Chapter 21
They ascended up the giant beanstalk with slow deliberation, grunting and wheezing, their fingers sliding into the sap-filled grooves that pocked the surface of the impossibly sized stem. Convenient, Zelda thought. It's almost as though it was meant to be climbed. That made a queer kind of sense. How else could she explain her sudden decision to scale it? Especially since it would've been a lot easier simply to ignore the giant plant and move on.
Willowreed, to her credit, had simply followed without comment or complaint. Zelda was still unsure of quite how she felt towards the Zora warrior, or what the woman's true intentions were. The princess was wary of her, certainly, but surprised at the fact that she'd pulled Zelda out of the burning cottage like that.
Zelda glanced down. The Zora's slender, silver limbs took to the climb with graceful ease. Willowreed noticed her regard. She scowled. "You're not going to thank me again, are you?" she snapped. "That'll be, what, the fifteenth time now?"
Zelda's lips stretched in a tight smile. "I was taught to have the grace to thank people who have done me a favour."
Willowreed's expression soured. "Oh, sorry. Where are my manners?" She let one hand go and slapped it against her forehead. "Oh, there they are. Back with my charred and blackened dead body."
Zelda looked away. Partly because she'd grown accustomed to the Zora's rough manner, and partly because it made her feel dizzy when Willowreed clung to the stalk with just one hand like that.
"Anyway," the Zora said, surprising the princess by continuing the conversation. "You said we could only die once. That if something happened to us here, we'd be –"
"Consumed by the Sorrow," Zelda finished quietly. "Yes."
"And why the concern, anyway?" Willowreed asked. "If the Sorrow, as you say, is blighting our old world, what does it matter to you here?"
"I have to help them," the princess replied. "And that's not all. Once the Sorrow is dead, all the spirits here will be free, too."
The Zora gave a mumbled response. "Well, isn't that just comforting."
Zelda sighed. She thought the conversation over, but again Willowreed caught her out.
"What do you mean by 'free', anyway?" she said. "Free, how?"
"I don't really know."
"So we won't even go back to our old bodies? Back in the old world?"
"I said I don't know."
It was the truth. Vor Primum hadn't been quite clear on that. He'd mentioned spirits entering the Shadowspace upon death to await their final outcome. He'd said the Sorrow had corrupted that. Zelda wasn't quite sure what would happen to the spirits should the Sorrow fall, but surely it had to be better than their current fate?
She gazed up, blinking. "Look," she said, her voice soft. "I think we've almost reached the top. There's just one last leaf up there."
"Will it be just as bad as the others?"
Now it was Zelda's turn to mumble. "I hope not."
Every time they'd alighted onto one of the huge leaves, they'd found the whole landscape changed. Each leaf seemed herald a gateway into a new realm within the Shadowspace, a world within a world. The first time they'd sat on a lead, they had looked out over an immense battlefield under a bloated, red sun. An army of anthropomorphic wasps had ploughed into a militia of equally humanlike spiders, buzzing and chittering, severed legs and wings churning in a scarlet mist that had fountained up into the air.
That had been terrifying enough. The fact that the insect warriors were the size of ten men didn't help matters much. Naturally, they hadn't lingered there too long.
Another leaf had opened up onto a city the size of an entire continent. Tall, dark towers sprinkled with shimmering lights had spread out in all directions. Strange, steel contraptions flew in and out of the myriad spires, catching the glow of huge moving paintings that depicted all manner of strange things that still made Zelda's head hurt when she'd thought back on them. The steel constructions had then suddenly broken apart in mid-air, whirling and twisting, until they had taken on, impossibly, the form of metal men with swords of crackling light and eyes of dull, blue radiance. The steel warriors had then set upon each other mercilessly, thick black blood – or what seemed like blood - spraying into the air in their wake.
The other gateways hadn't been much better: men with wolf heads feasting on a meal of young, virginal girls with terrified faces; bouncing monkeys with the voices of children, begging, pleading, to be released from their simian prison; a kingdom of proud-faced horses that rode and enslaved human beings clothed in garments made of roses, cracking them with steel-barbed whips; and more, more than what Princess Zelda's mind could bear, more than anyone could be expected to bear, and so she'd let it all dissolve into the well of forgotten memories.
