34

The council dispersed in a storm of pride and purpose. Clerks and soldiers alike rushed from the room. No doubt the office of Sir Erik Perun would do a booming business this day.

General Renaldo Baeleus shot me one last searing glance and then pushed away from the map table. He muttered irritably to a pair of men who met him in the crowd. Then all three were gone, filing out with the crush of soldiery.

I just sat there, blinking, more confused and dismayed than anything else. It felt like I had just been mugged by a set of sentient, alien encyclopedias. I watched the other men hurry determinedly from the council chamber and felt like a lost child.

The King, who had also not risen, stared at me with a vaguely irked expression. "Do you have anything to add, Mister Olsen?" he rumbled.

Oh, just a few-hundred things, I thought. I'd say we'll want to order out for Chinese for this one. It's going to be a long day.

Rather than give voice to my doubts, I meekly said, "No, your majesty. I'm just . . . well . . . what do I do now?"

Harkinian shrugged. It was a bizarre gesture coming from a man so massive and inherently regal. "Well? I would say that you should get to preparing, Mister Olsen. You leave for battle this very day! None of us – especially you – have time to waste!" He made a jocular shooing motion. "Off with you, then. I bid you be ready to leave within hours. Word has already been sent to Maid Imzadi to assist you in any preparations that are necessary."

So I stood, made an awkward bow, and lumbered from the chamber. Harkinian and the Prime Minister stayed behind – presumably to hash out more details for the coming days. The few remaining attendees gave me a wide berth as I wandered out to the landing. Almost no men milled about now – they all tromped up or down the curving stairs.

A fairy flew past me, buzzing my ear by only a few inches. Wing-beats like tiny rotors. "Pardon!" a bizarrely deep voice called out. His glowing form shot up the stairwell like a Lilliputian UFO.

Out in the stairwell, Sir Walther Kael took the steps with a slow raggedness. His gait suggested that he had been recently hit in the head with a baseball bat.

For the first time in what felt like months, a sudden imperative seized me. A businesslike realization: I needed to talk with that man. No matter how much he disliked me; no matter how quickly he was trying to leave my presence; no matter whether it would bear fruit of any sort. If I was going to sort out what had just happened, I needed to talk to the knight currently clomping away from me.

"Sir Walther!" I called.

Kael turned back with a confused, quizzical expression. "Aye?"

I all but dashed off the landing, shouldering my way past a pair of dour men in robes. As I mounted the stairs, I said, "Hey, man. Shouldn't I, like, be going with you?"

The knight appeared confused by the question, so I continued, "Since you're my, um, commanding officer or whatever?"

"His majesty left the parameters of our arrangement rather vague," Kael said. "I suspect that we will have to decide upon them once we arrive in Stoneheart. Unless, of course, you are volunteering to join the First Legion."

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I guess not?"

"Then I shall talk with you again once we have reached our destination."

"Wait. Wait wait wait. Listen." I took a breath. "I really need your help. I have no fucking clue what's going on and since I'm supposed to be under your wing anyway, I figured we could talk."

"About?" Kael said flatly.

"Everything!" I blurted. "I only understood about half of what was said in there. I get that Hyrule is under attack. I get that we're going to ride out to meet the fuckers up north. But everything else? Shit like 'the Damned Remnant?' Moon Guild? Inner Council? I am way, way out of my depth here."

Sir Kael sighed stuffily and said, "Mister Olsen, it is imperative that I return to legionary headquarters and prepare for my transfer to the Third. High General Eldridge will no doubt want to liaise with me as we organize the departure from Hylium."

"Come on," I pleaded. "If I'm going to be any use to you whatsoever, I at least need an idea of what I'm up against. I need to get a handle on this, man."

Sir Kael stared stone-facedly. Soldiers rushed past us, down into the bowels of the keep. Finally, the knight nodded hesitantly. "Walk with me, then."

Score.

"What do you want to know?" Walther Kael asked. I tried to keep abreast of him as we descended, but this was easier said than done on the perpetually occupied stairs.

