Chapter 3
"Now."
In response to her command, the flaming arrow hurtled through the air, illuminating the ground in its path and leaving a glowing trail in the air. It struck the bottom of the castle's gate, igniting the powdered explosives that they had hidden there. An eruption of flame curled out into the night sky, and the drawbridge fell with a protesting scream.
Sheik snapped her fingers. "Go."
The others moved, melting in and out of the shadows as they ran firing their crossbows. Confused shouts rang out from within the castle, but soon the guards were out, meeting their foe with weapons drawn as the drawbridge shook from the fighting. Gurgling screams pierced the air, soldiers with glistening wounds collapsing into the dark moat below with a splash. One eye on what was happening, Sheik was heartened to see that the men were strictly keeping to her orders and not injuring the soldiers too badly. The fallen guards thrashed about in the water, churning up a whirlpool of froth, as they struggled to swim to safety. They'd live.
She was glad that the powder had worked. They had spent months raising the funds needed for it, and she had had to silence protests from her family members that saw this attack as a foolish venture. It was true that nothing too significant would be gained from this, but if she were to be successful this night, it would be a moral and symbolic victory. Especially since this was Coronation night.
And then it happened. Not now, she moaned to herself. The world focused in and out, and dread clutched her heart in a vice as the whispers came. Prodding at the edge of her consciousness, they spoke in strange tongues, words that she didn't understand. They ran in her veins, tickling her mind and wrapping themselves around her heart. Like rhythmic chanting sighs they breathed in and out in time to the beating of her heart. Just as quickly as they came, they vanished, leaving her in a cold sweat. Steeling herself, Sheik moved on, pushing the memory away.
Running to the edge of the moat, she started to spin the rope in her hand, watching as the grappling hook attached to the end chopped through the cold air. With a yell, she threw, and was pleased to hear the metallic clunk of the hook catching on something above. She pulled at the rope, testing its firmness. Satisfied, she flung a glance downwards, noticing the large chunks of ice floating lazily in the water below. Building up speed with a small run, she launched herself, swinging in towards the castle's wall.
She struck the dark green marble with her feet and wasted no time, pulling herself up as quickly as possible as she heard the whisper of other ropes being thrown into the air. Her eyes caught sight of the moon as the dark shadow sloughed itself off of it, but she had no time to think on that now. Finding the room she was looking for she hit the window with her elbow. It cracked on the first strike, spreading a spider's web of fractures through it, and smashed on the second. She turned, seeing one of her men reach the room at another window and nodded at him before swinging in.
Her eyes took in the room, a stab of unexpected envy prodding her as she saw the rich carpets and the expensive furniture. There was a table in the middle, made of gold and covered in polished crystal that glittered in the dark. She shook her head at the extravagance and resisted the temptation to smash it. Another urge was in her soul too, slightly stronger than the other. The urge to take something, anything, even a tiny, expensive trinket. It would go a long way to help feed her family. But she knew it would be recognised easily and they'd be caught just as quickly. She shook the idea away.
A gasp of pain made her look up in fright and she saw that her fellow Harkinian – a distant cousin – had cut himself while trying to break the window. She spun, feeling her heel dig into the carpet, and ran towards him without thinking, her instinctive desire to help taking over, but he waved her away.
She swallowed, not really wanting to back off. She hated seeing others in pain.
"There's no time," he said, his expression serious.
They both pulled off the large pouches tied to their backs and reached in, emerging with two long, slender, metallic cylinders. They turned the pouches upside down and each one expelled a metal stake and hammer.
"Ready?" her cousin asked, as they rushed back to the windows.
"Ready" she replied.
Sheik stuck her head out of the broken window and peered up. Driving the stake into the wall above with the hammer, she squinted as small shards of marble rained down on her face. When the stake was secure, she dove back in, picking up her part of the cylinder. She pulled out a small string from the metal tube and used it to hang the canister onto the stake. It dangled there, gently buffeted by the icy breeze. Looking over to her left, she saw that her cousin had done the same. They pushed the two tubes together and they connected with a click. Flicking a switch at her side of the cylinder, they both opened and two, large animal-skin canvasses unravelled with a whirr, covering most of the castle wall.
"Let's go," she said.
Grabbing their ropes once more, they slid down, the palm fibre burning into their hands. When they reached the bottom, they kicked at the wall and swung outwards, the canvas lifting as they creased into it. They let go when land appeared under their feet, and the canvas fell back to the wall, the ropes swinging uselessly under it.
