Chapter Eleven: The Might of Ordon

Only three fish and a plucked bird of some sort for the uskers today. The head cook had started accusing the slaves of theft. Balka would have to be more careful. Maybe she could sneak into the dovecot or the pigeon coop. The chickens were scrawny. Maybe uskers like eggs?

She kept her head down as she walked briskly back to her assigned work. The others ignored her. Had she been here long enough to blend into the slaves? Was she becoming as colorless and resigned as they were?

She carried a heavy basket of clean linens up the back stairs. They were never allowed into the Lady's bed chamber. She had private servants who tended her. Balka left the basket outside the servant's entrance and collected the one to be washed.

"…sooner than I expected."

Balka paused, listening close as the Lady's melodic voice drifted to her. Balka pressed her ear against the door.

"I came as soon as I saw, my lady. He has the first stone." It was another woman.

A stone? Enon! He had succeeded?

The Lady murmured something. Then, "All is prepared?"

"Yes, mistress. I am ready."

"Don't enjoy yourself too much."

The other woman laughed. "How could I not, with a man such as he?"

Balka did not like that at all.

"Broken, not dead, yes, my pet?"

"Yes, my lady."

The woman left and steps came toward the door. Balka grabbed her washing and lumbered down the stairs.

Who was that woman? And what did she want with Enon?

Balka mused over it as she scrubbed endless sheets and toweling. Brenta sat next to her, working her soapy brush, chatting in whispery bursts.

It was exhaustive labor. She would never take clean sheets for granted again. She would pay her house workers double what they were contracted now. Enon was a prince; she would demand it from whatever treasury supported him.

As Brenta's rambling talk washed over her, she thought yet again about their future. It was easier to see in the light, away from the Lady's hideous, beautiful laugh, out of the cold dark of the caverns.

Would they live in both Ordon and Hyrule? Who would inherit the throne of Ordon, now Link was the Consort? Would she be Lady of Ordon?

The idea was so absurd, she could not visualize herself holding such a role. She, in charge of a nation? She, ruling on domestic matters and directing social issues?

Enon was born to rule, had been raised in the discipline of kingship. She…well, she had managed passable marks in most subjects, mainly because her sisters were eager to talk about their pet interests. Her crowning achievement was not breaking any limbs for all the trees she climbed.

The wrangle took both the girls' strength. Once the sheets were no longer sopping, she and Brenta lugged the baskets up to the main floor. The kitchen garden consisted of stark walls around empty beds.

The wash stirred in the wind. They were red and shivering by the time they finished. They huddled close together as they walked half-asleep back to the slave quarters.

Balka's only warning was Brenta's gasp. Rough hands grabbed her from behind, one over her mouth, the other her throat. He dragged her back into a dark corner.

She let him, waiting for the right moment to fight.

It was Aster, predictably. His wet mouth touched her cheek, her arm wrenched around behind her back.

"No one here to save you, is there?"

Balka heard the last patters of Brenta's feet as they rounded the corner. She did not blame the girl, not after a life of oppression and fear.

Aster wanted to hear her fear. He lifted his hand free.

"You will beg for death, pig."

Aster laughed, nails biting into her. "You think your prince will return for you?" He stroked her face, her neck. She hoped he would be stupid enough to come in range of her teeth. "He may return, little one, but not for you. Not as you knew him."

Broken, but not dead. Aster slid his hand down her dress.

The bones of his nose and wrist made satisfying crunches under her hands.

He howled, spitting blood and curse words at her. She could not defend against his magic. She curled up as he beat her, unable to rise from the ground.

The world grew dim and numb. There was a scrabbling, a snarl. A hoarse cry. Something crouched over her, hissing.

She opened her eyes to find a scaly underbelly inches from her face.

"Girl lives! Man says!"

Aster was torn between fury and terror. Self-preservation won. He stumbled away, calling for others to come, to help him.

Yska's blunt snout bent down to peer at her. "Balka hurt? Mage hurt Balka?"

"Yes, but Yska, you must not! You will be punished!"

Yska's growl was terrifying, even not directed at her.

"Girl bring food. Girl promise!"

"They must not know!" Balka said urgently. "It must be secret! Or Mistress will kill me!"

Yska's grunted. "Usker keep promise. No harm girl with food."

Balka reached out with shaking fingers. Yska's scales were as smooth as the ones she found, but warm. Scarred, along the jaw, the same side as the broken tooth.

Yska seemed unsure, wary, then pressed its muzzle into Balka's hand. Inviting, Balka realized. She rubbed the hard bone and Yska's eyes half-closed. Had they ever been caressed before?

