Chapter 34

Cyle felt himself be shoved to the ground, his knees skidding through the mud as the jungle sun beat down on him relentlessly. With a quick shake of his head to ease the pain in his neck and a melodramatic expulsion of breath that he hoped would convey his displeasure, the King of Hyrule glared up at his captors. Along with his men, Cyle had been marched into the jungle by the Islanders. Letting the curve of the shore fall away behind them, the tall, thick-set and – in Cyle's opinion – ugly inhabitants of the Island of the Gate had offered no explanation as to their capture, despite the King's constant demands. He did not know them, but he hated them with a venom that pulsed in his veins and lingered in his mouth. Cyle had no more patience for the continuous interruptions in his path and he longed for a sword to slay them all.

With a sharp glance behind him, the King saw his men watching him with fearful expressions that only fuelled his ire further. They should be baring their teeth like warriors, not cowering like children. Chalance Vance was there too, face blank, calmly clutching on to his staff. Weaklings. All of them. He would show them some iron; show them how power was truly wielded. Hopefully it may even inspire them. At the very least, he could not seen to be weak himself in the eyes of his own men.

Cyle sprang to his feet, letting his gaze fix on the one who believed to be the leader. The man was heavily muscled like all of them, thick scars crisscrossing his face and torso like ribbons at a child's festival. Cyle let free a hiss that curled into a snarl. Words had not worked on them before, so he hoped something a little more basic might hold their attention.

The leader, deep in conversation with one of his minions, looked up. The man's huge chest heaved rhythmically as he pondered the curious actions of his prey. The few strands of hair that floated on his head flickered in the hot breeze. Once again embracing that giddy feeling he had when he felt close to a victory, Cyle chuckled, for once not letting his natural instinct to flee take hold of him.

Three strides was all it took for the leader to reach him, a wild look spinning in the man's eyes. Cyle stood his ground but swallowed, feeling his knees tremble slightly and his mind scream at him to run. There was a pause, a brief instant where the two men locked eyes as equals before a sharp jab to Cyle's lower back made him fall back to the ground with a groan. Soft, wet mud welled up between his fingers as he tried to steady himself, and the King battled the emotions within himself – the anger that begged to be released so that he could charge at someone who would dare strike him so, the fear that wondered with an icy, cold voice whether he would still be alive to see the sun set.

"I ask you once more," Cyle spat as he lifted his head. "What is the meaning of this?"

The Islander looked down at him with disinterest for a moment before turning to move away.

"Wait!" Cyle cried. "I know you understand me. I heard you speak our language." The man paused, turning his head back slightly. "Who are you people? What do you want with us?"

The Islander cocked his head to one side, as if regarding the Hylian for the very first time. Flexing his fingers lazily, he drew his sword, a large, thick blade, too heavy for most people. Cyle felt his cheek twitch in response to the action, but he kept himself still, his mind racing, trying to find an opening.

"I have wealth," the King said finally. "I would share it with you all, if you would but let me reach my destination."

A tight small crossed the man's face as he fingered the edge of his sword. He threw a glance at his fellows, some of whom chuckled in response.

"The Gatekeeper," the Islander said at last, his voice hoarse, his tongue struggling to form words from the unfamiliar language. "Wishes to have no visitors."

Slowly drawing himself back to a standing position, Cyle threw a glance at Vance. His Advisor shrugged minutely in response. "Gatekeeper?" he asked.

The large islander watched him, a sudden cool breeze stroking them like a gulp of fresh air after being plunged underwater. "We know what you seek," the man continued. "Your presence here is unwelcome."

Realising that his query had not been answered, yet still hoping to find a way through the man's armour, Cyle licked his lips before continuing, "If you know what we seek, then perhaps you know who I am?" He waited for an answer, but the other merely gazed back offering nothing. "I have power. Like I said, I have wealth. Whatever it is you want, I will give it to you." He paused to calm his agitated heart. "Just let me pass."