Her cousin grabbed at her sleeve, insistent that they both leave now, but she paused, standing her ground and looking up. She wanted to admire her handiwork. Draping the front of the castle like a garment, the large canvas displayed the triple triangular shapes that signified the symbol of the Harkinian family. Painted at the bottom in blood red letters were the words 'We are watching.' Some of the Elders in her family hand frowned over that, claiming it to be a childish addition. She didn't care, though she didn't really want to hurt them either.
The glow of lanterns slowly appeared in the castle windows, one by one, as confused and angry shouts reverberated in the air.
Putting her fingers to her mouth, she let free a shrill whistle, signifying the time for retreat. They ran, all of them, but Sheik's heart galloped with malicious glee. She couldn't help herself and stopped to have one last look, her cousin waiting also. The usurpers would get a somewhat nasty surprise from this. Already, some of the lights of the town were flickering to life as people poured out of their houses to see what the commotion was.
Sheik grinned, turning to leave, her light laughter catching in the air before floating away.
Abruptly she stopped short, almost falling to the ground. Her cousin reached for her in fear, but she yanked out of his grasp. The whispers were back in her mind again, hissing. The voices were stretched and elongated, a ghostly echo that pulsed in her soul.
"What's the matter?" he croaked, his trembling hand desperately wanting to move forwards and assist her.
The voices rolled around her head and she felt their weight, cold and ancient.
"Nothing," she gasped as, finally, the whispers started to fade. "Let's go."
...
"I don't understand," Montero said as he lounged in the Throne. A serving girl stood beside him, grinning as she popped small fruits into his mouth. She acted coy, giggling whenever he smiled up at her. A table had been set up on the other side from the girl, and one of Montero's friends, a balding youth whose gut spilled out from under his tunic, sat with a card game in his hand. From time to time, the new King, gripping his own cards in his hand until they bent, would turn to him to play his move.
Impa paced in front of the Throne, resisting the urge to curl her hand into a fist. She knew if she did that, she might just strike all three of them. With Ganondorf resting in his chambers, this was her first official meeting with Montero Dragmire. She wished it were under less serious circumstances. The new King's features were smooth, his skin a paler shade of green, a result of the mix between his Gerudo father and Calatian mother. They were almost, if you looked at them from a certain angle, handsome. At least that's what Impa thought. Perhaps she had been thinking too much again.
"What is it they want again?" he continued.
She stopped, spinning on her heel. Was the boy completely ignorant? Did he know nothing about his own family's history?
Impa sighed, pushing the snarl away from her voice. "They want what you're sitting in now, Sire," she said. Montero wasn't paying attention. He took another of the small fruits into his mouth, giving the girl a look that was almost sickening in its lechery. He flung another card down on the table too, a bored gesture. Impa ground her teeth together and counted to ten. She felt that she would explode in anger. She could not resist her next words. "They would like nothing better than to slit your stomach, hang you by your intestines and dance happily on your remains." Her voice continued to rise, trying to force the point home. "They want to rule, pure and simple."
The words did not have the desired effect. Montero did not look in the least bit bothered. His eyes flicked up and down, taking her in. She wanted to shiver in disgust.
He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Come over here," he said quietly.
Impa folded her arms across her chest, but did not move. "No."
Montero sniffed, cocking his head to one side. "You always obeyed my father."
Her eyes grew hard as she stared at him. Ganondorf Dragmire would never ask her for anything inappropriate. "Yes," she said, her tone indicating that the topic of conversation was over. Impa knew that the serving girl was giving her a hateful look, but she made a point of ignoring her.
The King leaned back in his chair. "How did they get past our defences?"
This was something that grated at her soul, since the castle's security was under her jurisdiction. "We were caught off-guard. Our soldiers were too busy with the Coronation." It embarrassed her to admit it, seeing as how she usually oversaw such matters, and with meticulous care too.
"Shouldn't a day as important as that demand a more alert presence?" he asked.
She was surprised at his perceptiveness. Looking into his eyes, she tried to search for a hint of buried intelligence. Perhaps she had underestimated him?
"Whoever was responsible for our lapse," she continued, "will be punished." Impa knew it would be difficult since, if she was being truly honest, the blame lay firmly with her. She had not expected the Harkinians to attempt something so audacious. They were a small group and scattered throughout the land. A frontal attack like this one made no sense, especially as there was little to gain from it except humiliating the Dragmires. Humiliation, she knew, could turn to rage, and a rage with royal weight behind it could turn into something very dangerous.
