The Trials of Alar

14

Adam awoke that morning with a sense of purpose. Today he would see through his duty to make a historic moment come true. He would do it because it was what Alar would have wanted. It was what Alar had given his life for, in fact. Whatever happened afterward didn’t matter right now. Nothing mattered in his still heart-broken state except getting through today. Tomorrow and beyond would come in good time.

He looked into the mirror on his little side table and wiped a tear from his cheek as he tried to smile.

“This is for you, my love,” he said as though looking at Alar instead of himself. He then called Algernon in to help him dress and make ready for the grand occasion later that day. He had chosen his most impressive outfit for it: a white silken shirt with a suede doublet bearing the king’s emblem, a pair of soft velvet trousers, a cloak of forest green that complemented his russet fur, and a broad-brimmed hat with a great white plume in the band just like the one Alar used to wear. He wore his wedding ring as well, his dearest possession, and a locket around his neck that Fagan and Ambrosia had given him and Alar on their fifth anniversary. On each inner face was carved a tiny silhouette: one of Adam and one of Alar.

When he was ready, he went down to the dining hall to partake of the rather light breakfast laid out there. The real celebration would begin on their return, but a bit of toasted bread with jam would suffice for now.

“Good morning, Adam!” Fagan greeted him at table. “And a good morning it is for Kentros, I dare say.”

“It certainly is,” replied Adam, not wishing to let his melancholy thoughts dampen the general good mood.

“I can’t wait to finally get my paws on that treaty so we can be done with the whole affair.” Fagan lowered his voice as he continued, “I confess, I’m not as fond of all this adventuring as I once was. Accommodations are nice here, but there’s naught like the familiar sights and sounds of home and the feel of your own bed at night.”

“Aye,” concurred Adam, thinking of how empty his home and bed would be and feeling that pang in his heart once more. “Nothing like it.”

Fortunately he was spared any further conversation by the arrival of Trellon, who promptly engaged Fagan’s attention with the details of the day’s proceedings and formalities to be observed. After a bit, he turned to Adam and told him everything he would have to do, where he would stand during the signing, and so on. Adam’s gaze said he was paying attention, though his mind was anything but focused. He understood the general idea, though, and nodded when Trellon asked, “Have you got that?”

Then came the interminable wait. Even with breakfast conducted at a leisurely pace, it was still a couple of hours before the grand procession began. Adam spent most of it waiting quietly in his room, thinking and trying to read a little. But it was not much use, and it came as a massive relief when at last Algernon entered to inform him that “It is time, my lord.”

“Thank you, Algernon,” replied Adam more sincerely than ever he had before. He rose to his feet and made for the door. He looked around to make sure he had forgotten nothing, then headed downstairs. Within mere minutes he was outside and saddled up on his trusty mount. The column was very quickly organized, everyone having been informed of their places earlier, and before he knew it, Adam was riding along behind Trellon and Findar. Adam felt ten times safer having the veteran old mage as part of the escort. If anything was amiss, h would surely sense it and put things to rights immediately.

The procession was truly a grand affair. If Adam had been unprepared for the small outpouring of support back in Parras, he was utterly taken aback by the cheering populace that awaited on the streets of Boarra. The entire city had turned out, it seemed, dressed in their finest, waving, and showering the royal train with flower petals.

Adam tried not to become too overwhelmed by it all, remembering well what had happened last time. He kept his head turning this way and that to check for danger amidst the crowds. But between the smiling faces looking his way and the rich variety of beautiful fabrics that caught his trained tailor’s eye, he found it difficult to focus on the task.

It’s no good, he admitted to himself at last. I haven’t got Alar’s knack for this sort of thing.

Despite his more easily distracted nature, however, they made it safely to the steps of the cathedral without incident. Standing at the top of the stairs was an elderly but kindly-looking fox squirrel. The mere sight of him there with a couple of altar boys brought immense relief to everyone, including Adam. Had King Basil not said that they would be safe as soon as they passed through the doors of Roxa Cathedral?

Oh, please Lord! Adam prayed as they dismounted to go inside. Let it be so. Let there be peace between our nations this day!

They took the steps one by one, far too slowly for Adam’s liking. Father Thangar received the two kings at the top of the stairs and led them toward the door. Just a few more steps! And…they made it! Adam did not allow himself to breathe easy until he and Findar had passed over the threshold themselves. Then, when he discerned that there were no foes awaiting them within, it sank in. They had done it! They had seen the mission through to success. He could almost not believe it. In fact, a part of him refused to believe it had been accomplished so easily. Yet, here they were in the most beautiful structure he had ever seen—complete with vaulted ceiling, stained glass windows, and frescoes. And there was the altar where the peace treaty lay ready and waiting for the kings to affix their signatures.

