Evil's Bane


A/N: Better get this out of the way before I begin…

1) I don't claim to own the Zelda series or any of its trademarks. That said, some characters and ideas in this story are original.

2) This story is set well before any official game. Don't expect the geography to resemble anything familiar. At this point in Hyrule's history, magic was much more commonplace than it is in any of the games.


Prologue – He Who Would Be a God


Burning and unforgiving – sunrise came to the Gerudo Desert far too soon, heralding the start of what would be a bitter day. But what a sunrise, he marvelled. That blinding array of colours, shining gloriously across the desert… and a single, lone, rainless cloud cast a shadow above the Hylian army. It was an omen… this, he knew, was a battle they'd win.

Arado Dragmire had been commanding battle after battle since he'd come of age and assumed command of the Gerudos. He had lost just as many of these battles as he had won, yet with every year their territory expanded and began to push towards the edge of the desert, towards the mountain range which separated them from Hyrule. For centuries now, the Gerudos and the Hylians fought to shape this border. One day, Arado hoped to end the war. The Gerudos would slash their way into the plains of Hyrule, from which they would never be pushed back. One day, he would carve a name for himself in the history of the Gerudos.

One day, Arado wanted to see Hyrule for himself.

Standing atop the battlements of a makeshift fort deep in the desert, he gazed into the distance, eyeing the distant Hylian army, the morning sun burning into his eyes. The fort had been erected some few days before, as word of the approaching Hylian army had reached the Gerudos. It was something of a rush effort, but it would withstand an assault for a while… not that he expected the Hylians to come even close.

Something caught his eye and he frowned.

The Hylians had set up many cloth tents to weather the cold desert night. Among them, though, one was dyed red. Blood red, he thought, fire red, sunset red… royal red. Such lavishness on a battlefield… no mere commander slept in that tent; it had to be royalty.

"Awake, milord?"

"Obviously," Arado snapped, and he turned around to see who it was.

It was Lamoora, dressed in an unassuming purple robe like any other Gerudo. She was his second-in-command. She had earned this position by virtue of her cunning and formidable swordsmanship. Her physical attraction hadn't hurt, either.

She bowed her head slightly in respect. "What do you think of the coming battle?"

"We'll win it," said Arado flatly. "They have more men, but they aren't used to fighting in the sand. What concerns me is that red tent in their camp."

He motioned into the distance, not expecting her to see it. It was little more than a speck to him from where they stood, and his eyesight was trained to be better than most Gerudos'.

"A red tent?" said Lamoora. "What about it?"

"I haven't seen even their best commanders riding around with such decadence," Arado said. "Red is the colour of extravagance, of flaunted wealth." Lamoora looked confused, so he went on with a sigh: "We have royalty to contend with today. The Hylian king will be leading their charge today… no, he's far too old for battle. That will be his son." The king of Hyrule had an heir close to Arado's age; this he had learnt from a traveller who they had captured, tortured, and set free.

"I see…" She sounded genuinely interested. "If we can capture their prince…"

"Exactly," Arado said, smiling unpleasantly. "Having the royal brat in our possession would be extremely useful. Imagine the information we might be able to extract from someone who has been in the royal court for so long. And then, of course, with a sword at his throat we could march straight into Hyrule unchallenged."

"Are you sure the king would value his son's life over his kingdom?" Lamoora asked.

Arado considered. Lamoora almost always agreed with his every decision, so he was always curious whenever she raised objections. Her occasional suggestions usually had merit, too. No doubt about it, Arado was happy to have her as his right-hand woman.

"Perhaps not," he conceded after a moment. "But even then, if he proves useless as a prisoner, then we could treat him to an amusing death…"

"Hmm." Lamoora seemed suitably pleased. "That would be fun."

"Yes," he said. "All the more reason to win this battle, eh?"

"Yes, lord Arado."

"Well, then," said Arado. "Rally the women. Tell them to be ready in ten minutes' time. We'll begin then."

"The plan is what you said last night, yes?" she asked.

Arado nodded. With the ambush group he had sent under the cover of darkness, it would be a simple matter to overwhelm the Hylian forces from both sides, so long as their tactics proved as unimaginative as always.