The stamp of feet snapped the usker's eyes open. It spit rage at the mages who arrived in a breathless rush.

"Hand her over to us!" one commanded.

Yska refused.

"Worm!" It was Jushi. Balka felt a spring of hope. Jushi was cruel to the uskers, kicking them, spitting at them. "Obey! Or the Lady will return you to what you were!"

Yska wilted a little. Balka wiggled free.

"Balka!" Yska protested. Balka stood and wiped blood from her forehead.

"All is well," she promised her protector. She turned to the assembled enemy.

"No harm?" she demanded. "Is this how the great mages of Tereine treat those under Oath? Or are you eager to face the Hero's wrath when he returns and finds me raped and murdered?"

She watched their faces. Some were wary, some contemptuous, amused. Broken, the Lady had said. She was a fool; nothing could break him.

"You attacked a blood mage," Jushi declared.

She set her shoulders. "And I will again, should he dare place his filthy hands on me."

Yska's rumbling growl added weight to her threat. Jushi smiled thinly. "You will be punished. And you, usker."

Yska drew up to its full height. Even those with magic glowing in their palms backed up. A tense silence held, then the usker moved on. Balka saw others, their eyes in the shadows, watching this. They blinked at her, then followed their leader into the darkness beneath.

Jushi spoke to a subordinate. "Kill it." He turned to Balka. "Come here, girl."

She held her chin high, even as the blood dried and itched down her back. She had blacked out, thankfully, and only remembered the first few minutes.

The other slaves watched her with wide eyes. She went to her bed and sat.

It hurt, but the pain was somehow apart from her. Shock, she reasoned. She understood now his phrase: striped. She could feel them, long lines of fire across her back. Though she doubted even Link would beat his favorite so badly, no matter the accusations of nepotism.

Brenta helped her undress. Helped her lie on her stomach. Helped her sip some broth. Another woman, Talo, she thought, smoothed some sticky balm across the welts, leaving a tingling coolness that smothered the fire of it. Dinu asked particulars about which mages were assaulting the girls. He and another man exchanged looks, their mouths grim.

Balka fell asleep smiling. She could not be broken. The Lady would learn the might of Balka of Ordon.


Castle Town lay in ruins. It was jarring, memories just beyond reach telling him this was wrong. The sagging gates, the broken cobbles. The people.

People still lived in the dilapidated houses. Survived, more like. He couldn't call their mean existence living. The fields outside the city were fallow, only a few planted and tended in limp, uneven rows.

He drew little attention, even before he found clothing. The headdress leered at him from the corner of the room. The missing front fang gave it lopsided smirk that was not the least amusing. The knife was light in his hand.

He sheathed it and straightened the heavy tunic he had found. Stolen, from a man lying drunk in an alley.

The citizens watched him with dull, uninterested faces. He avoided them, if possible. Their emptiness made his skin crawl. He needed boots. The soft skin shoes he wore were shredding as he walked. It had been a long trek, following the call of the stone to this goddess-forsaken place.

"You! Stop!"

Enon turned. It was a soldier, a guard of some sort. Of what, he did not know. Others looked out from a doorway, a window.

Enon faced the man. "What do you want?"

The spear leveled. "Who are you?"

"I am Enon of Ordon."

"Ordon?"

The man's spear dropped to threaten the ground as he laughed. "Well, then, it's my lucky day."

The others were smiling as they surround him.

"I thought we'd got all of you," the guard was saying. "Drinks on me tonight, boys!"

Enon stood firm. "Let me pass."

"You must be insane, coming here. But that's you Ordonians, too proud to surrender, even as your children starved."

His wife, their child, both dead of exposure as they fled from Ganon's hunters. The fire in him was as hungry as his people as they fell, one by one.

"Please, do," the man invited, mouth gaping in a smile. "It's been a long time since I got to kill one you bastards."

Enon stamped into the boots. They fit well enough, a little small in the calf. The balance of the Hylian's sword was passable. Where was his Sword?

The citizens stared blankly as he stripped the bodies of anything useful. He sniffed a canteen and grimaced, tossing the liquor aside. No wonder they had been so easy to kill, half drunk and untrained.

The tramp of feet, the muffled alarm of the people. Enon took a running leap and swung up onto a roof. It was a short jump to another, leaning against a large stone building, maybe an old factory.

Shouts and the sharp cry of the people, protesting, denying any involvement in the death of the guards. Speaking of a man, a demon whose hands held searing flames as he slaughtered the Hylian soldiers. Enon left them behind, following the call of the stones.