"What was that symbol on the canvas?" Montero asked. "What does it mean? The three triangles?"
Again, his line of questioning unsettled her. He had gazed at the emblem with calm detachment, while Ganondorf had seethed beside him. The strings had been cut and the cylinders had tumbled into the moat below with a crash.
"A myth," she replied. "Three mystical artefacts. The Triforce of Courage, the Triforce of Wisdom and the Triforce of Power. Whoever obtained them would have access to untold strength. They were said to be a sign of authority many summers ago."
Impa saw a light ignite in Montero's eyes. "And do these three 'Triforce' still exist now?"
She shrugged. "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "Like I said, a myth."
"A myth," he repeated with a nod, rolling the words around his mouth. "Why is it so important to them?"
"They were once the guardians of the Triforce," she explained. "It belonged to them."
Montero threw back his head with a laugh. "Hylians had a source of power like that?" he said incredulously. "Now I know it's a myth."
"A Gerudo held the Triforce of Power once," Impa said, and immediately regretted it. She should not have let him irritate her so easily.
It was too late though. The King's eyes twinkled with interest. "Is that so?" he asked quietly. "How do you know so much about this?"
Impa felt a knot of disquiet in her heart. She did not want to tell him anything. "Oh, just some scrolls," she said as casually as possible. "They're nothing really. Probably just works of fiction."
He wasn't swayed. "What scrolls? Where?" he demanded. Impa did not reply. "Come on, woman. You must have found all this out from somewhere."
Impa sighed, defeated. "There are scrolls in the Great Library here in the Castle itself. They detail histories and prophecies."
Montero grinned in victorious satisfaction. "Bring them to me."
"Why?" she snapped, still feeling reluctant. "There's nothing in there for you."
He leaned forward, his eyes bulging. "Well, maybe I need to review my history."
"It's a mistake to search out the Triforce," she said, desperate.
"You said it was a myth," he replied, a smug smile still carved on his face. He had cornered her, and she hated him for it.
"You don't need power," she continued. "You're the King."
"But," he said in sly voice. "If it's so important to the Harkinians and I possess it, then I have power over them, do I not?"
Impa was caught by surprise by his insightfulness yet again. "Maybe," she replied stubbornly.
"Besides," he continued. "If it belonged to the Gerudo before, it should belong to them again. The emblem of the Harkinians should not signify a worthless race like the Hylians but, instead, should represent the greatness of the Gerudo."
That racial pride again. Impa hated it, loathed how it infiltrated their society. It was strange, though; that this half-Calatian King should be so interested in recovering the nobility of the long-dead race his father belonged to.
Montero was gone again, this time his attention focused on stroking the serving girl's hand. Impa only hoped that his infatuation with the Triforce would be equally as shallow. The King looked back at her, as though it was the first time he had seen her.
"Why don't you be a good little girl," he said, his royal voice dropping. "And find me those scrolls. I feel the urge for some light reading."
Impa nodded, keeping up the appearance of a loyal subject while inside she felt the burn of irritation. Turning to leave the Throne room she wondered what she could do to turn this situation to her advantage.
...
The murmur of voices hummed around the Hylian Meeting House, a bubble of chatter that rose above the huddled people like heated air. They sat in groups; waiting within the four wooden walls that curved up to the domed ceiling, light blue paint peeling. In the centre of the hall, rotating slowly with a gentle grinding sound, a pillar of marble stood, embedded diamonds giving off a twinkling haze. It was etched with elaborate carvings that detailed the history of the Hylian race.
Link pulled his eyes away, a little satisfied to see that there was no mention of any 'Hero of Time' in the patterned history. The base of the pillar, depicting the most ancient times, was lined with so many images that they criss-crossed over one another. As Link slowly raised his head he saw, with a tug of sadness, that the pictures grew fewer and fewer. About two-thirds of the way up, the last few etchings gave way to smooth, untouched marble that was the representation of modern times.
Turning around, Link scanned the room, looking for his friends. He spotted Mystral, sitting with Fran and Tom, as she hugged her legs. Link stepped around the other circles of people, flexing his fingers to bring some warmth back into them. He slid past the food sellers as they spooned out thick, steaming liquid into bowls of impatiently waiting Hylians. The meaty aroma tickled Link's nose. All around him people darted this way and that, some, like himself, hurrying towards their friends, others, like the children, scurrying around with jugs of water as impatient men raised their mugs waiting for them to be filled. There was a sense of irritated expectation in the air, as most people did not exactly know why they had been called to the House this day.