"Leave me now," he added as an afterthought.

Bowing her head and muttering his name respectfully, Lamoora retreated into the fort proper.

Arado continued to stare out into the morning, his lips curling into a smile as he imagined the blood that would be spilt this morning. And so he stood.


Prince Verdin Hyrule, heir to the royal throne, shifted uncomfortably in the morning heat as he stood outside his tent, gazing out into the desert plains. Standing before him were the commanders of the four battalions he had brought to this accursed land.

He would much rather have been back in Hyrule where the weather agreed with him, but it was his father who'd asked (or rather, commanded) him to lead this charge. Verdin had led armies through other successful battles, and His Majesty felt that it would be proper for a royal to lead this battle. After all, this battle would redefine the boundaries of Gerudo territory… and more importantly, it was a battle that Verdin knew they would win.

"We will take their fort," he said, pointing out into the distance (no useful maps had been drawn of this wasteland). "There can't be more than a few hundred Gerudo women in there."

He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. An emotionless murmur sounded from the commanders.

"I'm glad we agree," Verdin said. He shifted his weight onto his left foot, gazing thoughtfully into the distance at the Gerudo fort.

"Those Gerudo women won't be easy to fight, though," he continued after a moment's pause. "You've all led charges against these creatures before; they won't die easily, and they definitely won't surrender. Their bladework is more practised than most of the proud men who will fight alongside us today… they may even have mages or something like that among their number. It will be dangerous for us all, and… yes, dangerous."

They didn't say anything. Why won't they say anything?, he wondered. Perhaps they were standing there, thinking to themselves, Prince Verdin, the royal brat; too young to know what he's talking about; if only the King was here to lead us to victory, not his sorry excuse for a son. That was it, he decided – these four commanding officers didn't think he was capable of leading the charge, not after they had served under his father… the King was a brilliant swordsman and tactician.

Clenching his fists without realising, Verdin began to pace as he talked.

"So, I say this to you now, and I will say it again to my – no, our soldiers before the battle: as long as we don't underestimate these Gerudos, we'll win the battle easily. We outnumber them – what, eight to one? At least that much. That's all the advantage we need." He stopped, considering what else he could possibly say. With a sigh, he concluded, "So that's how the battle will proceed today. Any questions?"

The commanding officers glanced between themselves uncomfortably. Then one of them spoke, a large brown-haired man whose name Verdin couldn't remember.

"My Prince," he said, "perhaps I have misunderstood. Are you suggesting that we charge them head-on, sir?"

Verdin blinked. Hadn't he been clear? "Yes," he said, with a faint trace of annoyance. "As I just said, as long as the men keep their wits about them, we can win this with little difficulty. We'll meet them face-to-face, and we will win."

Another officer spoke now. (Tall, balding; what was his name? Lonnes? Lornes? Verdin inwardly sighed and gave up.) "Prince Verdin, shouldn't we separate; flank them from either side, at the very least?" this man said.

Actually, that's a good idea, thought Verdin. Aloud, he said, "Of course; that's standard tactics, isn't it? I shouldn't need to tell you all that." He glared at the commander who had asked the question.

The first commander spoke again. "With all due respect, sir, are you sure that we should be…"

"Yes! Yes, I am sure!" snapped Prince Verdin, swivelling on the spot to face him. His voice rose slightly. "Whatever lies you're whispering behind my back, I know exactly what I am doing! I have led soldiers into victorious battles before, and I understand the art of war as well as any of you people do. I'm the prince, the royal heir; I'm my father's son; do you think that he would have sent me here if he didn't know that I am perfectly capable of leading this army?"

"But, sir…"

"That's enough!" Verdin yelled. "I am in charge here and you are all, every one of you…" – he swept his hand around, pointing at them all – "going to do exactly what I need you to, and it will work; we'll win the battle, crush those pathetic Gerudo whores, go back to Hyrule proper, and celebrate our victory. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," replied the commanders in unison. Verdin allowed himself a sigh of relief. These men, in all their military experience, were willing to listen to him after all.

"Good," he said. "Thank you."