God, where to start? I hadn't been lying when I said that the War Council meeting had been a long, battering marathon of frustration.

I settled for, "How far away is all this happening?"

"About six days' ride, if you kill a few horses to get there."

I boggled at this. "How do you know what happened last night, then?"

"Hawks' wings are much faster than hooves, Mister Olsen. Automatic writers and gossip stones are even faster." Kael allowed himself a smirk.

"Okay," I breathed. Fine then: Let's go with something more basic. "Everybody seemed to know who it is that's leading Ganon's army. Lord Drex or something."

"Count Drex," the knight corrected.

"Yeah, whatever. Who is he? And what's the Moon Guild?"

A glance my way, loaded with the implication that I had just asked him to explain Hitler or Osama bin Laden. His determined stride never faltered. "What do you know about the Great Defection?"

"I know . . . of it."

As we reached a new landing, Kael paused and said, "Did you know that moblins and bokoblins are not the only followers of Ganon?"

"Sure." Well, I knew it academically.

He nodded darkly. Lemon-colored light fell from a window and coated his peppered hair. "Many once loyal to Hyrule have been seduced by the promises of the Protectorate. Last summer, after years of stalemate on the frontier, there was a mass defection of Hylians to Ganon. The entirety o' the Eleventh Legion abandoned its posts and joined Ganon's hordes. Close to ten-thousand men who had taken the Legionary Oath turned traitor that day." He shook his head and grimaced.

"The whole fucking legion?" I marveled.

"Very nearly," Sir Kael shrugged. "The stories say that General Toma Ramsis called an assembly of all his troops an' announced his intention to defect. Supposedly, that speech alone won them to Ganon's cause. Those that refused to turn were murdered on the spot. No one knows how many loyal men o' the legion died that way. Hundreds, maybe. When the Eleventh tried to march north, the Ninth Legion tried to stop 'em and at least parlay. After the battle that ensued, the remains o' the Eleventh joined up with the mobs n' monsters. They became the Damned Remnant."

Wait a tick. I blinked and cocked my head. "Did you know," I said hesitantly, "that when you get talking, your accent changes?"

The knight looked at me coldly and chuffed, "I – well. I mean."

Then he growled irritably, "Aye! What of it? Does a Vale-born lad's mother tongue offend ya'?" The stiff, measured cadence he had used up to this point returned to his speech like a concrete wall. "Shall I speak as a proper knight, sir? The speech one learns in fair Hylium Town?"

I drew back, just short of terrified. "Whoa, whoa," I said. "Wait. I didn't – man – I was just observing. It struck me as weird, was all. I really don't care how you speak. In fact, I'd prefer it if you were comfortable. You don't have to put on airs."

Though it wasn't difficult for Walther Kael to compose himself, he clearly didn't know what to make of me at that moment. With a snort and a shake of his head, he motioned for me to keep walking. We descended.

Without prompting, Kael continued, "We should have been more cautious. We needed to be better prepared. After all, the Great Defection was not the first time the people of Hyrule turned against their country."

"Who was that?"

"The fairies of Kyr Colony," Kael said. "Right at the beginning o' the war. It shouldn't have been much of a surprise. Kyr were always rebels and rabble-rousers – goin' on three-hundred years an' more. They even declared their own kingdom a while back. One o' the Midnas kings had to lock swords with 'em before they agreed to come back under Hylian rule." He sighed. "It still wasn't at all good for morale when one o' the biggest and meanest fairy colonies in Hyrule turned traitor on us. And we only knew they had gone bad when they ambushed us at the Battle o' the Buttes."

"This is all useful, man, but what does it have to do with Count Drex?"