He tried to forget his astonishment long enough to follow the etiquette that Trellon had instructed him in that morning when taking his place. It was truly an honored place he had been given, when he thought about it. His seat was in the front row, only a couple spots away from King Fagan’s. They did not actually sit down, but remained standing as the rest of their party filed in, followed by those lesser nobles and high-profile townsfolk who had been invited to witness this magnificent event. Some in both parties had thought that inviting any members of the public in was a bad idea due to the risks it posed, but Basil and Fagan had agreed that there ought to be complete transparency in this important milestone. There should be witnesses other than their own royal entourages so that there could be no question as to the legitimacy of the act. They were being watched closely and vetted for weapons at the door anyway, so there was little their enemies could do even if they did get in. With that comforting thought, Adam turned his attention once more to the proceedings.

As soon as the cathedral was positively packed with squirrels, the door was closed and the ceremony began. Adam tried to remember everything in detail—from the embroidered juniper berries on Father Thangar’s robe to the echo of every voice in that incredibly high ceiling. But between the excited beating of his heart and that nagging impatience in the back of his mind to get the signing over and done with, he barely remembered the old priest’s sermon about peace, or the formal reading of the treaty out loud to the public. He couldn’t even remember rising to go and stand to the side of the altar as third witness for King Fagan on behalf of Kentros. All he remembered was Father Thangar asking if anyone had any objections, followed by a voice from the second row saying loudly and clearly, “I do!”

The silence throughout the cathedral in that moment was deafening, the more so thanks to the high vaulted ceiling. All eyes turned toward the speaker. He was a gray squirrel like most here in Corallia, dressed in a dark grayish green cloak and hood, which was drawn back. He was young, perhaps twenty years of age, and his gray eyes blazed with zeal and hatred as he moved straight down the aisle toward the altar.

“You’ve no right to sign that treaty, Basil,” the young zealot continued. “Any more than you have to wear that crown.”

King Basil was stricken absolutely speechless by the outburst, and stood rooted to the spot with astonishment. His chief minister Findar, however, had no such inhibition, and stepped forward.

“Be gone from here, boy!” he growled, pointing his staff at the objector. “Back to your rebellious rabble! Or better yet, a dungeon!”

He lifted his staff and uttered an incantation. But at the end, nothing happened, at which the interloper burst into a fit of laughter.

“Have you forgotten, my dear spellcaster, the barrier that you and yours erected against the use of any of your own powers?”

“Bah! Makes no difference to me.” Findar moved forward as though to use his staff as a weapon. But the moment he placed a foot off the dais, the young buck pulled a small crossbow from beneath his cloak and pointed it at the minister, quarrel nocked and string drawn taut.

“Not one step closer!” he threatened. “Or you will die where you stand.” By the look in his eye, there was no question that he meant every word.

“Shoot then, boy. Shoot and you’ll be dead yourself ere you can reach for another quarrel.”

“Ohhh, I think not,” said the young rebel with a positively diabolical grin. There was no doubt in Adam’s mind at this point that this squirrel was absolutely insane. But he had not long to think about this before several more squirrels rose from the crowd, weapons in paw. Those with room held up loaded crossbows like their leader, but others held swords or long-bladed knives. How many there were exactly it was impossible to say, and no doubt they wanted it that way lest people realize how few they were and try to overwhelm them. Nevertheless, they were all armed, and apart from the kings’ escorts, no one else in the cathedral was. And of course, the escorts were gathered entirely at the front end of the cathedral where their every move could be observed.

Damn it all! thought Adam, closing his eyes tight. I’ll bet Alar would never have gotten into this kind of bind. If only he were here now. If only…

He heard a gasp from the audience and opened his eyes. Now it was his turn to pause in astonishment. For there, standing with his sword pointed at the back of the rebel leader’s neck as though conjured up by his silent prayers, was the squirrel he loved more than any other in the world. How or why, he neither knew nor cared, so happy was he in that instant to see that fiery red fur and those shining blue eyes but a short bound away. His heart nearly burst with joy, and a strangled sob escaped from his throat as he heard that beloved voice.

“Put it down, friend,” said Alar quietly. “You’ll live longer.”

But rather than lower his crossbow, the mad young buck broke into a bout of chuckling.

“You’d be dead before your stroke fell…friend.”

