Chapter Thirty
Ceifeiro slipped around the rear of the castle, where the parapets were loosely guarded. King Viru had told him to scale the wall as soon as an opportunity rose. The Dinesenese, who had deftly earned the nickname Ceifeiro, "the reaper", had consented with a quick bow.
Beneath his hood lay two cunning, dark eyes in a pale triangular face. His lank black hair was matted against his forehead with sweat as he inched along the walls, hardly daring to breathe when the guards turned their attention in his direction. It was broad day, and it would not do to be seen skulking around the rear of the castle; that might alert their defenses and ruin King Viru's plan.
'Asun i'naz foris e'de tun kei, qian ersa d'oa ceifeiro,' he thought in Dinesenese. Tophet's shining pinnacle he may have been, but he was no more Tophetian than Link was. [Author's Note: Ceifeiro is thinking, 'They may have the hero, but they do not have the reaper.'] He would show them how the Dinesenese fought.
The Dinesenese-born fighter crouched against the wall, and he would remain in that position for the rest of the day, until the guards switched swifts and gave him enough time to scale the wall unseen. The Tophetians would pull off their attack at midday, and take leisure until nightfall. Surely, that would throw the castle's occupants off guard.
As the soldiers loaded the heavy crate onto the catapult, Link stole a glance at the main gates. If it had not been for the archers atop the lower bulwarks, the Tophetians would have surely broken through by now.
'And they will, you can't think that they won't,' he told himself silently, turning his attention back to the task at hand.
"It's ready for firing," Miles reported, throwing a jaunty salute. Mystu, who had joined them, looked somewhat skeptical.
"Did the king say how much off center it was?" Link asked, sighting distance along the path of the projectile.
"He said it veered to the right somewhat, but not how much," the artist replied unhappily. "I still think it's a bad idea, even if your heart's in the right place. Surely, there must be another way."
"If you can think of another idea, then let's hear it," Jacob barked, bristling at the young Selintan. "Until you do, hush up!"
"Right, let's move it this way, then," Link called out. With the help of the Selintan soldiers, it was the work of a few moments. He reached for the lever, hesitated, then pulled it quickly.
Fluidly the arm of the catapult vaulted upwards, sending the heavy crate soaring over the castle walls to crash threateningly on the other side. Screams and curses assured Link that his aim had been perfect. The soldiers cheered, and the Hero of Time smiled tiredly.
"That was some fine aim," Lance called down from his perch at the wall. "You got quite a few of 'em!"
"Lance, will you look out?!" Miyako shouted. Before the sailor could move, an arrow took him through his upper shoulder.
"Aiy, shroun tolos ae miano K'fef!" cursed the sailor in Kreyan, ducking down ad pulling the shaft out of his flesh. "Aiy, aiy!" [Author's Note: Heh, this is actually kind of a stupid curse, but Lance is saying "Damn, by the shit of my father! Damn, damn!" Yes, it's still all made up.]
"You fool," Miyako muttered, inspecting the wound with a critical eye. "I can't say if there's poison or not. You'd better go see a medico about that."
"Put off the fight by a stupid arrow," Lance growled angrily, pressing a hand tightly to staunch the flow of blood. "Aiy."
"Hush, and get going," the red-haired Kreyan girl urged, peeking above the bulwark. "They've let off fighting for the moment; even the arrows have stopped."
"Well, bully for us," he grunted between clenched teeth as he strode low towards the gatehouse staircase. "Too bad they couldn't've stopped sooner!"
Link had no time to ask to Lance about his wound; he wanted to take full advantage of the Tophetians' temporary withdrawal. After helping load the catapult with another crate, he sprinted over to the main gates to survey the damage.
"I give it another hour, Link," Jacob stated, joining the nineteen-year- old. "Then we'll be face to face wi' the bastards." The young Hylian man nodded, already knowing that.
"Tell all the guards inside to come down here in the front grounds. When they break through, we'll have to stop them reaching the castle at all costs. The queen and servants are still inside; I'd have gotten them away if I thought they'd be unnoticed leaving Ontharn, but..." Link shrugged and made his way to the gatehouse staircase. He called to the guards at the farther end of the wall and motioned for them to head down to the front grounds. He found Miyako sitting underneath the bulwark near the staircase, an arrow ready at her bow. "You're keeping busy, I see."
"As are you," she replied, looking up at him with tired eyes.
"What happened to Lance?" Link inquired, crouching down by her and peering through the slit in the stone.