Link looked up from his work, endless reports, to find his son standing in the doorway.

"Does ama need me, Cantor?"

The boy was frowning. "Tama, is it wrong to kill?"

The reports seemed suddenly more appealing. "It depends on why you take the life."

Cantor considered this. "I suppose he did right, then."

"Whom?"

"Enon." Cantor wrinkled his nose, his mother's nose. "It's strange. It is like he is here, but…not. I could hear his voice, out in the garden."

"Enon is in Hyrule?"

Cantor didn't answer for a long time. "Daddy, what would have happened if you had killed ama?"

Link gripped the desk, vision narrow. Her face, white and bleeding below him. The Sword hot and angry in his hands.

"Daddy?"

"I…I don't know, Cantor. I don't like to think about it."

His son climbed into his lap. Curled his arms around his neck. "Don't be afraid, tama."

He hugged his boy tightly, this precious boy, his first born. A promise, hope, proof she loved him, wanted him, a life with him, even after all he had done to hurt her.

He kissed the boy's blond hair, the same shade as his.

"Is he safe?"

Cantor looked uneasy. "He is searching for something. I can see him more clearly now. But there is a darkness over him."

"Enon is strong. He will defeat it."

Cantor grunted. "Daddy, why don't Hylian parents spank their children?"

Link didn't follow his change of topic. "What do you mean?"

"I know they do, but it isn't like sar'tura. I think it's better, to be punished at once and forgiven. Then the debt is paid."

"That is a very Ordonian way of thinking, my boy. Hylians think we are harsh. They don't understand, don't know the cruelty of the Watch."

Cantor mused over this. "She understands now."

"Balka?"

He nodded. "She will be a strong queen for him."

Link tipped up the boy's chin. "You are my son. You are the Crown Prince. As much as I love Enon, you come first in my heart and my line."

Cantor's wry expression was much too old for his seven years. "Daddy! How can I be a good king when Fara will be much too busy to be my queen?"

Link managed a smile. "A long way off, little one. Now, go play."

He accepted a kiss, tickled his darling, and sent him off. Cantor paused by the door.

"Be ready, daddy. She will need us soon."

"I will be, son."


The weapon stand stood empty. He could still feel it; he was still its Master. The fear of losing it was less, but always an ache, hiding under her love and forgiveness.

Her Sword shone bright, even in the darkened room. That it was too short and light for him was only a small part of why he did not use it. It was the Hero's blade, hard won and sealed in battle.

Link touched the diamond at the crosstree. The spirit in the blade stirred but did not speak to him. It never had and never would, he knew. Like the Sword, it had one master.

How would the girl need him, need the Hero? Should he, could he, allow his wife, the mother of his children, to go into battle again? Could he stop her? Or would he bend under the same pressure Enon had, allowing the woman he loved to do something so outrageously dangerous?

Her strong hands slid around his chest, arms encircling him.

"He'll bring it back," she murmured.

Link couldn't help his growl of frustration. "He'll wish he'd never looked at it when I'm done with him."

She laughed. "Well, you can't have mine."

"I know."

"What's troubling you? Aside from Enon's treachery?"

"Cantor."

She stiffened, no longer flirtatious, but wary. "What has he seen?"

"Just the same, that we need to be ready."

"For?"

Hylia and Ordona were silent, unsure. Watching to see what would happen. What Enon would do, what Balka would do.

"He doesn't say. But how can we help them? They are so far away." Yet, Cantor had heard Enon's voice, here in the castle.

Zelda's hands were soft again. "Come to bed, volje. It's late."

He sighed. "I'm not tired."

"The baby is sleeping."

He grunted, turning to catch her against him. "Not for long." His youngest had taken after her namesake absolutely, meddling, loud, inconvenient.

Even as his wife laughed and kissed his neck, as they walked to their bedchamber, Link glanced back at the empty stand.

Be ready. She will need us soon.


Balka went down to the pits. She walked boldly through the kitchen. The workers there kept their eyes down. The locker was unguarded. She slipped in and out and made the long trek down to the usker lair.

They were waiting for her. How many lived here? Where did they come from?

She laid the meat down. "I could only carry one." Her back screamed at her, the muscles twitching as they spasmed. "Where is Yska?"

"Gone," they muttered. "Gone away."

"Killed?"

"No." If it was smiling, it was ghastly. "Hide, mage cannot find. Stupid man."

"I am glad. Yska is my friend."