Blasted desert heat, he thought to himself. He dismissed the commanders and returned into his tent to drink something.


Brushing passers-by out of the way with small, subtle hand movements, Fedora and her young charge led the way through the streets and back-alleys of Castle Town. The four young men and women she had brought with her followed them discreetly from behind and from in front. They didn't want to draw attention yet.

Fedora was a tall black-haired woman in her late fifties; instead of her normal ceremonial red-and-blue robes, she currently wore several layers of cheap, tattered rags. If anybody was watching the streets, which was undoubtedly the case, they would have no prior warning that Peacekeepers were on their way. Walking briskly through the alleyways alongside Fedora was a docile girl in her late teens who she considered her protégé. She had spent the last few years schooling the girl in magic – this hunt was something of a test for the young one, who one day might be able to assume Fedora's position. She was like a daughter to her; Fedora childless, the girl motherless…

After countless years of service, Fedora had been head of the Peacekeeping Guild for a long time now, answering directly to the King himself. Essentially, while the military and the diplomats dealt with enemies from afar, the guild was responsible for protecting Hyrule from interior threats. Sometimes this meant mundane tasks like arresting common thieves on the streets and bandits in the countryside. Sometimes the guild became entangled in violent politicking and assassination attempts. Right now, they were dealing with the most threatening of criminals – Triforce seekers.

"Not bad," said Fedora to her young charge, "so far."

"Thanks…" said the girl carefully. She looked slightly uncomfortable in the patched clothing she wore, but she was clearly enjoying the sense of freedom. The illusory magic she was currently using made her appear slightly shorter than normal, and her hair seemed to be a dirty blonde.

The girl closed her eyes and focused briefly. Then, she nodded to the left. "Let's go this way," she said.

"Why not," said Fedora, and they turned left. Fedora had been emphatic beforehand – they weren't to say anything remotely magic-related. The people they were searching for were probably watching the streets with eyes and with spells.

The Triforce was a magical object, a divine artefact that the three great Goddesses had left behind after creating the world. Many things were said about it – that it granted wishes, power, even happiness – and Fedora was sceptical of this. If the Triforce had such amazing power, why hadn't the kings and queens of Hyrule past used it for their own ends? On the other hand, she admitted to herself, there was clearly some truth to the stories, otherwise there would be no need to keep it hidden away so securely. The Triforce had been sealed some time ago in another realm of existence, the 'Sacred Realm', where it was protected from thieving hands… at least, in theory.

In her work in the Peacekeeper's Guild, Fedora every-so-often had to deal with people trying to breach the ethereal barrier to the Sacred Realm. It was only really possible to do this within a certain distance of Hyrule Castle, where the Realm had been created. This made it easier to prevent breaches, however it was still a difficult task to apprehend Triforce-seekers. People with the capability to magically rip open a path into the Sacred Realm tended to be difficult to pin down.

A few hours ago, one of Fedora's subordinates in the Peacekeeping Guild had sensed an explosion of magical activity in the north-western corner of town. There was currently a significant dent (for lack of a better word; magic was often difficult to describe in simple terms) in the magical barrier. It would take a few weeks for these people to breach the Sacred Realm, so Fedora had waited patiently until her protégé was awake before beginning the search.

Right now the girl was growing visibly apprehensive – they were close to their targets, and they could both sense it. Clutching Fedora's hand tightly, the girl nodded slightly in the direction of an unassuming decrepit building not far from where they were. Fedora smiled and nodded. The girl definitely had a natural talent for this; today's demonstration showed that in just a few years, she already had a grasp of auramancy that many people could never hope to achieve.

So yes, they were close, but that meant that they had to act fast before the Triforce-seekers hiding in the building realised they were there. Fedora glanced over her shoulder. The other four Peacekeepers she had brought along were tagging along some fifteen seconds behind them. In a couple of seconds, Fedora and the girl would themselves have reached the building. She deliberated between slowing down and letting the others catch up, or entering the building now, with the element of surprise on their side.

"We're not going to wait," she muttered to the girl, dropping all pretences of the mother-and-daughter act that their clothing suggested. "I want you to open the door."