It was all a game to the Sorrow, she decided, a macabre show with real people – real spirits - as its puppets. That, though, implied that the Sorrow- whatever it really was – had intelligence. The realisation had chilled the princess. What a terrible, terrible thing it was.
She didn't want to think on it anymore. Instead, she changed tack.
"Tell me, Willowreed," she said. "Why is it that you have such distaste for Princess Ruto?"
The Zora woman grunted as she pulled herself ever upwards. "It's simple," she replied, her voice flat. "It all started when…" Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat. "It was to do with the incident of the…" Again, her words drizzled away. Zelda glanced down at her and saw the warrior blink in befuddlement. "I don't think I remember. That is strange, is it not?"
Zelda didn't reply. Unease fell upon her heart like a cloak. Whatever ailed the Zora she, the princess, had been struck with it, too. Already she had begun to feel her old memories start to dissolve, as though her previous life had been just a minor blip, something that had had little or no consequence. Some names, places, a few faces and a sprinkle of old emotions still came to her - her father, Link, Malon and her other friends – but her exact memories had become slippery things, like the eels she'd once caught in Lake Hylia, sliding away from her mind. Sometimes she could snatch them and hold them tight, other times they'd just dart away.
Had she really ruled an entire nation once? And, wait, just now, why had she been so unsure of Willowreed again? Who was the person called Sheik? The Chosen One?
Her thoughts were cut short as they reached the peak of the immense beanstalk. They hauled themselves up onto the final leaf, and rested there, exhausted, for a moment. It bobbed under the pressure, but held firm. Zelda pushed a strand of her hair out of her eyes and looked up ahead. The town before them bore a passing resemblance to Castleton. Certainly, there were echoes of the same architecture: the single- storey houses were small and squat with sloped roofs and thick chimneys, and the roads were winding and cobbled, with only a suggestion of paving. Everything else, though, was completely different.
This town seemed dead, desolate and abandoned. The windows were smashed, and broken lanterns in the shape of stars littered the ground, desperately trying to cling to their fading light. The clouds in the night sky, just like in the forest, had faces, but these all looked sad and forlorn.
Willowreed stepped off of the leaf and into the street. Shattered glass crunched under her boots.
"Oh, this is much better," she said, looking around. "Not a corpse in sight."
"We're all corpses," Zelda muttered in distraction, following the Zora mercenary down. Her eye had been taken by a fluttering scroll pinned to a nearby house. Flattening it with the palm of her hand, she took a look. A picture of a beautiful young girl with oval eyes, a pink gown, and blonde hair stared back, smiling and with one finger pointed straight ahead.
The legend beneath read: REMEMBER! THE PRINCESS LOVES YOU! SMILE!
Underneath the word 'princess' someone had crudely scribbled the word 'bitch.' A sudden gust of wind made the scroll billow from Zelda's grasp. There was some writing beneath, hastily painted onto the wall. It read: WARE THE FAT MAN.
Willowreed folded her arms. "Finally we make it to Happy Land," she sniped.
Zelda was about to reply when the sound of marching boots cut through the silence. "Someone's coming," she said, redundantly.
"Hide," Willowreed replied, pulling the princess into the dark, narrow space between two of the houses. The rhythmic marching grew louder. Bouncing lantern light spilled into the street up ahead. Zelda tensed. Slowly, she pulled her bow free.
A phalanx of soldiers strode regimentally into view, then turned as one and entered the street. Zelda's eyes blinked, widened, then blinked some more. She should have been used to the absurdity of the Shadowspace by now, but yet, even now, she managed to find herself caught by surprise.
The soldiers were all turtles, standing upright like men. There was about a dozen of them, hard shells protecting wan bodies and beak-like faces. They all carried lances and, skewered firmly atop of one, a tiny little man hung there, arms and legs limp. His eyes were shut as he bobbed up and down in time to the marching. Cresting his head was a spotted hat ten times too large. It made him resemble, for all intents and purposes, a large mushroom.
Some of the turtles broke rank to give the man a few prods. They cackled their delight in strange bird-like voices.
Cold anger made Zelda's hand clutch tightly to her bow. Her heart thudded, ready to summon a light arrow to the string. She felt Willowreed gently nudge her.
"What would you do?" the Zora whispered. "You can't save him. He's gone already. Look."