An annoyed glance. He said, "On the same day that the Eleventh defected to Ganon, so did thousands of other men. Mostly contractual mercenaries from Seamarch an' the Outer Islands – but also the entirety of the Moon Guild, a brotherhood of renowned alchemists. Count Drex was their guildmaster. He supposedly orchestrated the entire Great Defection. It was him that swayed General Ramsis and got word out that the 20th of Eldus would be the day to strike. When he and his lot fled Hylium, they set fire to their guildhall and tried to do the same to all o' the Easterly End. They failed in that, but most o' the evil buggers managed to scarper north. Now the word is that Drex and the Moon Guild are Ganon's idea men. They're the ones cookin' up berserkers an' redead an' hybrid beasts of all sorts."

I swallowed nervously and asked, "And he's the one leading this army that's invading Hyrule?"

"Perhaps." His expression changed not an iota. "Fact is, we don't know much about Ganon's forces – even after all these years o' fighting. Sometimes, it seems like they're organized on the legionary model. At others, they're little more than a roilin' horde. There's no rhyme or reason to their command structure. Only General Ramsis ever seemed to keep consistent discipline over the Remnant."

When we reached the bottom of the tower, the legionaries guarding its entrance gave Sir Kael a terse salute. He nodded silently to them and we went forth into the gloom-ridden halls of the keep.

As we strode through the echoing passages, I asked, "Okay – so, it's gonna be moblins, led by traitors from Hyrule. Did all the defectors get so highly ranked?"

Kael grunted, "Not all. Most o' the Remnant remained foot-soldiers. An' not all shared Drex's prestige. Some o' them have been executed by the Protectorate itself. Others . . .

"They say General Ramsis was promised a princedom in exchange for his betrayal. Instead, his head got displayed on a pike in Norburg Square. It was the Shiekah Shadow who took it, they say. Snuck into the camp of the Damned and sliced it clean off Ramsis's shoulders."

He fixed me with his granite eyes and growled, "And never was there a better piece o' filth for the pits o' hell!"

I managed a nod and said, "Fuckin' A."

"Aye," Kael said decisively. "Aye!"

"You've lost some people to them, then? The Remnant and Drex?"

Walther didn't even look at me. "Aye. Hyrule has lost some fine lads to those murderers."

I blinked and coughed, "I meant, um, you. Have people you've known been killed by traitors?"

I didn't understand what swam through Kael's expression in the next moments. A flicker of something that was quite visible, but incomprehensible. A series of twitches; a downturn of his lips; a ripple through his brow. It lasted only a couple seconds – and then he continued to stare stoically as we marched through the halls.

"Yes, I have," the knight said. His ponderous Hylium accent descended like an iron mask. "Almost all men of the Legions – whether the Twentieth or the First – knew men who have fallen to the bastards. Whether it's raids or ambushes or poison bloody gas in the night . . . we have all lost a few friends."

I could do little but nod soberly and continue the walk. We turned into a passage whose tall windows stared out over a patchwork courtyard unfamiliar to me. Topiaries rose like towers between walks of tiled white stone. The sky shone with a whitish-blue blanket of haze. Even in this seemingly idyllic hallway, servants sprinted and officials dashed.

Just as I was about to open my mouth for another (probably moronic) question, I noticed a hunched figure making its way along the right wall. Its form was periodically bathed in light thrown by the immense windows. His walking staff click-clack-clicked atop the marble edge of the floor.

Sir Kael said the name before I could even think about it: "High Sage Saharasla. An honor to meet you here." The knight bowed dispassionately.

"Oh ho, such manners!" the High Sage giggled. "Many thanks, boy. You shall make a fine squire, I think!"

Walther tried to hide his scowl and failed.

With a movement like a carnival tilt-a-whirl, Saharasla Minos turned my way and hummed happily. "Why, if it isn't the young fellow of the hour!" he beamed toothlessly. "A fine morning, is it not? Tell me, young master – what is your name? I am so very terrible with names."

I too failed to conceal my displeasure.

"Linus, sir," I said. "Um. Linus Olsen. We met yesterday?"

"Aaahhh, yes, yes. Old-son. Very true." The decrepit man grew a sly, slightly wet smile. One of his eyebrows bobbed up suggestively and his dusty mustache twitched like a push-broom. He murmured, "I would say that your test has come at last, has it not? Oh Hero?"