"Okay," said the girl, running her free hand through her long hair anxiously. She was understandably worried – if Fedora's past experiences were any indication, the people inside this building wouldn't hesitate to kill the pair of them.

"Scared?" said Fedora as they reached the door.

The girl smiled weakly, turned, and with a raised hand and a muttered incantation she 'opened' the door.

With a deafening crack, the door flew off its hinges and landed on the ground, skidding for a short distance before coming to rest. Fedora and the girl followed it in quickly.

The building was a large, empty storehouse, bare except for its stone walls and a ladder in the corner which probably led to a rooftop. There were three men inside – two youngish, fair-haired men who might have been brothers, and an older-looking bony-armed one. They had clearly been interrupted in the middle of a magic procedure. Even in the weak lighting, Fedora could see oil and blood mixed on the floor in various patterns, some of them old blood ritual markers she'd seen a thousand times before, some of them disturbingly pious in their Triforce-shaped designs. It was really the same setup as always; rather than trying to reach into the Sacred Realm with a single, specialised spell, these men were trying several different ones at once.

It was fortunate that despite any skill in magic they might have had, Triforce-seekers never seemed to have the wisdom they would need to succeed in their ventures.

"In the name of the King," said Fedora officiously, "you are–"

The oldest-looking man reacted quickly; he sprang up, shouted an incantation in a foreign tongue, and a wall of flame burst into being, separating her from all three of the Triforce-seekers. He turned and began to run for the ladder in the back corner.

Fedora reflexively addressed the fire, in the space of seconds cycling through half a dozen different spells for extinguishing flames. The flames flickered but continued to burn in a perfect line. "Put them out," she said to the girl briskly, and returned her attention to the men on the other side of the flames.

The remaining two men were standing now, with the wild faces Fedora had come to associate with cornered rats. The bony-armed one who had started the fire was halfway up the ladder.

"Din's mercy," she whispered, and, with a wordless incantation, a ball of light flew from her fingertips into the back of the bony-armed man. With a horrific yell, he fell backwards from the ladder, hit the ground hard, and lay still.

Without warning, a small whirlwind formed in the middle of the room, disrupting the wall of flames and sending embers everywhere. Fedora glanced to her side and saw the girl staring intently at it, her hands unconsciously pulling at the air in front of her as it swirled around.

Half a second later, the fire blew out completely, as the four others Fedora had brought along streamed through the door, breathing heavily but standing composed.

"You took your time," said Fedora without malice, watching the two hostiles still standing.

"Only ten seconds," said one of her most-trusted officers, a brown-bearded solidly-built man named Yorrick. "You could have waited for us."

The Peacekeepers moved over the remains of the fire, closing in on the criminals.

"I'm surrounded by incompetence," replied Fedora lightly.

The two criminals still conscious deliberated fighting to the finish, but thought better of it. It was just two of them against six members of the Peacekeeping Guild, and if the tall woman leading them was any indication, they were outnumbered and outclassed.

"Surrender," one of them said, coughing on smoke. "We surrender."

"Good choice," said Fedora. She reassumed her dry, legalese tone. "As I was saying, you are all under arrest for attempting to enter the Sacred Realm."

The downcast Triforce-seekers obliged meekly as they were bound and prepared for transport to the dungeons. Yorrick kicked at the other man who had fallen from the ladder and pronounced him alive. Fedora watched the process disinterestedly for a few minutes and then turned back to the long-haired girl, who seemed intrigued by the aftermath.

"What did you think?" she said to the girl.

"Well, firstly, they weren't very skilled," the girl replied instantly. "The magic which they were using–"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," said Fedora. "I was hoping for your emotional response…?"

"Oh," said the girl, and she seemed to consider the question. "It was… interesting… yes, it was interesting to see the way they were misusing magic."

Fedora motioned at the door. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, please," said the girl. "These clothes are itchy." She tugged at the collar of her top.

"All right," said Fedora. They walked outside into a deserted street.

"I expected them to be more violent," said the girl after a pause. "More fireballs and flying rocks…"

"Some people can be quite aggressive," said Fedora. "It depends on the person… by the way, I was very impressed by your work today."