Zelda did. A thin, black mist needled its way out of thin air, then ribboned itself around the little man, covering him whole in a writhing dark shroud. Then, suddenly, it collapsed in on itself, dissolving into a sprinkle of black dots. The soldiers stopped, looking up with confusion etched on their leathery reptile faces.
Zelda's mouth went dry. Consumed by the Sorrow…
With a shake of their collective heads, the turtle soldiers marched on, turning a corner and quickly disappearing out of sight. Willowreed waited, then, when she saw all was clear, she stepped out of the shadows.
"What is it we're supposed to do here?" she asked. She looked straight at Zelda. "And who exactly is this person you're searching for?"
"I told you," Zelda replied, voice quiet. She felt reluctant to share anything about Link with the mercenary. "A friend. I'll know him when I see him."
"A friend? Here?"
"Don't question me. I know what I know."
Willowreed held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged. "Let's see what we can find here, then, shall we?"
They clung to the buildings and shadows as they stalked their way through the ruined city. Small fires burned here and there. A wolf – or some such equivalent – howled in the distance. Screams punctuated with the sound of explosions haunted the night air.
Zelda's nose twitched at the stench of burning. Something that resembled the shards of a shattered rainbow glittered under her boots. What had happened here? What was this place?
They saw very few people. Sometimes they spied a troop of those soldier turtles, and hid from then until they'd passed. Once they saw a family of mushroom people, the father looking grim, the mother comforting a wailing child in her arms.
Zelda's heart had gone out to them, but Willowreed had pulled her away before she'd had a chance to speak. She'd glared at the Zora then, but the warrior simply dismissed her concerns, looking nonplussed.
Some of the buildings were draped with images painted on canvas. They depicted the young princess they'd seen earlier on the scroll. In those pictures, and standing next to her, was a small, rotund man with a large smile under his equally large moustache. He had two of his fingers up in a strange gesture. The images had been defaced. GO HOME FATMAN, read one. DEATH TO THE PRINCESS, said another.
They reached a fork in the road. Two large, green steel pipes, flecked with rust and stinking of damp, jutted out from the ground. A swirling echo rose from the both of them, as though they were filled with a mass of chattering people.
A sign on the left pipe read: TO THE DOCKS
The sign on the right pipe had been scratched out and now proclaimed: TO THE PITS OF DESPAIR
"I say we take the left pipe," said Willowreed.
"Wise choice," a new voice said. "Though I can get you a safer route."
Willowreed and Zelda spun around. A tall, pale young woman gazed serenely back at them. She wore a teal tunic and had hair the colour of platinum-blonde, with one bang hanging noticeably over her right eye.
"You look lost," she said, "Or, at the very least, you're new here."
Zelda blinked at her. "Who are you?"
"You can call me Rose," she replied, smiling. She placed her hand delicately against her chest and curtseyed.
Willowreed arched an eyebrow. "Not your real name, I'd wager?"
"No, it's not," she replied. A dull explosion erupted somewhere far off to the north. She quickly glanced in that direction, then back at the two of them. "And you are?"
Willowreed was quick to reply. "I'm Ruto and this is Nabooru."
Rose looked from one face to another. "Not your real names, right?"
Zelda matched her wry smile. "Right," she said. The princess winced as a solitary scream split the air far off in the distance. "What is it you want with us?"
"I'm with the Rebellion," Rose explained. "Against the Fatman and the Princess. And against…other things, too."
Suspicion danced in Willowreed's liquid eyes. "You reveal this to every stranger you meet, do you?"
"You're not mere strangers though, are you?" Rose said. "You're from off-world. I could sense it." She paused, then, as though revealing a hammer blow, she said, "I know about the Sorrow."
Willowreed showed not a hint of recognition on her face. Zelda hoped she had done just as well, but she felt her phantom heart race and felt sweat pearl upon her palms. The princess gestured. "Lead the way."
Rose nodded, then turned smartly on her heel. "Quickly now," she barked. "It's curfew time and the Fatman's Troopers are on the prowl. Oh, and by the way, had you taken that Warp Pipe you'd be dead now, a Piranha Plant's supper."
Dead, Zelda mused. A figure of speech, or does she not know her current fate?
