding eye contact with his mate at the mention of the sensitive name. “And Grant, of course.”

“Aye, Grant too.”

“Well,” spoke Adam, changing the subject after an awkward lull. “It’s certainly exciting for a first-timer like me, this camping out beneath the stars on an open road. I love it. We’ve only camped out once or twice in all the time we’ve lived at the Red Fields.”

“I’ve been meaning to try it more often,” said Alar. “Just never got around to it for one reason or another. Like so many things, it seems.”

“Ain’t that the truth, though?” Fagan shook his head. “So much gets by us when we’re busy slaving away at what’s got to be done.”

“Too true, mate.” Alar set his plate aside and stood up. “Well, I’m off to bed for the night. Early start as you said, Fagan. You coming, hon?”

“I think I’ll stay up a bit longer, thanks. You have a good night, dear.”

“Good night, all. Wake me if you need anything.”

“Will do, mate,” said Fagan. “Have a good kip.”

Alar retired to his tent and set aside his sword belt. He then lay down and said his prayers, but his mind would not allow him to sleep right away. He pondered many things, and eventually fell into a sort of light doze, through which visions passed of people and places from long ago. He was wakened briefly a little later when Adam came in and lay down beside him, but he quickly returned to his dreamlike trance, and from there to a state of deep, comfortable sleep.

The following day saw the party awake and moving up the mountainside with the sunrise. Adam paused several times to admire the view as the sun’s rays shone above the peaks of the mountains and shimmered across the watery crests of the lake. The trail meanwhile grew steadily steeper. The Ondegas were not the highest mountains in the world, but for the plains dwellers, it was a wearying enough hike that they were glad to take a rest and lunch around midday beside a little meltwater stream. As he was refilling his flask with the cold, clear water, Adam noticed a dark shape out of the corner of his eye. As he lifted his head and capped his flask, his gaze passed over the shape, which vaguely resembled a squirrel. At first he thought it was just one of their party standing apart from the rest. Then it occurred to him that the figure was clad entirely in black, while their company wore blue cloaks. By the time he looked again, of course, the figure had vanished. Alar came up beside him.

“Something wrong?”

“I thought I saw someone standing over there just now.” Adam pointed toward the rocks.

Alar took a few paces toward the spot, scanned the rocks a moment, then turned back and shook his head. “Well, there’s no one there now. Must have scampered off the moment you spotted him.”

“Or maybe this mountain air’s just playing tricks on my eyes?” said Adam hopefully.

“Maybe. But keep them open either way.”

They rejoined the rest of their company, and Alar told Fagan and Trellon of his mate’s phantom figure.

“I knew we should’ve taken another route to Corallia,” said Trellon.

But Fagan did not seem unduly worried.

“Nonsense! Any other route would’ve taken twice as long. Besides, ‘twere probably nothing, just as Adam says. After all, not to question your dear mate’s eyesight, but surely someone else would’ve spied this fellow wearing all black on a sunny day like this.”

“Surely,” repeated Alar, sounding anything but certain.

So, they moved on down the mountain trail. It leveled out a bit after a while, which made for easier going. By day’s end, they had traveled far enough north to reach the pass between the kingdoms. There was a small outpost at the pass itself occupied by soldiers from Kentros and Corallia at which they stopped to rest and replenish their spring water.

“Well lads, tomorrow we’ll be in Corallia,” Fagan announced. “It’s but a day’s journey down the other side to the town of Elbra, then half a day farther to the capital. Why, we’ll have this treaty signed and be back home before your families even miss you.”

A cheer went up from the little troop, followed by hearty swigs of spring water. Their mood was further lightened by the fact that the troops in the outpost kept a constant vigil, so there would be no need to set a watch that night. Even Alar slept soundly for once, feeling relatively secure within the outpost’s walls. Thus, they were up early again and set out after a warm, hardy breakfast.

They passed into Corallia without incident and traversed a stretch of road overseen by the ruins of an ancient castle. It was a formidable construction for so high in the mountains. There were several turrets with roofs all gone and one that looked as though it had been utterly shattered.