"Really?" said the girl eagerly, and Fedora obligingly began to dole out praise.

"Well," she said, "you led us straight to those men. I've said this to you before, but you really do have a natural talent for magic."

The girl smiled, her gait loosening and her arms beginning to swing. "What about the way I put out the fire?"

"That was inventive of you," said Fedora. "You know, once your brother marries off, you should really consider working as a Peacekeeper. Or as royal mage. Something magic-related would suit you."

The girl grinned. "Thanks, Miss Fedora. It sounds like more fun than being sent off as a diplomat to some forsaken land."

They emerged into a wider lane, and once again they were surrounded by people.

"Would my father let me, though?" the girl said.

"His Majesty is a wise man, thank the Goddesses," said Fedora. "I'm sure he'd have your best interests at heart, Zelda."

"I guess," said the girl. "Yes, I suppose that is true…" She smiled, shook her head, and pointed vaguely down the road. "We're not in a rush to get back to the castle, are we? I want to explore this part of town for a while."

"That's not a good idea," said Fedora, which meant 'yes', and they lost themselves in the crowd.


There was no other choice: the ritual had to be performed here, in this open field. It was a horrible place for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which was that it was a stone's throw from a nearby dirt road. It was within an hour's walk of the nearest town, and even closer to the nearest farm. If some idiot villager happened to walk in on the ritual, things would become… complicated.

This is what the field looked like:

Grass stretched out into the horizon. There were a few trees peppering the view here and there, but for the most part, it was unfenced fields where callous men on horses could ride for hours and where young lovers could roll in the grass unseen.

The sky was cloudless; it was midday on a windless, fair day. The calm weather was suited to the ritual, which would be a delicate one – a small mistake might have horrific results.

Not too far from the dirt path was a round patch of earth where no grass grew. It stood out, a scar on an otherwise pleasant landscape. There was a story regarding that lifeless circle on the ground. It was a story of greed, reckless ambition, and ultimately death.

A figure cloaked in red robes knelt before that patch of dead grass.

The kneeling wasn't necessary for the ritual, nor was it a gesture of respect: it was just more comfortable than standing up. The red robes were mainly for anonymity, on the off-chance that the ritual was interrupted. But there was something of an allure to red. Red was the colour of fire, blood, and sunset. It was the primary colour of Din, Goddess of Power. It was the colour of love and passion… while it made no difference whatsoever to the ritual, the colour of the robes seemed appropriate.

With one last glance behind to see if anyone was coming, the red-robed one began the ritual.

Half an hour of quiet chanting, salt-sowing and intricate hand gestures later, and it was all but done. The ground was covered with table salt, strewn in a perfect circle. In the middle of this circle, outlined in drops of blood, was the ancient symbol for death and shadow – a triangle and three smaller circles, one on each side. The circles suggested the breaking of the triangle, and thus the end of life.

The ritual was just moments from completion, and beneath the hood of the robes, someone of flesh and blood was staring contemplatively at the shadow symbol on the ground, wondering if the spell had been performed correctly. If not, the thing which was about to be raised from the ground would be wrong, with mutilated limbs and cloudy eyes and a lunatic mind. It would wander the fields of Hyrule, the deformed shadow of a man, wreaking havoc with its uncontrolled magical energy until someone put it out of its misery. It was an unpleasant image… hopefully that wouldn't happen.

Too late for second-guesses now. The red-robed one stood slowly, brushing dust off the cloth. The arms of the robes seemed to rise of their own accord, and two hands protruded out, palms raised to the heavens. The person beneath the robes stretched all ten fingers out gently, and with a deep breath, spoke a single word:

"Rise."

There was no deep rumbling from the earth, no flashes of thunder and lightning, and no unearthly roar. With an eerie silence, a small copper bell protruded from the earth, directly in the centre of the salt markings.

The moment this happened, the salt markings began to glow faintly, a slight red shimmer emanating from them. The glow gradually grew in strength for a few seconds, until it was brighter than candle-light, and tiny momentary crackles of red electrical energy had begun to jump from salt mound to salt mound.