"The Gatekeeper will decide your fate," the other answered, his tone hardened with a sense of finality. "He wishes for you to be brought before him. He is our liege and we obey."

"Why?"

The Islander blinked, confused as to the nature of the question. "Why what?"

Cyle took in a deep breath, determined not to fail. "Why do you obey him? What does he provide for you?"

An uncertain glance passed between the leader and his fellows and Cyle felt a tremor of hope. "He knows of our ways," the man said cryptically.

"Your ways?"

Again, a hesitant look crossed the man's features as if he were unsure as to how much he should divulge. "The Gatekeeper is an ancient one. He has lived on our island for many a summer. He guards the entrance to something unspeakable, a portal of much power. My people avoided him and he avoided us. Then, just one summer ago, he approached us, seeking our aid. He foresaw your coming, saying you would bring much death and destruction. He knew of our ways, knew that we would only pledge ourselves to him if he passed one of our challenges."

Cyle's mind worked fast as he soaked in the words. Curiosity nudged at him, wanting to know the nature of this Gatekeeper, but he pushed it away. Now was not the right time. Two things had lodged in his consciousness. He addressed the first one, taking a step forward with outstretched hands. The Islanders tensed, their weapons moving into alert readiness. Cyle responded with a weapon of his own. His smile. "I am here and I have brought you no death and no destruction." He let his arm sweep around towards his men. "They were armed, yes. But not with anything more destructive than a sword. And you would not begrudge a man to carry that would you?"

The Islander tapped his fingers on his weapon, his face showing no emotion, but his actions betraying that he was deep in thought. He looked down at the bulging sack at his feet, the sack that contained all the Hylian's weapons. There were only swords there, regular blades that every adult carried. Cyle decided to move onto the second point, something familiar to such primitive cultures. "You speak of a challenge," he said, his voice gaining strength as his confidence grew. "What is the nature of this challenge?" He took another step forward, his smile still in place. This time they did not react. "Would one such as myself be permitted to take this challenge?"

The answer was instantaneous. "You would not be able to endure it," the islander said with a snort of contempt.

Cyle did not let himself lose heart. "Am I not even allowed to attempt it?"

Glancing at his companions once more, the islander pointed his sword skywards.

"A duel?" the King of Hyrule asked cautiously. It had been a while since he had tested his swordfighting skills. His bluster started to falter as nervousness set in.

"Nay," the other replied. "Look."

Cyle followed the point of the sword. High above the trees, he could make out the shapes of large birds, flying lazily in circles. Red, scaly and with long beaks, the birds were themselves the size of an average man.

"You must catch one," the man said, a sneer in his voice. "That is the challenge."

Cyle squinted, trying to see through the bright sunlight into the sky. Waves of heat sprinkled his forehead with sweat. "With arrows?"

"Nay." This time there was amusement in his voice and Cyle looked down back towards him. "With these."

One of the others threw the leader an axe, which the man caught instantly, and flung straight at the Hylian King. Cyle caught it, glad that his reflexes were still sharp, but he still felt doubt gnaw at him. "Are you insane?" he asked.

"The Gatekeeper succeeded," the large man said. "Do you accept the challenge?"

Cyle licked his lips, tasting the salty sweat there. He looked up again. The birds were not too high, barely reaching above the tallest tree. He could get lucky. "I do."

There was a murmur of approval from the Islanders and a broad grinned crossed their leader's face. Cyle looked back at his own men and was heartened to see the looks of respect on their faces. One of the younger ones held up a hand. "Sire," he said.

"Yes?" Cyle answered. "Speak."

"Sire," the youngster was nervous, but eager. "I have practice in throwing axes. Let me take the challenge. I will not fail you."

Cyle noticed the muscles in the man's arms and knew that he would have the strength to throw well. But he also noticed the looks of expectation on the others' faces and could sense the stares of the Islanders.

"I appreciate your gesture," he replied, letting his voice carry to all around him. "But I would not ask one of my own to do something I would not be willing to do myself."