Something about that final phrase made my hair bristle. I managed, "Y-yeah. Looks like it!"

The High Sage gazed at me intensely. He finally said, "All the goddesses' luck to you, Old Son. This will be your hour, will it not? Come back to me and I shall teach you all I know of your destiny." With a wiggle, Saharasla grew a mad grin and crowed, "Off you go, then! Goodbye, Walther! Don't let those West Side girls get you down!"

Before either Sir Kael or I could give voice to whatever lingered in our throats, the old sage waddled between us and down the hall. A shuffling click-clack, click-clack followed him like a tail.

Almost immediately – and wordlessly – Sir Walther took off down the hall. A bit more spring in his step. An urgency not yet hinted at.

"Hey," I sputtered, "wait up!"

"I have not the time for this," Kael grumbled. "Least of all for a sad, foolish old man."

When I had matched the knight's pace, I said, "He's not so bad, is he?" When Kael stayed silent, I lied, "I mean – he was pretty sharp at yesterday's audience. He really stood up for me."

Walther Kael chuffed something that was half pained grunt, half laughter. "Yes, I'm sure he did," the knight said. "Poor Saharasla's feeble an' demented as they come, lad. Might have been the greatest scholar in Hyrule once, but those days are gone. Want to guess how I know?"

I shrugged.

A pained smile cracked the knight's expression. "I ain't had West End girl problems for fifteen years and more. He thinks I'm still a boy."

This just made me more confused. "You knew him?" I asked.

"I met him a handful of times. Before I pursued my knighthood, I sometimes visited the palace with my father. In those days, the High Sage was old indeed, but had all the smarts an' wisdom o' Farore herself."

"Cool."

"Aye, it is a little."

When I realized he was referring to the weather and not his childhood, I had to stop myself from slapping my forehead.

We wandered into another set of narrow passages. These were far less ornate than other hallways of the keep. I wondered if they fed some kind of servants' area.

"So," I said. "Um. Mind if I keep grilling you? I really appreciate this, man. It helps."

Walther nodded genially. "Go ahead."

I thought about it for a second and then asked, "What about this 'Inner Council?' No one seemed happy to hear about that one."

"Heh," Kael ejected.

"What?"

Shaking his head, the knight grumbled, "Oh, it's just that a lot o' folk don't think that they even exist."

"The Council, you mean?"

"Aye."

Ahead of us, an unusually laid-back looking fellow in a cook's uniform pushed a rolling tray out of one door and into another across the hall. We paused to let him complete his brief passage.

"Do you believe in them?" I asked.

Kael rolled and narrowed his eyes at the same time. Something of a feat, I thought. He said, "Does it matter what I think?"

"If I'm gonna to be serving under you and trusting you to save my sorry ass," I growled, "then yeah. It does."

Something about this made him grin. Sir Kael chuckled, "I see. That may be so. Well then," he exhaled, "I suppose that I'm a special case. See, I believe that the Inner Council exists. I just don't think that it's quite the congregation o' poes an' demons it's claimed to be."

"Fair enough," I said, dodging about a stack of food-encrusted dishes near a doorway. "But what is it?"

Sir Kael seemed to search for adequate verbiage. Finally, he began, "As I said, we've never been certain o' how the Protectorate structures itself. We ain't sure o' how they even govern the conquered provinces. Most o' the spies we send north o' the Faron Bluffs either never return or get shipped back in pieces. Those that do return have little information on Ganon or his government. We don't even know where their capitol is!

"That said, we do know most o' their generals at any one time. An' we know they have some kind o' police apparatus for patrollin' the captured towns. We also know that the Protectorate military generals ain't the highest power in that land."

I shook my head, shrugged, and asked, "Do you mean Ganon himself, then?"

"Yes and no. We know that the Protectorate claims Ganon as its leader an' High General. But who's really runnin' things? And from where? We don't know. We've never known.