Alar did not need to look to realize that there were now crossbows pointed at him as well. He cursed to himself. Why did he have to take the honorable approach? Why couldn’t he have simply killed the fool right away without warning? Still, he decided to play it calm.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he said. “I’ve slain quicker than your kind before. But if you’d like to take the chance and see who’s quick and who’s dead, by all means, make my day.”

“It seems we are at an impasse, then,” said the youth almost merrily. “First one to nod off dies.”

“No one has to die, Artika,” said Alar, trying the diplomatic approach. “Just order your squirrels to stand down, I’ll lower my sword, and we can talk this over in a civilized way.”

Artika’s features suddenly became savage with fury.

“There is nothing to talk about! That crown belongs to me by right, and this usurper must die!”

“Ahh, but then the crown would go to your father, would it not?”

“My father doesn’t want it. He’d just pass it on to me.”

“No, my son, I would not.”

Everyone looked up, and Alar breathed a sigh of relief on hearing the familiar, authoritative voice of Rowan ring out from the gallery. When he chanced a glance upward, Alar found the upper galleries had been filled with Rowan’s forces. The lead rebel himself stood on the balcony overlooking the pulpit. Artika looked up with the same scowl as before.

“Get out of here, old one! We’ve work to do.”

“Unholy work, all of it,” Rowan retorted. “How dare you draw your weapons in this sacred place! You shame me and this entire family.”

“You set the precedent. You shamed us all when you chose to accept exile and give away your birthright—my birthright—for the sake of peace.”

“War is not the answer, my son. The time has come to put this pointless feud to rest. Let it go, Artika.”

“You let go if you want, you old fool. But I’m no son of yours. I will not sell my birthright at any price. And I will have what is owed to me.”

In that instant, he shoved aside Alar, who had allowed himself to be momentarily distracted by the exchange like everyone else. He then raised his crossbow and shot a quarrel at King Basil that nearly hit its mark. Chaos ensued as Rowan’s squirrels let fly at the rebels in the crowd. Alar was up in a heartbeat and chasing after Artika, who had fled after taking his shot. The young rebel had not gotten far, and Alar was on him in two bounds, sword at the ready.

“No more games, Artika. Surrender!”

“Never!” Artika spat, making a vicious lunge at Alar’s face with his own sword.

Alar dodged with his usual swiftness and feinted back. He was in his element now. Though the blade he used was borrowed, he wielded it like it was his own. Artika was good, but he was clearly no match for the veteran warrior, as he himself recognized. He did his utmost to throw Alar off by darting about and ducking behind objects, then lashing out now and again. But Alar had kept in practice, and was always right behind him.

Artika took hold of a cowering bystander and shoved her forcefully at Alar to slow him down. Alar had to stop and gently help her clamber under a pew. He was then beset by a couple of brutish squirrels who tried their utmost to cover their leader’s escape. He could have dealt with them easily, but he didn’t have time. Thus, after warding off a couple of strokes, he mustered all his strength for a leap onto the back of a pew, followed by a somersault onto the floor on the other side. He landed a little awkwardly and winced as he hit the bruised spot on his foot, but quickly resumed his pursuit. He cut Artika off just before he reached the doorway to the back of the cathedral.

Artika took a couple steps back, a look of worry in his eyes. But it lasted only briefly before turning once again to anger. He lashed out at Alar with all his might, but could not get a blow in. When at last he paused for breath, Alar turned the tables. He struck back swiftly and precisely, forcing Artika to either retreat or fall victim to a sharp jab in the ribs. Alar smirked the whole time, almost enjoying the contest despite his bone weariness.

Finally, the two met out on the open floor of the aisle. With nowhere to hide, Artika fought like one possessed to ward off the inevitable. But there was no matching the former smithy’s skill, and so it came as no surprise when a moment later, the exiled prince watched his sword fly out of his paw and land with a resounding clatter on the stone floor before the pulpit. Alar’s sword was immediately beneath his chin. The swordsquirrel breathed heavily, and was no longer smiling as he addressed the defeated rebel.

“Surrender, Artika. There’s nowhere left to run.”

Artika looked at first bewildered, then angry. Finally, he returned to that diabolical grin and laughed in the face of his plight.

“To hell with you, Kentroan! To hell with all of us!”

Alar reached out to stop him, but the mad squirrel was too quick. In a flash, he had whipped out his dagger and plunged it into his midriff. As he slumped to the floor, Alar dropped his sword and knelt down to prop his head up. Artika’s eyes began to cloud over as he bled out of his wound, yet he looked to Alar with the most clear-headed expression he had yet seen and spoke in a strained voice:

“A true king…never…dies.”

The light gave out. His eyes clouded over and closed tightly as he let out one final shuddering breath. Then he lay still.