"He was shot with an arrow, the fool, when he was complimenting you on your aim. It was a good shot," she admitted, "providing that you had no idea where they were."
"It caught them off guard, that's all," he responded, seeing the burst crate and the bodies lying around and underneath it. "Only eight? That's not nearly enough to make a difference."
"Every little bit counts," the eighteen-year-old Kreyan pointed out. "They're going to break through the gate soon, aren't they?"
"If they keep at it for about an hour, they'll be inside the castle grounds," he disclosed cautiously. Miyako closed her eyes and blew breath from her mouth.
"Wonderful. I was looking for signs of dust rising to the west and north a little, but I didn't see any. So much for General Torris and his troops."
"I told you not to rely on them," Link chided, turning his face to her.
"I know, but I couldn't help it. Wishful thinking, that's all." She crawled into the open room at the top of the staircase and stood up, rubbing her back. "I'm sure even you are relying on a miracle to save us." The Hero of Time stood up with her as well.
"I am, but it's the kind of miracle that has to be brought about by hard work and thought." That made her smile.
"Then wouldn't it be a reward, instead?" He shrugged.
"I've learned long ago not to depend on anyone else to save the day. If you can't make your own miracles, then you're out of luck."
"If the Tophetians make it inside—"
"When the Tophetians make it inside," Link corrected, descending the staircase. Miyako waved her hand dismissively, following him.
"All right, /when/ the Tophetians make it inside the castle grounds, how good a chance do you think we'll stand?"
"...How did you take it, shooting the Tophetians with arrows?" She was not prepared for a change of subject.
"What do you mean?" Link gave her a meaningful look. Miyako lowered her head. "Oh... It's... it's not as personal as up close killing... and they weren't laughing at you being stabbed." He had to smile at that. "But I don't think I'll ever be used to fighting with a sword."
"What about daggers?" They neared the guards, who were milling about the catapult.
"What about daggers?" She echoed carefully. Link stopped and faced her, glaring at her with exasperation. "Well..."
"If you're going to travel with me after we're done with the Temple of Life, you'll have to understand that I attract death like shit attracts flies."
"How... poetic." He gave her another look, and she sighed. "I know you're right, and it's not the fighting I mind, it's just the killing. I mean, they look like us. Don't you see that? They're not Tektites or Stalchildren, though the gods know it would be easier if they were, and they look like us."
"I know what you mean," he agreed in a low voice.
"We should take a quick breather," Jacob said to Link as they stopped in front of the large warfare device. "About twenty or so guards will stand here while the rest of us go inside and get something to eat, if that's fine with you."
"That's just fine," Link answered. As the majority of the guards shuffled towards the castle, the nineteen-year-old turned to Miyako. "I'm going to go check up on Lance. Do you—"
"Want to come with you? Of course."
Several other guards who had been injured were also lounging in the Great Hall, nursing their wounds and limbs while they waited to be attended to by the doctors and medicos.
"I never understood the difference between a doctor and a medico," Link remarked, spotting Lance and walking over to him.
"Doctors don't rely on magic; medicos do," the sailor replied, looking up and grinning at the both of them. "Come to weep o'er me? Bah! 'Tis only a flesh wound."
"Wouldn't have thought that by the way you were carrying on," Miyako commented, putting a hand to her mouth to hide an obvious smile. He fixed her with a withering glance, but her smile only grew broader.
"Though I'd not be treated by a medico," continued the dark-blue-haired young man indignantly, ignoring his red-haired friend. "Sure, and magic is fine for poisons not seen, but the more you rely on 'em, the harder 'tis for your flesh and bones to heal on their own, so it is. What be the condition of the gates, then, Our Hero?"
"Another hour, and we'll be up to our waists in Tophetians," the blonde replied amiably, not put off by Lance's affectations. "If only we'd had more archers, we might have been able to make a difference."
"Forget the archers, we'll need a good strong line of defense in front of the portcullis," Lance snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "If we can seal off the other doors, then the horde's still got to break through that."
"But how much time will it buy us? Not enough." Link shook his head and sat down wearily. "And it'll only lower the number of guards we have to fight back when they /do/ break through, and there's no point in protesting that, because you know and I know that we can't keep them off forever."
"So gloomy, you are," Miyako chided, shaking her head at the Hero of Time. "I'll set my watch and warrant on it that you've not become the person you are today by saying, 'Ho hum, looks like a dead end, guess I'll turn back.' " He smiled reluctantly at that, but his eyes remained grave.
