Chapter One

The sharp stabs of pains caused him to open his eyes to a world that was blurred. He blinked several times in a vain attempt to make his eyes focus. At last he gave up and tried to push himself up. The world spun in a crazy manner and caused the bile to rise up in his throat as nausea hit him. Then a hard blow landed on the back of his head and made the arrows of pain turned into full fledge swords. His eyes rolled up in his head as he collapsed back to the ground into unconsciousness.

Blackness surrounded him for a while, but then dreams and hallucinations crept upon him and began to torment him. In one of these dreams, He stood before a man dressed in golden armor with a long red cloak. The hideous skull helmet that the man wore seemed to grin at him with a evil hunger. They stood inside a simple tent like those used by commanding officers in armies. He found himself drawing a sword and raising it above his head. "As long as I hold my sword, Your foul army shall not plague Hyrule!"

The man threw back his head to let out a blood chilling laugh and said. "Hero, look at your sword!"

He looked up to find that his sword had vanished from his hand and felt fear grip him like a tentacled beast. The skull knight yelled for his men to come and he found himself facing hulking monsters. His feet carried him at a run from the tent with them pursuing him and all the while, he cast about for his sword. He could hear himself shouting. "My sword! Where have you put my sword!"

As he searched, the lines between waking and dreams blurred until he was in a constant dreamlike stake. Demons and monsters chased him and badgered him as he searched for his sword. His shouts for his sword grew more frantic and louder. Then a demon grabbed him and threw him to the ground to hold him there. The fiend yelled in a loud voice. "Oma! We have to do something! His hallucinations are getting worse!"

A second demon creature appeared holding a beaker that issued a foul colored smoke into the air. "Hold him still, Michio, while I get this potion in him!"

He began to fight the demon that held him with the strength of desperation, but the demon was stronger than he was. The demon's iron grip tightened and he looked up at the other demon. "Oma! Get that confounded potion in him! I can't hold him much longer!"

As the demon with the potion approached, He clenched his teeth together as tight as he could. He knew that whatever was in the beaker was some poison meant to do him harm. The demon that held him down let out an exasperated sigh and released him. As the demon forced his mouth open, the demon with the potion brought the beaker close to his mouth.

The man began to shake his head back and forth to try and free him self from the filthy hands. The demon's grip tightened so that he was unable to move his head and so the other demon could pour the concoction into his open mouth.

The bitter taste filled his mouth and caused him to unintentionally swallow the brew. He gagged on it, but they poured more down his throat. When at last the beaker was empty they released him to lay there panting from his efforts to get free. He could see them step back and throw their heads back in laughter at him. Whatever they had poured down his throat soon began to take effect. His eyelids grew heavy and he felt a peacefulness begin to creep over him. The muscles in his body began to relax and he sagged back against something soft. As his eyes began to close, the forms of the two demons blurred and then cleared to show him an older woman and a stern faced man. His eye slid shut into a welcome dreamless slumber.

When he next awoke, It wasn't to the waking nightmares that had plagued him, but to a warmly lit room. The whitewash walls were a welcome change to the darkness that had plagued him. The heavy dark beamed ceiling gave the room a homey feeling and he felt safe here. The smell of clean sheets filled his nostrils as he turned his head to gaze about. An older woman sat in a stiff backed chair next to his bedside. His eyes widened as he recognized her as one of the two people he'd seen before falling asleep. A sheepish smile spread across his face as he realized the two demons were actually two people trying to help him.

She gave him a good-natured smile as he looked at her. "Good morning to you, young man, How do you feel now that you're in your right mind?"

He was surprised that he felt no aches or pains as he had when he'd awaken the first time. As he pushed himself up into a sitting position, he frowned, "How is it that the pain is gone? It felt ass though my whole head had been trampled by a horse."

"I have a certain knack with healing potions, Youngster." The old woman, who he thought was called Oma, chuckled. "By the time Michio got you to me, You were a fine wreck of a young man."

"You should be glad that Oma's potions are so strong," A voice from the doorway said. "Or else you might not have made it."

He turned to look at the person who now stood in the doorway. It was the man who, the young man guessed, had held him down so Oma could pour the portion down his throat. Michio was a man of medium build that carried himself with a silent confidence. His dark brown eyes looked the young man over with the critical eye of a warrior. His dark brown hair hung down in two long braids from his head. The young man's eyes went to the sword that hung in Michio's belt and felt envy rise up inside of him.

"So what are you called, young warrior?" Michio's question made the young man's eyes snap up to his face.

The young man searched his mind for a name, but none came. It was then that he realized that he could remember nothing before he awoke with a pain filled head. He swallowed hard as he felt his apprehension rise in his throat. Who was he? He looked down at his hands as if they would give him an answer. On the back of one of his hands was a mark with three golden triangles, but this meant nothing to him. His answer came out in a whisper. "I don't know . . . "

He clenched his hands into fists and wondered why he couldn't remember. The sound of Oma's comforting voice made him look up at her. "Don't struggle to remember, Youngling. With the injury you obtained, it's not surprising that you don't remember."