A moment later, and the bell in the middle appeared to levitate – but no, it was attached to something larger, also rising from below the ground. Several coloured shades of fabric, red, yellow, green and blue, identified it as a jesters' cap. The cap rose slowly from the ground, dirt spilling from it and forming a shallow ring around it.

The red-robed one stopped and stared at the jesters' cap for a long while. The glowing electric bolts flew from the salt into the cap and back into the salt again, infusing it with their energy.

With a sudden jerking motion, the red-robed one pulled at the air violently. There was a loud noise this time, as if lightning had suddenly struck. The shadow symbol, traced in salt and blood, glowed in a violent, glaring crimson colour one last time… and then the jesters' cap flew out of the ground, followed by what had to be a jester. He landed right in front of the hole, and looked at himself.

The red energy had transferred itself to him, and every few seconds, a miniature bolt of lightning would fly between his fingers, or run down the length of his body. His skin, was somewhere between flesh-colour and grey, while his hair had gone white – an adverse-effect of the magic used to raise him. His clothes were equally colourful clothing befitting a jester in some royal court, except that they were burnt and frayed and frozen all over. He was average height, and thinly-built, and he was smiling with a mixture of delight and confusion. The jester's name was Salencia, and almost two hundred years ago, he had died on this very spot.

He stood very still, staring intently at his hands, and then down at his ruined clothing. He reached up and ran his hands through the cap, listening to the bells rattle dully.

"I'm alive," he said, and despite the bewilderment on his face there was already a hint of smugness, arrogance even, creeping into his voice.

"Not really," said the red-robed one, arms dropping now that the ritual was over and the spell had been cast. "But feel free to pretend you are, if it makes you feel better."

He laughed, sounding slightly manic. "I died, didn't I? They were everywhere, throwing things and shooting arrows and shouting at me, and they killed me. I remember that. I remember dying." He glanced around, staring at the sky, the grass, the distant trees, savouring every detail of them. His eyes found the salt markings on the ground and he crowed in delight. "Ah, the shadow pattern! Symbol of death, yes? I knew of it, of course, but I never really was interested in learning death magic… I didn't know anybody worth bringing back from the grave." He stopped, seeming to notice the person in red robes for the first time. "Right! I suppose you want me thank you… what should I call you, by the way?"

The red-robed one shifted on the spot. "Master. Or perhaps 'Wise One'. We can settle on a name later."

The jester's eyes narrowed. "You don't seem very respectful of me…"

"Of course not," said the red-robed one. "Since you died, you've become the folktale image of pure evil. There isn't very much to respect."

"Then I have no use for you," said Salencia, and he raised his hand and twisted it sharply in midair.

A small, cloudy ball of pure black flew from his hand, straight at the person in robes. It got almost a quarter of the way there before glowing red and turning into that same brand of electrical energy which had lifted him from the ground.

The jester stared at the ball of red light for a moment, stunned. Then it flew straight back into him, and he flew backwards with a pained yell, landing hard on the ground.

"You shouldn't do that," said the red-robed one. "Trying to hurt me. The spell that raised you will cause you a lot of pain if you go against me."

Salencia climbed to his feet slowly, glaring all the while.

"Besides, if you killed me," continued the other, "the spell would die with me and you would return to that grave… very painfully, I might add."

"I see," said Salencia, sounding sullen. "So this is where it's come to… after all the trouble I went to, nothing has come of it… do you know my story?"

"Of course I do. That's why I raised…"

The jester waved a hand dismissively and continued as if he hadn't heard. "Me, a jester in the royal court of Hyrule. I was there to entertain the royal family, and the nobles, and their pets even if that was what they wanted… I enjoyed it – a little bit of mocking humour here, a little self-humiliation, the occasional magic spell here and there – a lot of fun. You know, the queen once said to me…"

"I don't care," said the red-robed one brusquely. "The reason I brought you back from the dead…"

Salencia pressed on louder. "Fine. To the point, then. Living in the servants' part of the castle, there was so much to see. Palace intrigues to spy on and magical tomes from their great library to read, when nobody was looking… I learnt quickly that it's far easier than it sounds to gain people's confidence, to promise power and respect to them and gain exactly that in return."