"I'm not trying to cry doom, but we have to look at the situation realistically."
"If only we could get word to the soldiers at Tyulia," Lance considered aloud, "they could be here in a day's time, I'd reckon."
"That would take two days' time, from here to Tyulia and back," the blonde young Hylian remarked bitterly, "and two days is time we haven't got."
Night had fallen, but Ceifeiro had taken the opportunity to ponder his life as he waited another hour, to be certain.
In all the mischief he caused, never had he planned to murder a noble Dinesenese baron, but when the opportunity had risen, Ceifeiro had taken it innocently, and now could never return to either North or South Dinesen, because the price on his head was immense.
Dinesenese by blood and birth, Ceifeiro was born at Lothen, a large city and barony of the Lord Ader. At his birth, he had been christened Skean-Dhu e'Deliarge, and was the second son of the city's finest blacksmith. By the age of ten he was already a skilled swordsman, and every day after studies he would help his father...
Nostalgia like a flood swept over the hardened fighter, and he crushed it immediately. Now was not the time to reminisce of times long past and dead; he would have a long climb ahead of him. Still, it was hard not to be dragged under by the heavy tide of his memories.
At age seventeen his whole future in North Dinesen was obliterated when a merchant took him to one side and asked him for a quick favor. He had paid in silver drachmas and seemed kindly enough. What was the favor? Why, he was to merely let a certain company know that its bill was not paid, and if he had to kill a person or two in the process, the merchant would not look down upon it, Good Gods, no!
In retrospect, the work was foolish and the pay had been slim, but he would have cut his own heart out to save his father's business, which at that point in his life, was beginning to fail. The money was needed and he was desperate; there was no other reason.
As fate would have it, the person he slew in attempt to bully the other company into paying their bill was the Lord Baron Ader himself. A shout had been taken up, with the blood of his victim still fresh on his threadbare clothes, cries of murder ringing in his ears.
His appearance and conviction was on every city and town's news bulletin within weeks, and Skean-Dhu fled to Celate, which was no part of the United Force of Dinesen and Callembah.
It was in Celate, in a miserable shit-splat called Despair, that he learned a new trade, one that was far crueler and treacherous than mere blacksmithing. He learned to become a mercenary, to kill for money. He gave no name to his clients, having no imagination to think up a false character, only the promise of a job well done. Threats of Ganondorf's evil reign concerned nobody in Celate.
There were others in the business he came to respect, most of all Nadzja, a ruthless beauty of a Celatian who had been born to kill. It was she who gave him the nickname The Reaper, for the first time they had met was after he returned from slaying an entire household as vengeance for a disgruntled servant. Ceifeiro was "the reaper" in Dinesenese, and this was the name he began to earn for himself by the time he was twenty-two.
Intol had been not much older than Skean-Dhu, now known only as Ceifeiro. He was looking for a mercenary, and had journeyed to Celate, which was beginning to become known as the Black Kingdom.
"I have a proposal for you, Ceifeiro," Intol had said casually one night at the tavern. The Dinesenese pretended not to be interested, but the crest of Tophet on the squire's leather armor intrigued him. "Our king is looking for a good fighter, a good emblem for his people. You, The Reaper, are what he is looking for."
"I do not accept permanent tasks, nor will I be the sigil of a country I owe no fealty to," Ceifeiro rumbled.
"I did not think you would accept easily, but... I have asked about this town, and you are the best mercenary, the best fighter, among these, surpassing even the Rogue Nadzja."
"That I am," he agreed passively, ignoring his food and drink.
"I hear that you tire of a mercenary's life, and you wish to fight only the best of other swordsmen," continued the Tophetian calmly, "and my king shall pay you well... and he promises a fight with the Hero of Time."
"The Hero of Time?" Link's fame had spread like wildfire throughout the countries of the world; Ceifeiro sat up straighter. Young, but he had liberated an entire country single-handedly. Not an offer to be turned down.
"Yes," Intol smiled. "The Hero of Time."
Ceifeiro dug his boots tightly into the sparse cracks along the high wall, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his clothes. The climb was laborious and slow, the rope tough on his hands, but he would be in the castle before midnight, and the castle would be King Viru's long before dawn.
----------------------------
I babble too much at the end of my chapters, but a quick note; Ceifeiro is a very important character. Remember that. ^_~ Please review, much appreciated.
For anyone interested, Tophet means "hell" or "place of the dead" in Judaism. Charming, eh?