Rose led them down dark alleys, dodging broken drains that sputtered with dirty water, their boots crunching stray debris underfoot. Though her posture was that of a confident and competent young woman, Rose's eyes betrayed her caution and concern. Soon, they came to a halt in front of a small door set into the crumbling wall of a derelict building. Rose procured a key from her tunic, then slid it in with a clunk. The lock snapped open.
As they entered, a dark brown creature shaped like a tear-drop floated into view. "Oh, I'm so glad you're back, Rosa-"
"Hush, Polari," Rose said. "We have guests."
Polari took one look at the new pair, then floated away into the gloom. Rose led them through a dark corridor. They passed a man there, tall and thin, who stared at them with suspicious eyes. Perched upon his head was a flat green cap, and his face sported the same sort of moustache that Zelda had seen in the picture of the Fatman.
"What's this?" he said. His voice had a strange accent to it. "What're you up to?"
"Leave it," Rose said, her tone firm. "I know what I'm doing. I'm in charge here, remember?"
The man's face soured, but still he moved aside to give them space. His eyes bore into Zelda and Willowreed as they walked past.
Rose beckoned them into a small, bare room, sparsely furnished. A single star-shaped lamp shone in one corner. Straw lay on the hard ground. "Sit," she said, gesturing at the floor. "You'll have to excuse my lack of hospitality. I have very little to offer."
Willowreed, clearly tiring of the pleasantries, spoke as soon as she was seated. "Why was it better to go to the Docks?" she asked. "Other than the obvious reason."
Rose's eyes glittered under the lamp light. "The princess and the Fatman will be there," she explained. "Presiding over another one their barbaric 'contests.' I thought you might like to see what it is the Rebellion are fighting against."
Zelda wanted to ask about this 'princess' and her consort, but she needed other answers first. "You mentioned the Sorrow," she said. "What do you know of it?"
Rose smiled. "My, you're full of questions, aren't you?"
"I'm sorry," Zelda said, slightly abashed. She considered the young woman's words. "Is it because you don't trust us?"
"The opposite," Rose said with a smile. "I do trust you. I can see the trace of other worlds on you. Don't ask how, it's a knack of mine." Her smile widened. Zelda felt herself warming to the woman. "If you've been to other worlds, then you must know all about the Shadowspace…?"
"Not entirely," Zelda replied. "I mean, we know what it is. I just don't understand why it's all so strange."
A glaze fell over Rose's eyes and her voice dropped to a hush. "Stars," she said. "There are so many stars out there. And a whole universe full of many, many worlds. So many people. So many stories. Some of those worlds exist only in the imagination." She paused for a breath. "In the Shadowspace – the Void, the Middle Realm, Limbo, whatever its name – a semblance of all those worlds are made manifest here, twisted and corrupt, just for the sick amusement of the Sorrow."
Zelda leaned forward. "And this world here?" she asked. "What is it?"
A sad shadow fell over Rose's eyes. "Better you don't know. It had a name once. It's meaningless now."
Zelda hated press this self-possessed young woman with more questions, but she had little choice. "You said your Rebellion fights other things, too. Is the Sorrow one of those?"
Rose turned her full regard towards the princess. "Yes. Of a sort. We're spread out through all the worlds." She blinked. A muffled explosion topped with a scream sounded from the outside. The little building shook, flecks of plaster falling from the ceiling. "Waiting."
Willowreed raised an eyebrow. "For…?"
"A champion," Rose replied, her eyes flicking over to the Zora. "One that would be worthy enough to end the Sorrow's tyranny. We'll wait the whole of eternity if we have to. But, till then, we have our own, more local, problems to deal with." She cleared her throat. "Now. We have a Warp Pipe here that will take you direct to the Docks. I don't know what your purpose is here in our world, but I hope you find it there." A wry smile touched her lips again. "Try not to draw attention to yourselves, will you?"
Zelda felt a sudden tug of sadness overcome her. "You're not coming with us?"
Rose smiled. "Not tonight," she replied. "Our time will come." A sigh fled her lips. "So. 'Ruto' and 'Nabooru.' I bid thee both fare well. I was very happy to meet you."
…
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.
One of the turtle soldiers stood on the very edge of the waterfront, tugging on a bell that hung between twin wooden beams. "Ship ahoy!" he called.
A crowd had formed on the slippery docks, consisting mostly of mushroom people under the watchful eyes of a horde of turtle soldiers who prodded and probed anyone who stepped out of line. Zelda watched as the salty sea breeze threw flecks of icy water into her face. The crowd, she mused, looked utterly petrified.