"Over the years, stories started to filter out o' battles and from across the frontier. Rumors upon rumors. Tales of a strange caravan that appears beyond the battle lines. A kind o' wagon train, dark an' elegant. There were stories o' things that emerge from those black coaches to watch. Things that are like men, but aren't. Creatures wearing the skin an' clothes o' Hylians, but are some terrible other. Then came the stories that these caravan-folk were actually commanding the battle, see? That they were the commanders behind the commanders; the generals above the generals. 'The High Ministers,' they got named. Soon enough, everyone was certain that they were actually Ganon's administrators and advisors. His 'inner council.'"

"But what are they?" I breathed.

"Oh," Kael laughed, "those stories are the best ones, 'cuz no three are the same. Remember – this is all soldierly gossip. Hurried tales told in the dust after a battle. Many o' the stories overlap or contradict each other. As to what the Council really is . . .

"Well, one story says that they're a lost race o' sorcerers come to wreak revenge on the land that banished 'em.

"I also hear tales of infamous monsters who once served Ganon. The sort o' villains they talk about in old stories o' the Hero. Supposedly, Ganon's resurrected 'em for another go at the man who slew 'em in the first place.

"O' course, some claim that the High Ministers actually wade down from their dark wagons and join the fight. There's talk of a 'Horned Man' – a black rider whose bow and spear are peerless. They say he was at the fall of Kakariko.

"Others speak of dire wraiths and one-eyed horrors from beyond the pale of creation. Horrors unknown to men since before the Days o' Fire."

"What about you?" I asked. "What do you think they are?"

"Listen, Mister Olsen –"

"Call me Linus. Please."

"Linus . . . I think the Council is real. I even think the tales o' its black caravan are true. But really? Realistically? They must only be men. A group o' smart, powerful men who realized that they could seize control o' the kingdom with nothin' but moblins and a rumor."

I stared at him, befuddled.

"What I don't believe in, Linus, is Ganon. I don't think some reincarnated demon from the dawn o' time is attacking Hyrule. I think that plain, ordinary men are behind this invasion. They knew that they could unite the moblin clans an' scare the piss out of believers with one simple word. 'Ganon.' I don't believe that this is an era o' prophecy."

To his credit, Sir Walther Kael spoke the next sentence almost gently. "An' I don't believe that you're the Hero. You ain't the Link to the Triforce."

When I stopped walking, I was surprised to see him stop with me. We stood at a nondescript junction, which branched off in four hallways that looked almost exactly the same. I breathed deep and smelled distant food cooking. Frying, I thought.

I nodded grimly and said, "I know I look bad out there."

"Many are yet convinced."

(Note that he didn't even bother to contradict my statement.)

"I really don't have a choice at this point," I sighed. "I'm in too deep. All the signs are there, aren't they?"

He shrugged, though not without hesitation.

"And what if I am the fucking Hero?" I grunted. "What then? I can't just walk away. If that's the case, then I have an obligation to fulfill what I was chosen for. There's no turning back from that."

"No, I suppose not," Sir Kael breathed.

I barely even noticed that I had put my hands to my head and was scuttling in a small circle as I jabbered, "I didn't fucking ask for this, man! I'm not some conman, trying to run a scam! Contrary to what Lord Cocksucker up there said, I'm not a fucking spy, either. What kind of dipshit would send an obviously foreign spy? Why not just send in a goddamn bokoblin while they're at it?"

Kael watched with half-amused impassiveness as I worked myself into a lather. "I'm not even sure I want this! Sure, it's kind of fucking exciting at times, but – Jesus! You think I wanted to come home sporting this?" I stuck my index finger in the arc of scar tissue along my cheek. "You think I wanted to watch Elkan-fucking-Fir-Bulbin's skin melt off while he was still alive? You think I fucking want to go into battle with fucking bokoblins and vat beasts and goddamn vampire people or whatever the fuck?"

"Linus."