"Besides," Michio walked over to stand next to his bed. "It may just come back to you all of a sudden, so I wouldn't worry over it."

"But what am I called!" He hit his fists on the bed. "Who was I! What was I!"

"Calm yourself," Michio shrugged. "If it is any comfort to you, I believe you are some warrior."

The young man gave him a sharp look. "How would you know if I was a warrior?"

"I've been one all my life and I've learned to recognize other warriors."

"Michio, We need to call him something besides young man and young warrior," Oma looked at the young man. "Is there a name you would like to have? Since it looks as if you get to name yourself."

The young man sighed and leaned back against the head board of the bed. "I can't recall any names that I've ever heard! I can't remember anything!"

He could feel the wall inside his mind that kept him away from his memories and past. It frustrated him that he couldn't burst through it and discover who he was. He just wanted to scream and pound his fists against the wall in frustration.

Michio gave him a sympathetic look. "It must be hard for you to not remember anything."

He looked over at Michio and nodded. "It's like there is nothing I can do to burst through the wall. I hate this feeling of helplessness!"

"Every good warrior does," Michio sat down on the foot of his bed and patted him on the knee. "That feeling tells me you're a warrior more than anything and a good warrior needs a name."

The young man grimaced. "I doubt sword would be a good name then."

"Well, perhaps not sword, but how does Blade appeal to you?"

"Blade." He tried out how it sounded and grinned in spite of himself. "I like that. For some reason it seems very appropriate."

"Well, then, Blade," Oma said as she rose to her feet. "Michio wanted to discuss some things with you, so I'll go and find you something to eat."

Blade watched her leave the room and then turned to look back at Michio. "What was it you wanted to discuss?"

Michio rose and moved over to Oma's chair and leaned forward. "Actually, I told her that before you awoke and I found out you had no memory."

"How does that change what you wanted to talk about?" Blade gave him a puzzled look.

Michio sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "First let me tell you that I found you across the border in Imani, not in Hyrule."

"Imani?" the name was unfamiliar to Blade. "And what exactly is Hyrule? I remember in one of my dreams yelling something about Hyrule."

"Hyrule is the kingdom we're in now and are both from."

"How do you know I'm from Hyrule?"

Michio laughed and tugged at his pointed ears. "Your ears are as pointed as my own, Blade, all Hylians have these type of ears."

"Why do we have pointed ears?"

"They say it's so that we can hear the goddesses better. Now do you want to find out what Imani is or not?" Michio gave him a stern look.

Blade nodded.

"Imani is a neighboring kingdom of Hyrule," Michio said. "A few years ago, a warlord took over as ruler of Imani and has been threatening to attack Hyrule for a while. Queen Zelda has been sending diplomats there to try and keep the peace."

Blade frowned. "Have any returned?"

"What made you think to ask that question?" Michio frowned.

"It just popped into my head." Blade shrugged. "So have any of them returned from Imani?"

"Whole and alive, no," Michio shook his head and looked Blade straight in the eye. "Though pieces of them have been sent back to Zelda."

Blade's eyes widened. "Why does she keep sending them, then?"

"She loves peace almost as much as she loves her champion, Link," Michio said. "So she keeps trying to get the warlord Zigor to at least discuss a treaty with her. She at last sent someone who she knew could protect themselves. That was over a month ago and we haven't heard anything since."

"Who did she send?"

"Her champion, the Hero of Hyrule," Michio looked him straight in the eye. "Zelda sent Link."

"And you had hoped I had heard something about him?" Blade sighed.

"Yes, I've never met the man," Michio's eyes took on a far away look. "But I had hope to spare with him once to see if he was as good a swordsman as they say."

"Well, if he's as great a warrior as you seem to believe," Blade said. "Then perhaps he escaped Zigor."

But Michio was shaking his head. "If he had escaped, He'd already returned to Zelda and made his report. I fear that our Hero is dead and all we have to do is await for his head to be sent to Zelda."

Blade looked down at the three triangles that adorned the back of his hand and traced them. "So do you think there is no hope left for Hyrule?"

"There is always hope, Blade," Michio rose from the chair. "Tomorrow, we'll be able to witness Zelda and Zigor meet face to face."

Blade looked up at Michio in surprise. "Face to face?"

Michio nodded. "Zigor sent a messenger to Zelda that they were to meet for a council of war in this very village's square."

"Why this village?"

"Because we sit on the border between Hyrule and Imani." Michio turned walked toward the door. "We will watch them tomorrow."

Blade watched Michio walk out the door and wondered what had happened to this Link. That name like so many was unfamiliar and he wondered if he'd ever get his memory back. His gaze went back to the three triangles and wondered if they held some key to his past.

"Who am I?" He whispered.