A familiar warmth grew in his heart as his gaze swept the room. Some people caught his eyes and would wave at him or smile or just merely nod. He knew most people here and most people knew him. He belonged here, in amongst the tight closeness between people, in the corners where some sat puffing on varnished pipes that sent clouds of sweet-smelling smoke into the air, with the shrieking children that took the meeting as an excuse to play, and he knew he could never leave them. His people.
"Link!" His head snapped towards the sound of the Deak's voice. The Hylian Elder sat in the centre of a group of people of varying ages, grinning, as he no doubt weaved more tales to his enchanted audience. Some of the older ones tried to shuffle in closer, but he shooed them away so that the children, their toothy grins wide from the attention, could sit by his feet, like a secret inner circle. Link's heart rose as he changed direction to meet the Elder.
"Deak," he said warmly. "How are you?" They clasped hands, the silver chains around Deak's wrist jangling.
"All's well," the Elder replied. "Come, sit."
Link threw an uneasy glance over to his friends. "I need to get back to my sister."
Deak nodded, his smile showing that he felt no offence. "Understandable." The man's eyes followed Link's gaze. "How is she? Found a husband for her yet?"
"No," Link said with a sigh. It was difficult for her to find a suitor when they had very little wealth and no position in society due to being orphans. Link felt the whisper of self-righteousness, but pushed it away. Before he had joined the Assassin's League they had been in poverty. It would be ungrateful to feel slighted now that they could afford to feed and clothe themselves. "Soon, I hope," he added with an optimistic smile.
"True," Deak said, ruffling the hair of a wide-eyed boy on his lap. "I saw you at the feast last night…?"
He left it hanging and Link knew that he was prodding, his curiosity awake. Swallowing, the young man's mind raced, trying to find a suitable reply. "I was invited by friends," he said, the lie feeling like tar on his heart.
Deak continued to watch him with cautious eyes. "They must have been some very good friends. Not many people received a special invite."
"They were," Link said simply, hoping that he could end the conversation here. The Elder continued to watch and Link felt the world close in on him, spinning. He hoped that his old friend didn't expect him to elaborate. Deak knew, though, that Link was usually a young man of very few words.
The Elder's eyes fell to Link's crossbow, hanging from his belt and occasionally bumping softly against his thigh. "Good weapon there," he said. "Well-made." He paused to look directly at Link's face. "Expensive."
Link hissed inwardly, his temples throbbing. How much did the old man suspect? And would he act on those very same suspicions?
"A gift," the young man said, feeling his heart crack from another deception. The modified crossbow was the property of the castle, given to him so that he could execute his duties better.
"From the same friends that got you an invite?" Deak said with a smile. He seemed to have ended his line of questioning. "I didn't know you had such illustrious companions, my boy."
Before Link could reply, the Elder waved him away. "Go back to your sister, she's waiting." The man's soft voice almost convinced Link that this would be the end of it, but he froze as the next words came, laced with a sly edge. "And I hope to meet these friends of yours one day."
Link nodded numbly before he turned away and walked on.
He hunched his shoulders as he came to sit down beside his sister, wondering why no fire had been lit against the chill. His friends' conversations melted away as they turned their attention to him. With an inward frown he realised that he had placed himself directly in the path of a window high in the wall, and the moonlight fell on his face, making him squint.
Fran looked up at him. "Learn anything?" he asked.
"Nothing I didn't already know," Link replied.
"That little?" Tom said with a grin. He was dressed a little more conservatively than he had at the festivities yesterday.
"Link, your tunic's too thin," Mystral said sternly. Her eyes looked him over. She was right, he knew, but he didn't think it was that important.
"I'll live," he replied.
"You'll fall ill," she said, a spark in her eyes. "Then I'll have to tend to you and feed you."
Tom's grin widened. "So, little change in your usual routine then?"
Mystral glared at him, and Fran took in a breath to speak. "She's right, lad," he said, his eyes on Link. "You should protect yourself against the cold."
Link sighed, tired of being talked down to. "I can take care of myself," he said. A stab of anger prompted him to continue. "More than any of you could."
Fran arched one eye as Mystral fixed him with a hot stare. He refused to meet her eyes, but he knew how foolish he was making himself look. Still, he couldn't bring himself to apologise. He felt a little sullen, unhappy that he had no one to share his victory with. Link had passed the Test, but he knew that neither Fran, nor Mystral would be very pleased about it. And Tom, of course, had no idea as to what he did. Sometimes, Link thought that his only real family were his fellow assassins.