The young soldier's eyes widened with new-found respect and Cyle tasted satisfaction in his soul. He heard another murmur of approval from the islanders. He was winning already.

"You throw first," the large Islander said.

Cyle nodded, gripping the axe firmly in his hand. With a deep breath he looked up, watching as the birds spun above them unaware of the danger. Cyle felt the eyes of all the men rest on him. He did not let himself feel cowed. Heart thudding and eyes narrowed, he took aim. One of the crimson creatures had just perched itself atop a long branch. An easy target.

With a heave, he threw. The axe spun wildly in the air, the metal edge glinting in the sun. It snagged itself into the branches, disturbing some of the birds that flew off with panicked screeches.

A chuckle rippled around the Islanders and Cyle felt his face burn. The leader regarded him with a contemptuous look. With the briefest glance at the sky, he threw his own axe up in fluid arc. It tore through the leaves and caught one of the remaining birds in the wing. It wasn't enough to bring it down though.

"Your people must love you greatly," Cyle said quietly.

The man eyed him with a curious look before throwing him a pair of axes. "Love is not necessary to be a good leader. Only an iron fist."

"Oh, I agree," Cyle said, his eyes scanning for another bird. "But love is important as well."

He heard the other man snort. "And your people love you?"

Cyle did not reply. He found another bird and his vision tunnelled onto it. Pouring his strength into his arm, he threw with a roar. It was a better one this time, but still nowhere near as good as the Islander's. It caught the bird on the beak, stunning it. Cyle felt his heart catch with hope as the bird began to spiral downwards. But in an instant it righted itself and flew back up.

"Not a bad try," the Islander said, his tone genuine.

Cyle shrugged. "Your throw."

The man hesitated, watching the Hylian's face carefully. "You wish to be Joined to find love."

The King flinched as if stung. The words had not even been phrased as a question. He tried to speak, but did not know what to say.

"Forcing people to love you will leave you unsatisfied," the other continued, his eyes not yet leaving Cyle as he weighed an axe in his hand. "The power you seek is not as unlimited as you think."

Again, with the briefest of glances skyward, the Islander threw. The axe hummed as it spun, splitting branches and shredding leaves. It sliced through one of the bird's hides, drawing blood, but did not stick. The men watched as the bird wobbled, its eyes glazing over. But Cyle's eyes were still fixed on the axe. It froze in the air for an instant, before slowly falling back down. Straight down, towards the big man's head. Time itself slowed as the deadly blade twirled down and the King's mouth opened in shock. No one else had noticed.

He wasn't quite sure why he was doing it, but Cyle instinctively reached down for his remaining axe, took aim and threw. It collided with the falling weapon just above the other man's head. The big man flinched as sparks rained down on him. The two axes cut into a nearby tree, where they remained firmly lodged.

Silence fell. Cyle stood calmly as the islander stared at him with wide-eyed shock. All eyes were upon him once more.

"You…you saved my life," he said between breaths.

Silence reined again, and Cyle swallowed, not knowing what to say. The other Islanders gazed at him with bemusement.

"The challenge has been met," one of them murmured.

The leader spun around, growling angrily. "What did you say?"

"I said," the other replied, his tone and eyes defiant. "The challenge has been met."

"He speaks the truth," another said.

Cyle seized the opportunity. "Did the Gatekeeper ever save your life?" he said in a loud voice. "Did he care about you like I did? He promised I would bring death and destruction, but I have brought instead life and hope."

The Islander looked back at him, the conflict clear on his face from his vein pumping in his cheek. "Perhaps the Gatekeeper has not been entirely truthful," he conceded, his voice still lined with wariness.

"Perhaps," Cyle said. He stepped forward again, his smile at the ready and his hand outstretched. "Take me to him. Together we will make sure you take your rightful places as the sole rulers of this island."

There was a pause. Another cool breeze blew. Returning the smile, the islander took Cyle's hand as all around them erupted in cheers. "You have met the challenge. You are of honourable stock."