Ceifeiro slipped around the rear of the castle, where the parapets were loosely guarded. King Viru had told him to scale the wall as soon as an opportunity rose. The Dinesenese, who had deftly earned the nickname Ceifeiro, "the reaper", had consented with a quick bow.
Beneath his hood lay two cunning, dark eyes in a pale triangular face. His lank black hair was matted against his forehead with sweat as he inched along the walls, hardly daring to breathe when the guards turned their attention in his direction. It was broad day, and it would not do to be seen skulking around the rear of the castle; that might alert their defenses and ruin King Viru's plan.
'Asun i'naz foris e'de tun kei, qian ersa d'oa ceifeiro,' he thought in Dinesenese. Tophet's shining pinnacle he may have been, but he was no more Tophetian than Link was. [Author's Note: Ceifeiro is thinking, 'They may have the hero, but they do not have the reaper.'] He would show them how the Dinesenese fought.
The Dinesenese-born fighter crouched against the wall, and he would remain in that position for the rest of the day, until the guards switched swifts and gave him enough time to scale the wall unseen. The Tophetians would pull off their attack at midday, and take leisure until nightfall. Surely, that would throw the castle's occupants off guard.
As the soldiers loaded the heavy crate onto the catapult, Link stole a glance at the main gates. If it had not been for the archers atop the lower bulwarks, the Tophetians would have surely broken through by now.
'And they will, you can't think that they won't,' he told himself silently, turning his attention back to the task at hand.
"It's ready for firing," Miles reported, throwing a jaunty salute. Mystu, who had joined them, looked somewhat skeptical.
"Did the king say how much off center it was?" Link asked, sighting distance along the path of the projectile.
"He said it veered to the right somewhat, but not how much," the artist replied unhappily. "I still think it's a bad idea, even if your heart's in the right place. Surely, there must be another way."
"If you can think of another idea, then let's hear it," Jacob barked, bristling at the young Selintan. "Until you do, hush up!"
"Right, let's move it this way, then," Link called out. With the help of the Selintan soldiers, it was the work of a few moments. He reached for the lever, hesitated, then pulled it quickly.
Fluidly the arm of the catapult vaulted upwards, sending the heavy crate soaring over the castle walls to crash threateningly on the other side. Screams and curses assured Link that his aim had been perfect. The soldiers cheered, and the Hero of Time smiled tiredly.
"That was some fine aim," Lance called down from his perch at the wall. "You got quite a few of 'em!"
"Lance, will you look out?!" Miyako shouted. Before the sailor could move, an arrow took him through his upper shoulder.
"Aiy, shroun tolos ae miano K'fef!" cursed the sailor in Kreyan, ducking down ad pulling the shaft out of his flesh. "Aiy, aiy!" [Author's Note: Heh, this is actually kind of a stupid curse, but Lance is saying "Damn, by the shit of my father! Damn, damn!" Yes, it's still all made up.]
"You fool," Miyako muttered, inspecting the wound with a critical eye. "I can't say if there's poison or not. You'd better go see a medico about that."
"Put off the fight by a stupid arrow," Lance growled angrily, pressing a hand tightly to staunch the flow of blood. "Aiy."
"Hush, and get going," the red-haired Kreyan girl urged, peeking above the bulwark. "They've let off fighting for the moment; even the arrows have stopped."
"Well, bully for us," he grunted between clenched teeth as he strode low towards the gatehouse staircase. "Too bad they couldn't've stopped sooner!"
Link had no time to ask to Lance about his wound; he wanted to take full advantage of the Tophetians' temporary withdrawal. After helping load the catapult with another crate, he sprinted over to the main gates to survey the damage.
"I give it another hour, Link," Jacob stated, joining the nineteen-year- old. "Then we'll be face to face wi' the bastards." The young Hylian man nodded, already knowing that.
"Tell all the guards inside to come down here in the front grounds. When they break through, we'll have to stop them reaching the castle at all costs. The queen and servants are still inside; I'd have gotten them away if I thought they'd be unnoticed leaving Ontharn, but..." Link shrugged and made his way to the gatehouse staircase. He called to the guards at the farther end of the wall and motioned for them to head down to the front grounds. He found Miyako sitting underneath the bulwark near the staircase, an arrow ready at her bow. "You're keeping busy, I see."
"As are you," she replied, looking up at him with tired eyes.
"What happened to Lance?" Link inquired, crouching down by her and peering through the slit in the stone.