"I've heard this story before…" There was a warning tone to that voice now.

"People in very high places were on my side. Some of the royal guards hungered for more than what they had. Out on the streets people were more than happy to follow me in the promise of something more to their lives. I even managed to enchant the King's sons into my cause – not the King or Queen, though; they seemed immune to my spells. Can you imagine? I was so close to taking the throne, half the castle was on my side, and they just wouldn't abdicate. They got a little angry. They tried to arrest me. Then, they–"

A sudden breeze swept up the salt on the ground, clumps of salt seeming to lift into the air and float of their own accord. They started circling in a mad whirlwind of coarse pellets, battering the jester like a sandstorm. He winced, then choked on the fierce cloud of salt and began flailing wildly. If he was still alive, it would have killed him.

The red-robed one watched the saltstorm for a few seconds, and then let it drop. Salencia stood where he was, breathing heavily as the tiny crystals dropped back to the ground unceremoniously.

"Are you done yet?"

Salencia nodded, raised a warning hand, and added, "So this is my fate, then? I, who would have been a god in flesh and blood. I, who almost ruled Hyrule." He shook his head violently, the cap ringing with the noise, and granules of salt fell from where they had lodged in the bells. "Right. Why am I here? Do you want to learn from me, to succeed where I failed?"

"Not exactly," said the red-robed one.

The jester smiled knowingly. "Ah, you're one of those fools who think they can pluck the Triforce from its hiding spot… people still do that, right?"

"Yes, they do, and no, I'm not. Things have changed since you died. Nobody with any sense would try to break the walls of the Sacred Realm, not in this day and age."

"How long has it been?" said Salencia suddenly.

"You died one hundred and ninety-seven years ago."

He nodded, looking almost sad. "That long…"

"Yes," said the red-robed one, "that long."

"What do you want from me, then?" said Salencia.

He was told. It only took about ten minutes, and by the end of it he was smiling again.

"…I might enjoy this," he said.

"If you say so," said the red-robed one. "I must leave now. Have fun, and cause as much trouble as you please, but remember what I said. There are rules you will follow."

The red-robed one turned around with a swish and walked away from the circle.

"Wait," said the jester suddenly. "Let me see who you are."

The other swivelled around on the spot and seemed to stare. "Can't you tell from my voice?"

"You're mocking me," said Salencia with a mock sulk. "That voice barely sounds natural at all. You're using a spell to disguise it; that much is obvious. And I can't sense anything through your robes."

No response.

"Well, who are you?" he continued. "Male or female? Peasant or pauper? Hylian or foreigner? Human or… something? I'll find out eventually."

A silence, as the other person considered his words.

Salencia kept the same smile plastered on his face, inwardly waiting to see if he was about to be hurt again.

"Fine," said the other, lowering the hood.

Salencia stared for a while, a mixture of curiosity and respect on his face.

"That's interesting," he said after a while.

The other laughed and turned around. "Don't follow me."

Salencia stared at the back of the red robes as his new master walked onto the dirt path, and into the distance.

He would do what he was asked, of course. In an unfamiliar position like this, it was best to test his limits gradually. And the task he had before him was certainly the sort of thing he enjoyed.

But the magic keeping him in check had to be breakable. Perhaps with enough power gleaned on his own, or perhaps with some clever counterspell, he would be able to get free and be his own master again… it would be a precaution for when his new master grew tired of him. What a trick; what an unpleasant surprise it would be.

Salencia laughed, already anticipating his freedom.


A/N: Right… so, I've had this idea running around in my head for a while now, and wanted to put it down in writing. In case it isn't clear, my intention is to focus on a medium-sized selection of characters. And for better or worse, one of them is going to be a stereotypical unwilling dungeon-crawling green-clad boy.

This is where I ask for reviews (surprise!). I think I'm justified, at least right now; I'm about to commit to a long-ish story and I want to know if there's something horribly wrong. Is my writing style snobbish? Are the characters all hateable? Did I fail to explain something legibly? Constructive criticism and/or praise would be great (however, I will gladly read through unconstructive reviews, and cry/smile accordingly).

Right, this seems like an awkward place to break off…