One came close and sniffed her. Even she could smell the sharp, coppery blood dried into her clothes.

"Smell like meat."

"They beat me."

The usker grunted, its moist breath blowing back her hair. It was almost long enough to tuck behind her ear.

"Kill mage?" the thing asked hopefully.

Balka laughed. "No. Not yet."

That made their eyes gleam. "Eat man? Eat man?"

Balka dared to touch it. It held still, not straining away, but cautious. She rubbed along its jaw as she had Yska's. Its growl was almost a purr.

"What is your name?"

"Ust."

She sat on the damp floor. "Ust, where did you come from? Where did the usker come from?"

A few nibbled on the meat she had brought, eyes watching her.

"Mistress called us."

"Called you?"

"We heard Mistress' call. We come."

"Do you remember where you were before?"

Ust blinked at her. "Before?"

"Before you came to serve the Mistress?"

They whispered the word to each other. "Before, before."

"No," Ust said, tail lashing. "No before."

Balka rested her chin in her hands. She had not slept at all, jolted awake by pain each time she managed to drift off.

"In my home, we have creatures like you," she told them. "But they are mindless beasts. They do not speak, they do not protect like Yska did."

Ust settled on the floor next to her, lying on its belly, limbs tucked up. "What home?"

"A land called Hyrule. Enon is from a place called Ordon. His people are trained from birth to kill the crytch, monsters like you and many other kinds. That is why he killed those two in the woods."

"Mistress called man, Enon. Wanted man. We searched in cold mountains and desert. Never found him. Many searches, long searches."

"Do you know why?"

"No. Mistress punish us. Beat us, kill us. We cannot find man."

"I'm sorry, Ust." She laid a hand on the blunt ridges of its spine. "I am sorry she hurt you."

Out of the darkness came a low, croaking call. The uskers jumped up, listening.

"Girl must go," Ust said urgently. "Girl must go now."

"What is it?" Ust pushed her with hands and snout.

"Khraka. Go, go!"

A memory of Jushi's threat: I will cast you to the Khraka with him

She ran as fast as she could, the uskers fleeing in all directions. She reached the stairs, out of breath and her ribs burning. The call was fainter, but no less menacing.

She was met at the head of them by Jushi himself. He smiled evilly at her. Did he practice it in a mirror, she wondered? It was so grotesque, almost theatrical.

"Slaves who do not complete their work will be punished," he said. She met his eyes calmly.

"I was assigned to the pits and here I am."

"You think I am a fool, girl?"

She eyed him, wondering what this was about. He gripped her arm and she could not stop her hiss as his hand closed around a bruise.

"My Lady wants to see you."

She allowed herself to be dragged along. For someone gifted with magic, he was mundanely physical. He had beat her with a stiff leather whip. Why, when he could have used some magical means of torture?

The Lady was physical, but in a very different way. The slaves had told her horrific stories of those she took a fancy to, their screams and the mess to clean up after.

Balka had just begun to enjoy the warmth in the luxurious room when she slinked in. There was no other way to describe her smooth, graceful stride. The pendant hung around her neck.

The Lady came straight to her and gripped her throat. "You are a fool, Balka of Hyrule. You think you could turn my own creations against me?"

Was this how he felt in battle? Calm, aware of the danger, but apart from it. "Yska acted of her own free will." She felt sure Yska was female. Ust had brighter colors, larger ridges. Yska could blend into the earth.

"Free will?" The Lady laughed. "How I shall enjoy destroying your hope, little one." She walked around Balka, touching her. Balka held perfectly still, even as her fingers dragged across the stripes on her back. "I will break you," the Lady murmured. "But I want him to do it."

Balka laughed herself. "Enon would never hurt me."

"You trust his love so strongly?"

Balka met her beautiful glassy eyes. "Yes."

Something crossed the woman's face. Ire, maybe, or doubt.

"Jushi!"

The man came in.

"Heal her, then beat her again."

"My Lady?" Goddess, the man was stupid. Could he not see this woman's obvious attempt to break her spirit?"

"Every day. Heal her, then beat her." The Lady's smile was triumphant. "No harm, as I promised."

Balka shrugged. "It is your soul, Lady. The Goddesses will judge your actions."

She snarled. "Get her out of my sight!"

Jushi soon lost his pleasure in her punishment. Every morning she would walk to his rooms. He would crudely heal her and administer her punishment. Twenty-five, she learned. She counted them as she cried from pain. Then she wiped her face, still gasping, and stood, eyes hard and unflinching as he leered at her. She tossed her head and went out.