"Ship ahoy!" the bellman called again. Zelda looked out at the churning blackness of the sea, its crashing waves and softer ripples only barely visible due to a fat full moon and a sprinkle of twinkling stars. Zelda looked up at those, thinking back on what Rose had said. Many, many worlds…
She suddenly felt quite alone and small.
A schooner floated into view ahead, its hull creaking, its sails at half-mast. It made a lazy turn, seawater frothing beneath, and made its ponderous way into the harbour.
The turtle soldiers rounded on the crowd. "Cheer!" they demanded, their lances at the ready.
The people roared, waving and hooting as the ship passed by. Zelda had to credit them for their enthusiasm. She suspected that the slightest hint of insincerity would end quite nastily. Glancing askew, Zelda saw that Willowreed had her lips pursed, distinctly unimpressed. No one had given either of them a second look, and the princess had found this odd. Were they familiar, these strange people, with the Hylian and Zora race, then? Or were the people, even the soldiers, too self-absorbed with their own worries and cares to check?
A fanfare of trumpets made the entire crowd, Zelda and Willowreed included, turn around. Creaking and squeaking followed, the ground shaking gently underneath. Zelda frowned, peering ahead.
Dragged along by straining mushroom men, a huge pedestal set on wheels slowly rumbled into view. It swayed from side to side, its wooden beams rattling. Standing atop the gargantuan structure were two figures – one tall and willowy, the other short and squat.
Zelda gazed up at them. The Princess and the Fatman.
One of the ropes suddenly snapped. The mushroom man holding it cried out in terror, then tumbled to the ground. He looked up, face twisted in fear, and tried to scramble to safety - but it was too late. The trundling pedestal rolled over him without stopping, cutting off his agonised protests with a gurgling cry. Zelda, eyes wet with tears, watched as a wispy black mist wound its way around the man's remains. The Sorrow had taken another victim.
The pedestal came to a grinding halt. It was then that Zelda noticed a chained figure at its base, another mushroom man, this one dressed in a blue waistcoat and a spotted red hat.
Atop the platform, the princess stood and waved. "Hello, everyone!" she said, giggling. "I hope you're all having a grand time!"
"Cheer!"
The crowd did.
The Fatman also stood. "It's a-me, M-"
"Cheer!"
The roar of the throng drowned out the Fatman's words. As the noise died down, the princess spoke again, looking down at the prisoner with her large, sapphire eyes. "My dearest and oldest companion! My ever faithful attendant!" she said, her voice cascading down. "Today – for our amusement – you get to fight for your life!" She giggled again.
"Cheer!"
The mushroom man's face was etched with terror. "Please, Your Highness," he whimpered. "Not this. Please, not this."
Zelda's hand had already reached her bow when Willowreed grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. "Don't be a fool," the Zora hissed. "Look around you. We wouldn't stand a chance."
Reluctantly, Zelda let her hand drop. Bitterness welled up inside of her. What good was she? Really?
The princess high above spread out her arms. "First – today's prize!"
"Cheer!"
A wooden door slid open on the side of the pedestal. Two of the turtle soldiers strode in, then, with obvious effort, pulled out a marble slab, atop of which stood –
Zelda's heart skipped a beat. "The Master Sword!"
How could that be? Her mind raced. That must mean – oh, no. The Sorrow must have taken the Temple of Time. Or the whole of Castleton.
She shivered.
Father…
The princess above raised her hands. The sea breeze made her pink gown billow. "And, now," she said, adding yet another giggle. "Our champion!"
"Cheer!"
As the crowd did as they were bid, another panel opened on the pedestal's flank. A man stepped out, grinning and waving as he basked in the adulation, sword clutched in his hand, cloak fluttering in the wind.
Zelda's eyes widened. This was quite the day for shocks.
Willowreed noticed her reaction. "What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"
"Here!" one of the turtle soldiers said, waving his lance in a menacing fashion. "No chatting! Or I'll put a stop to it, I will!"
The Zora looked from the turtle's face to the tip of his lance, and then back again. She smiled a wicked smile. "I'd love to see you try."
Swallowing, the soldier backed off. Willowreed turned back to Zelda. "Well?"