Mystral pulled her scarf off from around her neck and wrapped it around Link, who remained sitting, unresisting. For a moment, Link thought she was going to lean across and kiss his cheek and he warned her off with a look. She laughed, shaking her head and Link felt a tug of shame for his treasonous thoughts doubting who his actual family were. She was all he had and he would fight to the death to protect her. It was that same ferocity, after all, that had led to him becoming an assassin.
"Thank you," he said softly, hoping the words would wash away his guilt. Mystral smiled back at him.
"Fran," his sister said with another smile. "I've cooked you something." She pushed a small pot, wrapped at the base with a thick cloth, over towards the elder man, whose eyes responded with a twinkle. Link's mouth curled; annoyed that Mystral had such a soft spot for the old man. It would only encourage him in his delusions.
"Ah," Fran replied. "Lass, my life is now complete." He winked.
There was a pause as he examined the dish, before his eyes flicked over to the youngster. "Link here thinks you're spoiling me," he said with an easy grin.
Link took in a sharp breath to utter his denial, irritated that the old man had read him so easily, but Fran's voice was quicker. "He's more uptight than a Freelander in a room full of Imps."
The young man frowned. "What's a Freelander?"
Before Fran could reply, the voices around them increased in volume. There was a stir beside the pillar and the people parted revealing the Hylian Chief, Servion Boarhound, and his entourage. Link looked up, noticing the Chief was dressed in his best tunic, rich black cloth rippling around his body. His friends turned their attention to the tall, black-haired man who had called for this meeting, sending out messengers before dawn had melted away the previous night. Link had a fair idea about what the Chief would be talking about.
Servion tapped his staff against the floor three times, the sharp, cracking noise silencing the last trails of conversation. He paused a moment, letting his gaze sweep the room with a smile. "Friends," he said. "A situation has arisen. A situation that involves us all." Link thought there was a strange look on the man's face. He didn't know the Chief well, and so couldn't ascertain whether the glimmer in his eyes was a natural part of his usual expression.
"Last night," the Chief continued, speaking slowly as though they were all small children. Or so Link thought. Perhaps he'd become too used to being spoken down too. "Last night, we were greeted by two auspicious happenings. First, the moon itself was darkened, her familiar light lost to us for a full hour. And then, the Castle itself was struck by an attack." There was no response from the crowd, the previous night's events now well-known. "An act of vandalism perpetrated by the Harkinians." He spat the last word out as a ripple of voices swept through the people.
Link tensed too, remembering the night of the Test and how he'd been unable to kill the targets despite having easily disposed of other people before in the past. He wondered if his hesitation had been due to the fact that they were fellow Hylians, though that had never bothered him before. He looked up in surprise when he heard the Chief's words almost mirror his thoughts.
"We shouldn't forget that the Harkinians are fellow Hylians," he was saying. "Their actions are a reflection on us all. And it is difficult enough to be a Hylian in this day and age." There was a murmur of assent.
"Let's find them ourselves," a voice called out. Lost in the mass of people, Link couldn't tell who it was. He tried to peer over to the source, but his view was blocked by wisps of pipe smoke and the sheer mass of people, their eyes fixed on the Chief. "We can deal our own justice out on them."
"Aye!" another said. "We'll teach them some honour."
More and more people were shouting now, throwing out curses and vows for revenge. The atmosphere was becoming a little too edgy. All around Link, he saw his fellow Hylians' faces either contorted in rage or stone-like with icy self-control. All except for Fran, that is. The old man had an uncomfortable look painted on his face, and he was rubbing his hands, more out of anxiety than any desire to generate heat.
Servion held up a hand in a plea for calm. "I understand your misgivings, my people," he said softly. "But there is a way for us to pounce on this opportunity." The voices were swept away once more and were replaced by the occasional clearing of a throat as the people continued to wait. Link's eyes darted, wondering why the Chief was so silent.
"I think the Harkinians have it right," he said finally, and the crowd throbbed again, this time their angry confusion directed at Servion. Link tensed again, not liking the direction the speech was going.
"Ssshhh," the Chief said, resting a hand on the marble pillar. He traced a finger down and around the column as the people watched, puzzled. He paused at one spot, near the bottom, and they all leaned forward. "Yes," he said. "Take a good look. It is said right here that a Gerudo once enslaved our people, spreading misery through the land." He paused. "And now a Gerudo rules us once more. A shame."