“What happened here?” Adam wondered aloud.

“This is Tindarus, “ replied Trellon. “Capital city of the Devronian Wizards who ruled all of Corallia and most of Kentros long ago.”

“I’ve never heard of them,” said Adam.

“Nor I,” added Alar.

“Well, theirs was a very brief reign,” admitted Trellon. “They attempted to rule with an iron fist over those they deemed lesser. Those who had no magical powers.”

“How awful!” exclaimed Adam.

“Yes, well, naturally there was a rebellion. Led by other wizards, as it turns out. Wizards who did not share their worldview. I believe you and our king knew the last of the rebel leaders, Alar.”

“Did I?”

“Indeed. Elvar of Hieros, the mage who accompanied you on your famed quest, was a commander during that war. As was Magus, whom you killed. This was well before they had their final parting of ways, of course.”

“Fascinating. I wonder why he never spoke of that.”

“Elvar didn’t speak much at all,” Fagan piped up. “But when he did, you could be sure of some sound advice, that’s for sure.”

“For sure,” echoed Alar, casting one final look at the ruins before the trail led them around a bend and out of sight.

Throughout the morning, they carried on down the rocky trail, which became increasingly narrow at points.

“Careful, lads,” said Fagan as a couple rocks kicked up by his horse’s hooves tumbled over the edge of the precipice and disappeared into the empty space below. “Watch your steps here, or you might be taking a shorter road to Corallia than you’d like.”

“That’s not the only thing to watch out for,” remarked Alar, still looking over the edge at the river flowing by far below. “This narrow road would be the perfect place for an…”

“Ambush!” cried someone as a crossbow quarrel struck another in the side. Several more flew by as swords were drawn and Trellon cried out to “Protect the king!” Fagan himself was armed with a bow, which had been his weapon of choice since his youth, and promptly killed one of the attackers with a well-aimed shot.

At that point, several more sprang out from the rocks, some flying far enough to tackle guards out of their saddles. One leapt at Alar, but fell short. An arrow from Fagan pinned him to the ground. Alar looked up and spotted another.

“Adam, watch out!”

Adam was stricken with fright at the sudden onset of his first battle, and barely had time to react. As the foe leapt, he swung his sword in a wild arc and turned his head. He felt a horrendous jolt that nearly knocked him from the saddle and heard a loud yelp. A great weight then fell away from him. Realizing he had not been killed, at least, he opened his eyes.

He saw the blood on his blade and looked down to see his would-be killer lying slain upon the ground, his cloudy-eyed gaze staring skyward. He had known from the outset that this might happen, of course. But the realization that he had just killed another squirrel practically by accident brought the true meaning of being a warrior home and made his stomach churn. He wanted to drop his sword and run, to find a quiet place away from this chaos where he could bawl his eyes out and beg forgiveness of his creator for the sin he had committed. But there was no time. He had to ward off another attacker on foot, then deliver a firm thrust into his shoulder. The sound of his anguished cry made Adam want to wither up and die.

Alar had been momentarily distracted by his mate’s struggle, but was brought sharply back to reality as two more attacked him. He managed to slay one with ease, but the other took advantage of his momentary distraction to grab hold of his cloak and give it a powerful tug. With no stirrups, Alar was brought straight to the ground. Only finely honed reflexes saved him from receiving a dagger thrust to the heart. As the assailant made another thrust, Alar took hold of his wrist and raised his sword. But the foe was also very skilled. He grabbed Alar’s wrist in turn and struck it against a rock with such force that the veteran squirrel dropped his blade.

The two grappled with each other for several seconds, neither gaining the upper paw. In the whir of activity, Alar saw only his foe’s gritted teeth and the bizarre emblem embroidered onto the left breast of his opponent’s hauberk. It looked like a five-pointed crown atop a thorn bush. What a strange mark, was his last thought before they rolled over one last time. Adam turned just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of Alar’s predicament as the two slipped over the edge of the gorge into the empty void below.