"FUCK!" I screeched.

"Linus," Sir Kael said soothingly, "please calm down."

I calmed. Slowly. I looked at my shaking hands, half-expecting to find steam rolling off cherry-red skin.

"Sorry," I huffed. "Really. I – I'm sorry. Hell. This thing has got me so twisted up, you know? I barely know black from white anymore."

Kael nodded slowly and said, "Aye. 'Tis understandable." Uncertainty crawled through his features.

As we began to move again, Kael said, "For what it's worth, I do think you can prove useful during the coming scrap. The legions will fight harder knowing that the Hero may be at their back."

"Gee, thanks," I groused.

We actually strolled in silence for a time. Long enough that I wondered if my questions had officially dried up. Sir Kael and I actually made it to the grand, domed entry hall before I finally blurted:

"Oh – one last thing."

"If ya' must."

"What do you know about Zelda Imzadi?"

"The Princess's chief handmaiden?" He stopped and considered me. Dazzling light fell over his shoulders. "Ah, aye. I thought I'd heard she'd been assigned to serve ya'. Mighty odd, that. Didn't think much of it."

"Do you know her?"

"We have met more than once," Walther conceded. "Tall, pale Shiekah girl? Kind o' spooky?"

I nodded.

"Aye, then." He took a moment to think, looking down as he did. "Well – far as I hear, she's the Princess's favorite handmaiden. Barely leaves the girl's side."

"And?" I said, somewhat impatient.

"She's lived in the palace her whole life. Was raised here. Her mother served the Queen, I think. If she's who I think she was, Zelda's ma was just as tall an' intense as she is. Had these red eyes that, when she got to starin' at ya' . . . voof." The big man shivered. "As for her father? I think he was a knight who was slain in the moblin rebellion. He never actually married Zelda's mother, so it was a bit of a scandal when she was born. So far as I know, her ma never took a husband."

"Huh."

"Now, what was her name?" Kael mused. "Zelda al-Imzadi . . . Imzadi . . . ah!"

He snapped his fingers and smiled. "Impa! Impa al-Imzadi was the name. Gods, I had half-forgotten her. Brings me back to those days runnin' about the grounds while my pa drank with the other palace knights."

This left me briefly gap-mouthed. "Know anything else about Zelda now?"

"Gods, Olsen – you're not sweet on her, are you?" The knight looked genuinely concerned.

"Pfft!" I sputtered. "Of course not. She's just . . . I dunno. Impenetrable."

"So say all the palace legionaries . . ." Sir Kael muttered.

"What?" I said. "Wait – oh. Hahaha. Really?"

He shrugged and grinned helplessly. Before I could press my interview, Walther Kael announced, "I really must be off, Mister Olsen."

I nodded and gave him my thanks for the conversation. Sure, I felt more in the dark than ever – but at least he had taken the time to talk.

"Safe journey to you, sir," Sir Kael said. "When next we meet, it will be in the combined base camp."

"Heh. Yeah." My heart revved at the thought. I admitted, "I'm still fuzzy on what exactly I'll be doing."

Kael released a reflexive little laugh. "That makes two of us, then. I suppose you'll need a title or rank, seein' that 'Hero' probably won't do."

I conceded that it almost certainly would not.

"I suppose that I can call ya' 'Special Attaché to the Legion,'" he grinned.

"Does that even exist?"

"It does now." The knight's brief good humor faded. "We've three days and more to figure all this out, Linus. Leave the worryin' for the generals. I'll take good care o' ya'. That I promise, on my life an' honor."

I couldn't decide whether this pledge was actually reassuring.

"Ah – that brings me to my own question," Sir Kael said. He looked at me levelly and asked, "Can you ride?"

I faltered. To my knowledge, the last time I had ridden a horse was at Camp Sierra Springs, circa 1995. I had been shown how to saddle and mount the animal, then walk it gingerly around a corral. It was worth noting that I had been mediocre at all of these steps.

I almost lied, realized how badly that would pan out, and admitted, "No. I really can't."