"He was shot with an arrow, the fool, when he was complimenting you on your aim. It was a good shot," she admitted, "providing that you had no idea where they were."
"It caught them off guard, that's all," he responded, seeing the burst crate and the bodies lying around and underneath it. "Only eight? That's not nearly enough to make a difference."
"Every little bit counts," the eighteen-year-old Kreyan pointed out. "They're going to break through the gate soon, aren't they?"
"If they keep at it for about an hour, they'll be inside the castle grounds," he disclosed cautiously. Miyako closed her eyes and blew breath from her mouth.
"Wonderful. I was looking for signs of dust rising to the west and north a little, but I didn't see any. So much for General Torris and his troops."
"I told you not to rely on them," Link chided, turning his face to her.
"I know, but I couldn't help it. Wishful thinking, that's all." She crawled into the open room at the top of the staircase and stood up, rubbing her back. "I'm sure even you are relying on a miracle to save us." The Hero of Time stood up with her as well.
"I am, but it's the kind of miracle that has to be brought about by hard work and thought." That made her smile.
"Then wouldn't it be a reward, instead?" He shrugged.
"I've learned long ago not to depend on anyone else to save the day. If you can't make your own miracles, then you're out of luck."
"If the Tophetians make it inside—"
"When the Tophetians make it inside," Link corrected, descending the staircase. Miyako waved her hand dismissively, following him.
"All right, /when/ the Tophetians make it inside the castle grounds, how good a chance do you think we'll stand?"
"...How did you take it, shooting the Tophetians with arrows?" She was not prepared for a change of subject.
"What do you mean?" Link gave her a meaningful look. Miyako lowered her head. "Oh... It's... it's not as personal as up close killing... and they weren't laughing at you being stabbed." He had to smile at that. "But I don't think I'll ever be used to fighting with a sword."
"What about daggers?" They neared the guards, who were milling about the catapult.
"What about daggers?" She echoed carefully. Link stopped and faced her, glaring at her with exasperation. "Well..."
"If you're going to travel with me after we're done with the Temple of Life, you'll have to understand that I attract death like shit attracts flies."
"How... poetic." He gave her another look, and she sighed. "I know you're right, and it's not the fighting I mind, it's just the killing. I mean, they look like us. Don't you see that? They're not Tektites or Stalchildren, though the gods know it would be easier if they were, and they look like us."
"I know what you mean," he agreed in a low voice.
"We should take a quick breather," Jacob said to Link as they stopped in front of the large warfare device. "About twenty or so guards will stand here while the rest of us go inside and get something to eat, if that's fine with you."
"That's just fine," Link answered. As the majority of the guards shuffled towards the castle, the nineteen-year-old turned to Miyako. "I'm going to go check up on Lance. Do you—"
"Want to come with you? Of course."
Several other guards who had been injured were also lounging in the Great Hall, nursing their wounds and limbs while they waited to be attended to by the doctors and medicos.
"I never understood the difference between a doctor and a medico," Link remarked, spotting Lance and walking over to him.
"Doctors don't rely on magic; medicos do," the sailor replied, looking up and grinning at the both of them. "Come to weep o'er me? Bah! 'Tis only a flesh wound."
"Wouldn't have thought that by the way you were carrying on," Miyako commented, putting a hand to her mouth to hide an obvious smile. He fixed her with a withering glance, but her smile only grew broader.
"Though I'd not be treated by a medico," continued the dark-blue-haired young man indignantly, ignoring his red-haired friend. "Sure, and magic is fine for poisons not seen, but the more you rely on 'em, the harder 'tis for your flesh and bones to heal on their own, so it is. What be the condition of the gates, then, Our Hero?"
"Another hour, and we'll be up to our waists in Tophetians," the blonde replied amiably, not put off by Lance's affectations. "If only we'd had more archers, we might have been able to make a difference."
"Forget the archers, we'll need a good strong line of defense in front of the portcullis," Lance snorted, waving a hand dismissively. "If we can seal off the other doors, then the horde's still got to break through that."
"But how much time will it buy us? Not enough." Link shook his head and sat down wearily. "And it'll only lower the number of guards we have to fight back when they /do/ break through, and there's no point in protesting that, because you know and I know that we can't keep them off forever."
"So gloomy, you are," Miyako chided, shaking her head at the Hero of Time. "I'll set my watch and warrant on it that you've not become the person you are today by saying, 'Ho hum, looks like a dead end, guess I'll turn back.' " He smiled reluctantly at that, but his eyes remained grave.