And deep inside, Cyle laughed for a long, long time.

*

"Welcome to the Temple of the Dead!"

With a flourish and a sweep of her arm, Milledra stepped aside giving Link, Zayna and Chitz a clear sight of the temple. Dead, Link mused, was an accurate description. The vegetation that ringed the ancient, crumbling ruins was grey and flat and the very air itself was oppressive and stale, like it had had the heart sucked out of it. The sun still shone and, in any other place, would have cast a pleasant glow, but here there was an eerie shimmer that seemed to push the light back.

Behind them, the other members of the Morolak tribe of the Dead waited in silence. Link stood tall, glad to have his companions with him, even the Imp. He was comforted by the weighty presence of his sword on his back, returned to him in order to fulfil Milledra's request. The Morolak woman herself stood, her piercing gaze still upon them. No, Link realised with a frown, her gaze was planted on Zayna. His apprentice had been distant these past two days, more reserved than usual. She had not spoken to him about her meeting with the Queen of the Dead and that had troubled the Hero. While he did respect her privacy, a tryst with their captor was still something momentous.

"It's more a city than a temple," Zayna said quietly. Her face was taut and her eyes hollow. Briefly, Link wondered if the atmosphere itself had done this to her, but he pushed the thought aside as being foolish. They had intended to come here anyway, a flicker of hope to cure Zayna of her power. Now she was face to face with it, it was of little wonder that she was so tense. She was probably battling her rising hopes, not wishing to pay attention to them so that she would not feel the plunge of disappointment if this was no more than a idle dream.

The Queen caught her words with a smile. "Indeed. A city from a time long ago. A dead city."

It was true. Link let his eyes sweep over the scene. Collapsed pillars rested against each other stretching into the distance, and old, greying buildings stood in silence, missing walls and roofs. The main body of the temple still stood, though the windows were darkened, the pillars that guarded the entrance crumbling and covered in green-brown moss. Link sensed something in the air. Almost imperceptible, he caught the low rumble of steady breathing. Hollow and hissing.

"Is it true a Dragon rests here?" he asked, turning to Milledra.

Her smile did not fade and her amused eyes flicked over to him. "Many things call this place 'home.' I'm sure one such as you can deal with them easily though."

Link's eyes narrowed, again wondering if she knew who he was. He did not let it show though, throwing her a cocky smile.

"I'm sure," the Queen continued, her voice hinting at something. "That you will know to do the right thing." And here she fixed Zayna with such an intense look that Link could not help but feel a disquieting dread. Zayna gave her a brief look, an unreadable expression on the apprentice's face. A nervous chill threatened to smother the Hero, but he steeled his mind making the doubts evaporate. He could not deal with what might be and he could not deal with the misgivings of his mind. He could only deal with the here and now. And that meant completing the double quest of freeing Zayna from her curse and helping Milledra to sink further into the swamp of her ambitions.

"Are you ready, Chitz?" he asked softly, a smile in his voice.

"Boss," the Imp answered, a quiver to his tone. "You get the Crown for the lady and I'll deal with the dragon haha!"

Link grinned, feeling buoyant. His eyes shifted to his apprentice, who nodded in return.

"Good," Milledra said in a voice that was overflowing with so much satisfaction that Link felt an angry twinge. "We will follow you at a distance. Once you have the Crown we will join you."

The Hero of Time did not respond, inwardly wondering what use this supposed crown would really be. But then, he had already come to the conclusion that the woman was utterly insane anyway. He let his fingers brush against the map hanging from his belt. The Dead had given it to him, claiming that the Freelanders had drawn it many summers ago.

The trio walked up to the door, their boots leaving their mark in the thick dust coating the ground. The rhythmic breathing grew louder and Link thought he could hear a trickle of expectation in it, though he hoped it was nothing more than his imagination. The door was constructed with cracked, thick wood that had rotted at the bottom and the sides. He thought it may turn to powder at his touch.

Link, what's happening?