Walther brushed a hand across the bristles of his hair. "Din's arse," he heaved. "I won't have any time to train ya', understand? You'll have to figure that out on your own. At least – until we arrive in whatever base camp forms up behind the lines. Gods willin', we might get some time to make sure you know the basics!"

We clasped arms then, his huge hand almost completely enveloping my elbow. Walther Kael seemed to smile genuinely, without the rocky veneer of stoicism and knightly fortitude. As if – I wanted to believe – he finally thought something could be salvaged of me. As if he had glimpsed a sliver of hope after a season of bottomless despair. He parted ways from me and marched through the doors of the Imperial Palace.

Through judicious questions and pure luck, I managed to find my way back to the guest quarters. There, I found Zelda waiting for me. She sat stiffly in the chamber's greenish easy chair, a circle of embroidery resting in her lap. Her lithe fingers worked the thread in fluid arcs and loops. Despite the delicate work, she still wore those flawless white gloves. When I entered, she looked up from her work as if I were interrupting something sacrosanct.

"Where have you been?" the handmaiden asked.

I shrugged. "This is a big goddamn place. Got a little lost."

"I see." She rose and set her sewing on the table. "No matter. You have arrived with not a moment to spare. You must ready to leave. The caravan destined for the battle lines departs forthwith."

I gaped in astonishment. "Now? Already?"

"As I understand it, there is not a moment to lose." A dead-eyed look, inscrutable. "I myself have already packed necessaries."

"Wait . . . you're coming with me?"

"Yes," she answered sourly. "I shall continue to be your maidservant until you arrive at whatever base camp the legions establish at Kerneghi."

"Shit," I murmured. "Shit shit shit. This is happening way too fucking fast!"

"Orders have been handed down, Mister Olsen," Zelda said dryly. "We must all do our part. Yours is to join a command caravan leaving shortly. It will join elements of the First Legion and proceed to Stoneheart Province at all due speed."

"How much do you know?" I choked. "About the offensive, I mean?"

"Everything there is to know at this point. News traveled quickly even before the War Council meeting ended."

She made a motion indicating that I should hurry up and prepare. This was somewhat baffling, because I bounded into the bedroom to find my duffle bag missing. I checked under the bed and back in the sitting room before coughing:

"Hey. Wait. Um – where's my stuff?"

"Your clothing and satchel have been sent to the laundry. I think we can both agree that they needed a good washing."

Undeniable, but infuriating.

I barked, "What the hell am I going to wear? I can't just buy clothes as I go!"

Zelda gave me an arch-browed look that clearly conveyed, Look bitch, I got this covered.

"I have selected an array of outfits from some of the palace's reserve closets and arranged to have them transported with the command caravan," she said. "They are somewhat old and needed a good dust-beating, but I made certain to compare them to your current attire. You may not be fashionable, but at least your clothes will fit."

"So," I said, "why did you bother to tell me to 'prepare?' There's nothing to –"

Zelda didn't let me finish the sentence. Her voice was like an arctic wind as she said, "We are about to embark on a trip lasting at least three-and-a-half days. Though you will go by coach, I do not think it will be at all relaxing. We will travel fast and as lightly as possible. At the end of this road waits Harkinian Keep. The Kerneghi River Valley lies to its northwest. I will remain at the Keep, to await your return from battle. A battle with the concentrated forces of the Old Darkness. A battle that will decide whether you will live on as a Hero . . ."

She walked past me, hands pressed together in a spire of thought.

". . . or die as a fraud," Zelda finished. She hissed the last word like a gale scraping across a mountaintop.

I said nothing. After all, what was there to say?

Zelda al-Imzadi gazed back at me from the doorway of my chamber. She said, "I will travel by a servants' coach, but will be available to you as we proceed. Your own carriage shall arrive sooner rather than later."

Lower, darker: "I say that you must prepare, Linus Olsen, because the next days will define the rest of your odd – and possibly very short – life."