"I'm not trying to cry doom, but we have to look at the situation realistically."
"If only we could get word to the soldiers at Tyulia," Lance considered aloud, "they could be here in a day's time, I'd reckon."
"That would take two days' time, from here to Tyulia and back," the blonde young Hylian remarked bitterly, "and two days is time we haven't got."
Night had fallen, but Ceifeiro had taken the opportunity to ponder his life as he waited another hour, to be certain.
In all the mischief he caused, never had he planned to murder a noble Dinesenese baron, but when the opportunity had risen, Ceifeiro had taken it innocently, and now could never return to either North or South Dinesen, because the price on his head was immense.
Dinesenese by blood and birth, Ceifeiro was born at Lothen, a large city and barony of the Lord Ader. At his birth, he had been christened Skean-Dhu e'Deliarge, and was the second son of the city's finest blacksmith. By the age of ten he was already a skilled swordsman, and every day after studies he would help his father...
Nostalgia like a flood swept over the hardened fighter, and he crushed it immediately. Now was not the time to reminisce of times long past and dead; he would have a long climb ahead of him. Still, it was hard not to be dragged under by the heavy tide of his memories.
At age seventeen his whole future in North Dinesen was obliterated when a merchant took him to one side and asked him for a quick favor. He had paid in silver drachmas and seemed kindly enough. What was the favor? Why, he was to merely let a certain company know that its bill was not paid, and if he had to kill a person or two in the process, the merchant would not look down upon it, Good Gods, no!
In retrospect, the work was foolish and the pay had been slim, but he would have cut his own heart out to save his father's business, which at that point in his life, was beginning to fail. The money was needed and he was desperate; there was no other reason.
As fate would have it, the person he slew in attempt to bully the other company into paying their bill was the Lord Baron Ader himself. A shout had been taken up, with the blood of his victim still fresh on his threadbare clothes, cries of murder ringing in his ears.
His appearance and conviction was on every city and town's news bulletin within weeks, and Skean-Dhu fled to Celate, which was no part of the United Force of Dinesen and Callembah.
It was in Celate, in a miserable shit-splat called Despair, that he learned a new trade, one that was far crueler and treacherous than mere blacksmithing. He learned to become a mercenary, to kill for money. He gave no name to his clients, having no imagination to think up a false character, only the promise of a job well done. Threats of Ganondorf's evil reign concerned nobody in Celate.
There were others in the business he came to respect, most of all Nadzja, a ruthless beauty of a Celatian who had been born to kill. It was she who gave him the nickname The Reaper, for the first time they had met was after he returned from slaying an entire household as vengeance for a disgruntled servant. Ceifeiro was "the reaper" in Dinesenese, and this was the name he began to earn for himself by the time he was twenty-two.
Intol had been not much older than Skean-Dhu, now known only as Ceifeiro. He was looking for a mercenary, and had journeyed to Celate, which was beginning to become known as the Black Kingdom.
"I have a proposal for you, Ceifeiro," Intol had said casually one night at the tavern. The Dinesenese pretended not to be interested, but the crest of Tophet on the squire's leather armor intrigued him. "Our king is looking for a good fighter, a good emblem for his people. You, The Reaper, are what he is looking for."
"I do not accept permanent tasks, nor will I be the sigil of a country I owe no fealty to," Ceifeiro rumbled.
"I did not think you would accept easily, but... I have asked about this town, and you are the best mercenary, the best fighter, among these, surpassing even the Rogue Nadzja."
"That I am," he agreed passively, ignoring his food and drink.
"I hear that you tire of a mercenary's life, and you wish to fight only the best of other swordsmen," continued the Tophetian calmly, "and my king shall pay you well... and he promises a fight with the Hero of Time."
"The Hero of Time?" Link's fame had spread like wildfire throughout the countries of the world; Ceifeiro sat up straighter. Young, but he had liberated an entire country single-handedly. Not an offer to be turned down.
"Yes," Intol smiled. "The Hero of Time."
Ceifeiro dug his boots tightly into the sparse cracks along the high wall, sweat pouring down his face and soaking his clothes. The climb was laborious and slow, the rope tough on his hands, but he would be in the castle before midnight, and the castle would be King Viru's long before dawn.
----------------------------
I babble too much at the end of my chapters, but a quick note; Ceifeiro is a very important character. Remember that. ^_~ Please review, much appreciated.
For anyone interested, Tophet means "hell" or "place of the dead" in Judaism. Charming, eh?