The smile came to his face without him even realising, as did the bubble of warmth in his heart.

We're at the Temple. We're going in.

I'm coming. We made some new friends. We rested with them awhile. They'll be joining us.

He wanted to warn her off, to tell her to wait. Uneasy about their situation, the last thing he wanted was to have Zelda be caught up in it.

I'm coming. She added a force to her thought that made him realise that she would not be swayed. The temple was always our goal. I won't be left behind after coming this far.

He capitulated, sending her a smile coated in love and gratitude. Be careful.

You too.

Strengthened by her touch on his heart, he pushed the door open. It creaked with an echo and sucked in the air with a deep breath. The trio stepped into the main hallway, faint light from a source he could not ascertain illuminating their path. The door swung shut behind them.

"I guess they won't be following us just yet," Zayna said with a wry tone, her voice hanging in the air like breath on a cold night.

Link let his gaze slowly take in their surroundings. The floor was made of stone and dusty. Broken statues littered their path as their boots crunched on shards of shattered marble. Rotted tapestries, rich and colourful in their day, hung from the walls, watching them emotionlessly like macabre, miserable faces. Winding stairs, faded carpets still clinging to the steps, led to nowhere as the upper balconies were all smashed and useless.

A constant, patterned thud vibrated in the air like a current of water under a mountain. Link felt his skin tingle slightly, the noise reminding him of the time he had spent as a guest of Chalance Vance.

Teacher and apprentice drew their swords, a synchronised slice of metal, and stood side by side, the Imp between them, as their eyes darted left and right.

"We find the Dragon first," Link said. "Whatever is here that can aid you is more important than Milledra's useless trinket."

"Why?" Zayna replied a little too quickly, catching the Hero off guard. He looked over at her, perturbed. "There's no need for haste is there?"

Her face was contorted with a mix of emotions and again Link felt a touch of unease. Was she just trying to put things off so that she would not have to face any disappointments?

"We came here for you, Zayna," he replied. "This is what we've been travelling for." He added an edge to his voice. "This is what we lost Fran and Tyron for."

She blinked, her face still creased, but showing a glimmer of hesitation. "Yes, I know." Her voice was strained, and the Hero was puzzled. "You're right. The Dragon first." There was no passion behind her words and the hollowness in them echoed through the ancient hall. He kept his eyes on her, but she would not meet his gaze.

His lips parted to speak once more, but he was interrupted by a chill, ghostly moan that floated around them.

"Haha," Chitz said, his voice laced with fear. "Looks like someone met a Freelander."

Something shimmered in the corner of Link's eye. "Zayna! To your left!"

He felt her tense as she readied herself in a fighting stance.

"I see nothing!"

Link spun around to point out the threat when something cold and clammy hit him on the side of the head. His vision contracted for an instant and he fell. Rolling with it, he kept his blade flat against the chest, listening to it clank on the ground. He kipped-up to his feet, and swung defensively, his eyes searching for his friends.

They were gone.

He felt himself frown. "Zayna? Chitz?"

The moan returned, louder now as did the breathing, a sense of amusement ringing through it. Images floated at the corner of his eyes, figures of pale light that floated in and out of reality. He twirled on his heels to face them, but every time they would shift just at the right moment, always managing to keep out of his sight. He felt a surge in his heart, a wave of worried encouragement from his wife, who knew enough not to ask questions that would only distract him.

Link gritted his teeth, grateful for her presence. It sharpened his mind and cleared his thoughts. He focused, letting his senses track his unseen enemies. Something tickled the air behind him, a miniscule breath on his back. He spun, planting himself for a surer footing and letting his sword swing in a wide arc towards –

"Zayna!"

His attack froze and the backwash of energy from the swing rippled up his arms, making them tremble. The apprentice stared at him with a wide grin, her eyes wide, but hollow. Something was wrong. He did not lower his sword.

"What happened…?" he asked.