Once, he became angry with her dispassion and attacked her wildly. She scrambled free, running to the slaves' quarters. He chased her there but was stopped at the door by the other slaves.

"Move!" he bellowed. They stared at him blankly, lined up to receive their meager morning portion. He tried to shove by, but they resisted him. His tantrum was epic, flashes of light and smoke. When he did manage to break through, she was long gone, out the back door and down to the pits.

Ust and Yska laughed as she told them of his fury.

"Eat Jushi first," Yska promised.

"I hope so," Balka agreed. They presented her with half a fish.

"Girl hungry?"

"Oh, thank you," she said sincerely. "But if I eat it, it will make me sick."

That made them laugh, too. "Man is stupid, sick from fish."

Balka gave it to another, a male named Grin. He did grin a lot, his mouth full of twisted, razored teeth. He swallowed it whole and nosed her hand.

"Mistress punish us," Yska told her. "Punish you?"

"Every day," Balka said. She sighed, wincing. "It hurts."

Ust looked down at her. "You kill Mistress?"

Balka shook her head. "I am not strong enough. She has powerful magic."

Yska spoke quietly, as if with great daring. "Usker kill Mistress?"

How she wanted them to! It would be her greatest pleasure, to watch them devour that hated woman. "No. You must not."

Yska was confused. "Why?"

"I must get Enon back. I will die if he does not come back to me." She would. Her heart, her spirit, would not survive losing him. Not like this. To die in battle was one thing. To lose him because of this witch's magic? She would rather suffer a lifetime of slavery than see that. "And I worry about you."

"Worry?"

"If her magic called you here, then what will happen when her magic is gone? If she made you, will her death destroy you, too? I cannot do that. It would be murder! You are my friends."

They made their purring growls, crowding close to nudge her hands. She scratched their ridges, tears in her eyes. How cruel were these people to not see how desperate these creatures were for love, affection? Her own had been pitiful at best, a few treats, some words of kindness. And they had saved her life. Would betray their Mistress for her.

"I must go."

"Come back?"

"Soon, I promise."

Balka slipped into the laundry. The laundry master saw her and turned away to bark at another slave. Balka scurried to her place in the line. Brenta passed her a brush silently.

"Sorry I am late," Balka whispered to her.

Brenta's giggle was more jarring than the howl of the khraka. "You missed it all. It was so funny!"

"What was?"

"Jushi. When he saw you gone, he started setting the beds on fire. Then Amdal started screeching, demanding he put them out. He couldn't. We had to smother the flames with other sheets. See?" She held up a blackened corner.

Balka took the cloth guiltily. "I am so sorry! Were many destroyed? How can we replace them?"

"Har and Fen will build more," Brenta said with a shrug. "I will sleep on the floor, just for the fun of seeing Jushi look such a fool!"

Balka wanted to laugh, but felt sick instead. "Oh, Brenta, you mustn't draw his anger! None of you must be punished for my actions!" Just like the usker, she would not be so selfish as to risk any of them. Brenta squeezed her hand.

"Worry not, brave Balka."

Amdal, the gray woman, screeched at her, too, when she came back that evening.

"Slattern! Bitch! Whore!" Balka watched amazed as the woman's cheeks reddened. "I would have you beaten for this!"

But she already was being beaten. And injured slaves couldn't work.

"Pits! Latrines! All week!"

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman made noise, part scream, part growl. Balka hurried to her bed. A mat had been laid on the floor, her blanket singed and smelling of burnt hair.

Dinu lay next to her on the floor. "What did you do, girl, to cause Jushi such consternation?"

Balka giggled a little herself. "Could he really not put out the fires?"

Dinu chuckled. "Hopping around like a mad chicken. La, now, gave me ten years of life to see it."

Even with her back aching and arms numbed, Balka went about her work smiling. She tried to hide it, for it only brought more anger from the mages. They were watching her closely. Trying to catch her seeding revolt? They were fools. Weak, as she was beginning to understand.

She smiled when Vel helped carry Dantifu's load up the backstairs. She smiled when Hurna the mage saw an usker by the East Door and quickly went around the long way to avoid him.

She smiled when Khila slapped the mage who tried to grope her as she scrubbed the floors. And at his blanch of fear as Balka threw down her brush to come to Khila's aid. The staccato patter of his ornate slippers as he fled her wrath.

Khila straightened her cap and dunked her brush in the soapy water. "Skittish fellow, isn't he?"

Balka hummed a Gerudo battle song and returned to her work.