"That man," she replied, still staring. "He's Hylian."
Willowreed stretched up on the tips of her toes and peered. "So he is. Do you know him?"
"Yes," said Zelda, her voice glum. "His name is Count Xain."
"Not good news, then?"
"No," Zelda replied. "Not at all."
Xain waved one last time at the crowd, then turned to face the Fatman and the Princess, bowing theatrically. As he straightened his back, his eyes fell upon the Master Sword. An ugly hunger sparkled on his face. Licking his lips, he tentatively reached out for the pommel, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment. And pulled.
Nothing happened.
He pulled again.
Someone in the crowd coughed. A turtle soldier threw them a sharp glance, silencing them instantly.
Grim satisfaction made a hard smile rise to Zelda's lips. "You fool," she whispered. "No ordinary man can lift the Master Sword."
Xain cleared his throat noisily. "No doubt I'll be able to take it easily as soon as I'm done for the night."
The Fatman nodded, shaking his fist. "Thassa right!"
Xain turned his attention to the imprisoned mushroom man. He slid the flat of his blade under the terrified prisoner's chin, then lifted the man's head up. Tears had cut silver streaks down the mushroom man's quivering face.
"I, Count Xain, Champion of our Beloved and Most Righteous of Rulers challenge you, worm, to a duel." He grinned. "To the death."
"Cheer!"
The assembled horde roared their approval. Above, the grinning princess clapped daintily while the Fatman pulled her close, and pecked her on the cheek, waving all the while.
Zelda felt sick. She wanted to turn away, but found that she couldn't. Her eyes remained fixed on the broken expression on the prisoner's face. Hands curled into fists, she cursed inwardly. She had to be something that she could do! Something!
The crowd jostled her here and there, growing more raucous in their excitement. Some of them had bloodlust in their eyes. Now she began to doubt whether their earlier fervour had been a pretence or not. Despite the night air and the breeze blowing in from the sea, Princess Zelda felt suddenly hot. Tears blurred her eyes. She was just so sick of it. Sick of it all.
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.
Zelda's head snapped up.
The crowd fell silent. Slowly, as one, they turned around. The bell, the one that heralded the coming of a ship, had just burst into life.
All by itself.
Unease spread over the throng. Hushed whispers began to float into the air.
Zelda frowned. She glanced up at Willowreed, who shrugged in response. Atop the pedestal, the two rulers looked out to sea, eyes squinting.
There was nothing there.
Zelda squinted, too. All she saw was the swirl of the empty sea under a moonlit glaze.
Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding-ding.
The turtle soldier who had earlier manned the bell looked up at it in befuddlement, scratching his head. "Um," he said. "Ship ahoy…?"
The horizon suddenly rippled and tore. A huge swirling black hole, flecked with blue light, opened up over the sea. The wind howled. Zelda had to clutch onto Willowreed to keep from toppling over.
An immense ship, sails billowing, shot out from the opening in a graceful arc. It hung suspended in the air for a heartbeat, then crashed into the water, spraying a plume of green froth up high and away. Its bow then flew back up, colliding into the bell with a clang and then grinding to a halt as it finally ran aground. The mushroom people, screaming, scattered in panic.
Zelda stared up in awe. Seawater sprayed into her face, but she was beyond noticing. Nothing happened for a moment, then she saw a cannon slowly rattle out from within the ship's prow. More panicked screaming followed. Zelda held her ground, transfixed, the wind rippling her hair.
A flash of molten light followed, and the cannon jerked, firing. The projectile, a black blur against the night sky, whistled high up into the air, then, suddenly, unfurled itself into a new, and more familiar, shape. It plummeted to the ground, then landed with impossible grace into a crouch. The man, for that's what he was, stood. His white shirt billowed under his dark waistcoat and even darker frock coat; the type, Zelda realised, that pirates were prone to wearing.
He turned quickly, and swiftly swept the Master Sword up and out of its pedestal. The crowd, the soldiers, Count Xain, and the two monarchs above stood agog.
"This would be mine, I believe," the man said in a soft voice. He turned, and Zelda caught a sight of his face. Time froze. Her heart surged, nearly bursting with giddy happiness. She grinned the most sincere grin she'd ever done in her entire life.
Link looked at Count Xain. "A duel, you say? I'm game." He smiled. "When do we begin?"