A spark ignited in her eyes and Link saw the intent there for the briefest of moments. He swung his sword up as her own blade curved down in a screaming cut. The twin foils caught in the air and the Hero pushed back, gritting his teeth. His eyes widened as his apprentice seemed to fold from the blow, her body curving and shimmering. This was not Zayna.

He pushed again, one foot slipping against the ground. And then the floor fell away.

Link tumbled, still having enough presence of mind to hold onto his weapon, as his panicked eyes watched the tunnel of rock spin around him. His heart lurched, knowing that if there was nothing soft to break his fall, he would shatter. Pushing Zelda's frantic thoughts from his mind with a declaration of love, he braced himself.

He tried to peer downwards, but he could not focus. Reaching out for the wall only resulted in a cut hand as the sharp edges of rock refused any request for assistance.

Cold air cut at his face and then he flinched as he crashed into icy water, filling his mouth and lungs with foul tasting liquid. Murky darkness pulled him down, but he resisted, kicking with his feet and pushing himself up. He saw the dreamy light of the outside world above him and willed himself to reach for it, his lungs and eyes burning as the diminishing air dizzied his mind.

Link broke the surface with a wheezy gasp, swallowing gulps of air that tasted sweeter than honey to his stretched throat. He dragged himself to the pool's edge, his silver armour now heavy with water. Letting his fingers dig into the dirt, he waited, wanting to still his heart and clear his mind. The Hero looked around him, and saw that he was in a small alcove. A few shards of rock tumbled through the hole in the aftermath of his fall, splashing into the water below. He glanced up, realising it would be too far to climb, even with a hookshot.

The map was useless now. And he did not know what had happened to his friends.

There was only one exit from the room, and rusted, iron bars blocked the path. He peered through, seeing the glow of a torch in the distance. Something pricked at his mind. He had faced this test before.

Taking a step back, he pulled his bow from his back, and readied an arrow. He aimed the steel tip for the flame. Briefly, his mind wandered back to the first time he had had to do this very same thing. He had been relatively untrained, and had wasted a lot of arrows with his nervous shots. Sometimes, before his 'rebirth', he had felt a glimmer of anger at whatever had chosen him to be the Hero. Fate, or whatever, had decided that he would learn everything on his own, with very little guidance. But now he put his trust in that same higher power, accepting his role. His arm was steady and his aim good.

Arm jerking from the recoil, he watched the arrow spin through the gap in the bars and hiss as it cut through the burning torch. It hit the far side of the wall with a click. Just as he had expected.

With a rumble, the bars lifted slowly, the ancient mechanism groaning and shuddering from the effort. Replacing the bow with his sword, he stepped through, spying the switch that now had his burning arrow lodged firmly within it. He followed the tunnel as it veered to the left, his mind barely noticing the broken, yellowing skulls that grinned up at him from the floor. The breathing was louder now and the air shifted in time with it, one minute cool, the next minute hot and smelling of sulphur. It reminded him vaguely of Death Mountain, and he wondered if the dragon was a kin to Volvagia, the serpent that had once rested there.

The tunnel widened out into another hallway with a polished marble floor. An immense banquet table stood at the centre, blackened and diseased food laying on plates as dirty-white skeletons slumped in the chairs. At the head of the table, sat a large corpse dressed in a red, silk robe, now patterned with moth-eaten holes. Clearly, a dignitary of some stature. Link noticed that its head was bare, the Crown of Mourning obviously resting elsewhere.

The Hero waited, tensing his fingers. He knew what was coming as he stepped into the hall. The door slammed down shut behind him with a soft growl, and the only other exit, at the far end of the room, grew iron bars that blocked that path. Link nodded, testing the air with his emerald blade.

He heard a scratching, then a faint tremor. Two Stalfos warriors sprouted from the floor, their eye-sockets glowing with malice. Link licked his lips, waiting for the attack. They usually struck one by one. Usually.

