It was a difficult night to stay hidden, even for a Shekiah.
The moon rose early, full and bright, with no clouds to block even the dimmest stars. Trees and the occasional farmhouse cast long shadows across Hyrule Field, and not a breath of wind stirred the grass and leaves. It had been a cold night to begin with, and it grew even colder when one reached the rocky outcrop that marked the beginning of Gerudo Mesa.
The bridge across the gorge that separated Hyrule proper from its desert had been built, destroyed, and rebuilt numerous times to reflect the relations between its inhabitants. When times were good, a sturdy wooden bridge that could hold an entire caravan might span the depths. When times were bad, it was the first thing to go in an often lengthy cycle of destruction. On this stark night, the feeble rope bridge made only a few taut jerks as a lone shadow stepped catlike across its narrow base.
Red watch-fires blazed like beacons along the towers of the Gerudo Fortress. Where the fire's light did not touch, leather-like scrubs guarded their precious water stores against the freezing temperatures. The women who guarded the Fortress stood with their backs to the fire, allowing it to warm them without robbing their sight in the dark. Sunset-colored flames reflected off their halberds.
The living shadow edged between the dark umber cast by the cold stone, and the shaky fluttering light, passing between the sight of unblinking amber eyes. Knives stayed firmly in their sheaths, wrapped at the hilt to guard against any spare metal catching a flash of the light. The body of the intruder itself was covered only in light fabric, constant movement keeping the chill at bay. The shadow passed by the guards between one breath and another, masking its presence inside a single puff of air.
More guards paced the halls, along with children, cooks, career thieves, and women who spent their lives charming other races into giving them more children for the tribe. The shadow passed all of these by. Its target was not among the old women stirring the pots in the galley, or the little girls sparring with pointed sticks in the hallways. It wormed its way in and out of the open buildings, slowly heading toward the highest point in the Fortress, its door most heavily guarded of all.
The shadow curled away from the door itself, wrapping around the wall and scaling its smooth polished surface. It dropped noiselessly down from the roof and into a small glassless window that faced toward the fields. Silhouetted against the moon for a brief second, the lithe body melted back into the darkness of the room itself, and crept noiselessly toward a large bed against the wall.
Its inhabitant slept deeply, a large figure whose presence filled the entire room, even at rest. The simple bed, made of woven slats, reflected the sleeper's status with skillfully woven blankets thicker than any of the others in the Fortress. His slow breath was the only sound in the room.
The shadow paused at the side of the bed, and reached over its shoulder. A hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword strapped to its back, not a usual part of a Shekiah's arsenal. The exertion of carrying it without allowing a single rattle of metal showed in the Shekiah's face, sweat running down the few strands of hair poking from its wrap, soaking more rags around the mouth. The hand drew the sword slowly, taking pains not to wake the sleeper with the telltale ring of steel against steel.
Leaping lightly onto the bedframe, the shadow stood over the sleeping figure with sword in hand, crouching forward like Death with his scythe. It positioned the tip of the blade over the sleeper's heart, gripping the hilt with both hands, and with a sudden movement, heaved upward.
Suddenly the man beneath raised his arm and swept the Shekiah's feet from his bed. The sword clattered to the ground, spinning slowly, as an enormous hand closed around the attacker's throat and thrust the Shekiah against the wall. The would-be assassin snatched a knife and managed to make a shallow cut before another hand snatched it and held it to the attacker's chest.
A sharp tingling in one hand pulled both of them briefly out of murderous intent. The huge man glanced down at his own hand, then that of his attacker, then the forgotten blade on the ground with its unusual amethyst hilt and unmistakable Triforce brand. Then he stared at the stranger's hand again.
"What are you doing with that accursed blade?" He demanded in a rolling growl, loosening his fingers just enough for his captive to speak.
"As if you don't know!" Her voice strained, the Bearer of Wisdom coughed. Defiant red eyes shifted back to blue and stared into the face of the man that held her against the wall. "Playing innocent doesn't suit you."
"My Lord Ganondorf?" The two guards who had entered upon hearing a disturbance questioned both what was going on and if he needed any assistance. Their hands tightened on their scimitars as they recognized the Shekiah Eye on the woman's clothing.
Ganondorf chuckled. "It's a good thing it was I who caught you, or you would be dead by now," he said as he let his captive drop to the floor, gasping for air. With one hand he grabbed one arm near the shoulder, and with the other he tore off the facial wraps. "May I introduce you to Her Highness, the Princess Zelda?"
The two guards could not conceal a gasp between them, recognizing the icy blue glare regardless of her strange garment and predicament. Recovering, one of them asked, "What would you do with her, My Lord?"
"We give her the same honor as all uninvited guests." He shoved her toward the guards, who caught her and pinned her arms behind her back. Turning to Zelda, he said, "And what do you have to say for yourself, a lone monarch trespassing to assassinate one of her peers?"
"I've got nothing to say to you," she snarled, with an uncharacteristic show of anger.
"No? Then give Her Highness one of the special suites in the eastern wing. Perhaps she'll be willing to talk later."
Once they left, his eye fell on the sword on the ground. He pondered for a moment, then walked over and reached slowly toward it. He could feel the air in the room tighten, become thicker around the gleaming steel as ancient magics protested against his presence. He pulled his hand away and called for another guard. "Handle this carefully and place it in our most secure treasure room," he instructed her without going into further detail. As she carried it carefully out the room, he followed the gleam of the moon on the blade.
What on earth would bring Zelda to bear the Blade of Evil's Bane? Had she finally decided to take matters into her own hands for onceā¦or had something happened to her Hero?