They swung their blades in synchronisation and Link fell back, surprised, but not hurt. Holding his sword with one hand, he waited as they approached. Again, they attacked together. With his free hand, the Hero unlatched his hookshot and fired, splintering one of them into bones, while his sword arm swung through the other. It fell back, stunned, but threw itself forward in another attack. The sword sliced Link's hand, making him drop his hookshot. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he ducked as another slice came, then plunged his blade through the warrior's armour. As it collapsed, he picked up the hookshot and watched as the iron bars covering the exit lifted.

Making his way around the banquet table, Link headed towards the door. And the floor fell away again, making him slide to a halt. Bubbling molten lava now lay between him and the door. Six stone blocks stood in the shimmering liquid heat, the only pathway to the exit. Quickly, Link scanned the far wall and realised it was too smooth for a hookshot to grab onto.

No wonder Milledra had sent him in on this quest. He wondered how many she had lost trying to get to the Crown. He readjusted his opinion on the goal itself too. Someone obviously thought the Crown was worth a lot to have gone to all this trouble to have constructed this building.

Link looked down at the blocks. He only needed to use three of them to get to the door. But which three? He paced, noticing that the ones on the left were bathed in a soft light. A sign? But would the architects have made it so obvious? Then it had to be the ones on the right, the left being too obvious and a trick for the simple-minded.

Or perhaps they knew someone like you would think that and made the obvious path the correct path.

Link smiled as Zelda's voice came to him.

This is why you have the Triforce of Wisdom, I suppose?

I suppose, she responded with a smile. But now its time to put your Triforce of Courage to good use and make the leap.

The Hero of Time steadied himself, coiling his muscles with extra energy so that he would be able to jump back if he made the wrong choice. He hoped that it would be enough. His eyes honed in on the first block, his mind quickly calculating the distance. The lava sighed with heat, and Link ignored the memories they brought back. With a thrill of anticipation, he hopped then jumped to the left.

His boots hit the stone and it rocked slightly, but there were no other ill effects. Holding out his arms to steady himself, he looked ahead. Link jumped to the next one and still it held. His eyes fell to the last block, noticing it was more brightly lit than the others.

Are you wondering what I am wondering? he asked.

You know what I'm wondering!! she replied

Link grinned and jumped to the right. It shook, but held, waves of heat curling around his legs. The Hero leapt onwards to the door.

The next chamber was empty, save for a shaft of light illuminating a stone column. On top of the pillar rested a dull, silver crown, bent in some places, scratched in others. A movement caught Link's eye.

"Boss!"

Chitz the Imp emerged from the other side of the room, Zayna running after him with a grin. The Hero smiled with relief as he caught up to them.

"How did you…?" he asked, but was cut off as he saw Milledra and the Dead appear from the shadows. The Morolak woman's eyes gleamed with hungry greed. In a flash, Link had his hookshot in his hand again. He aimed at the crown and fired. It pierced the metal and the column erupted in flame, making the Queen of the Dead scream. With a flick of a switch, the Hero recalled the chain, letting the crown drop to the floor. He stamped on it to put out the flames.

Gingerly, he picked it up, still feeling the heat through his fingers. Link looked up, noticing Milledra heaving with rage, her lips quivering and her eyes striking him with a poisonous look. The Dead bristled, their weapons ready in shaking hands. He knew how they would react. Like children. And like children he knew they would not be able to outthink his next request.

"Give it to me!" the Queen of the Dead shrieked, her voice already hoarse. "It's mine!"

"No," Link said calmly. "Now it's mine."

Milledra hissed at the words, but he continued, unperturbed. "We have a Dragon to slay," he said, pausing to let his words sink in. "And you and your men are going to help. Then, you're going to give my friends and myself safe passage out of this temple. If you refuse or if you try and harm us," and here he curled his hand around one of crown's spikes, bending it. "Then you won't see your precious crown ever again."

The Dead hesitated, their eyes on their Queen. Her face turned scarlet, humiliated and angered. Her lips curling, she opened her mouth to speak.

And with an otherworldly howl, the Dragon burst through the floor.