Link couldn't help it. "This is treasonous talk!" he snarled. Mystral snapped her head round towards him, a plea in her eyes. Fran watched him cautiously.
Servion looked up, his gaze searching for the owner of the outburst. When his eyes rested on Link, he smiled. "I didn't know a child was so well-versed in politics."
There was a small wave of laughter and Link felt something change in the air. The tension had eased and Link realised with mild discomfort that the people had relaxed a little, and were now willing to listen a little more openly. He'd spoken out of turn and his words had no weight because of his age and lack of social status. His heart sank and he felt his head throb. Shame bit him. How could he speak against the Chief this way?
The Chief's hand curved up the pillar, moving across hundreds of summers of history. He stopped again. "Here," he said. "The Massacre. Remember, my people, that we were once the true owners of this land. And then the Calatians came, killing, looting, raping. Look." His fingers sunk into the grooves etched into the column. "They cut the throats of children, their blood mixing with the rivers and lakes. They had their fill of women, their screams in the air almost continuously, night and day. And then they took over our land." Another pause. This time he pinned his gaze on the Elders, those old enough to have remembered first-hand accounts of the Massacre from their own parents. The looks on their faces were pale and some of them nodded, reminiscing. Link felt a frost grow over his heart. Now he knew that none of the younger people in the room would be able to object to the Chief's words without looking like they were disrespecting the Elders.
"And now look, here they are, living in luxury around the castle while we are herded into tiny enclaves like animals. Our blood was the foundation stone for this great city, which they derogatorily name 'New Hyrule', to be constructed. They could not even trust one another so they were forced to appoint the Gerudo as King."
Some people were weeping now, the images too vivid for most people's minds. Link was moved too, but it was mixed with confusion. He was loyal to his King and he knew that the Calatians he was friends with were not like that. But there was something else too. While most others in the room, Mystral and Tom included, were hanging on the Chief's words, Link felt uneasy. There was something insincere in the man's voice. Something too practised and calculated. Things were moving too fast and they needed time to reflect.
Servion moved his finger up a little further. "Here," he said. "A peace treaty between us and the Calatians. It's called a great moment in history. Instead of our taking vengeance and retaking what belonged to us, we compromised. And now look where we are."
"So," a voice called out, laced with a trace of doubt. "Are you suggesting we ally ourselves with the Harkinians? Why should we risk ourselves for ancient history? We are comfortable with the here and now. We don't need trouble."
There were nods around the room. Voices began to murmur again.
"Ancient history?" Servion said. "Did you know that the offspring of the Hylian women they defiled were adopted by the Calatians themselves? Did you know that their descendents spread far and wide and most are now living in the Calatian Quarter this very minute? Doesn't it shame you to know that their children live in enormous houses, some having three rooms to themselves, while ours only have a single bed in one corner to call their own? Doesn't it hurt that the Calatians use our wealth feed their wives and have the finest physicians to tend to them while, when of our loved ones fall ill, we have to sit by their bed and hope for the best? Do you think that they still don't hate us? Both the Gerudo King and the Calatians themselves? Darkness has taken our people just as it took the moon. It would appear that last night was a sign, a reminder of what has happened to our land." There was a hushed pause and Link heard drops of water fall from a leak in the ceiling. "But remember. This is not a question of superiority or inferiority, no. This is a question of…justice."
He let the word hang in the air so that it would penetrate into the people's minds more easily. Very clever, thought Link.
Before anyone could speak, the Chief snapped his fingers. Two men, dressed in the garb of the Chief's guards, entered the Meeting House, a small, wrapped bundle on their shoulders. Link felt his heart sinking, knowing what it was from many summers of experience.
Slowly, they unwrapped the clear, white cloth as the people stared, perched forward on their toes. Servion paused an instant before removing the last piece, looking up to make sure everyone was watching. With an elaborate swipe, he revealed the face of a small, Hylian child, his face still encrusted with blood. Some of the people cried out, others gasped. Link saw Mystral cover her mouth with her hand, her eyes wide with tears.
He recognised the boy, Aldrow, as someone who had run around their enclave, laughing and always ready with a smile or the whimsical questions typical of a child. Once Aldrow had poked at Link's crossbow as it hung from his belt. The little boy had begged him to show him how he used it and, after overcoming his own reservations and asking the boy's parents for permission, Link had taken Aldrow to a nearby forest where they had hunted small game all day. Link felt a tight knot in his heart.
"Murdered by Calatians," the Chief said simply. "The child's only crime being that he was Hylian." The thick emotion, obviously forced, in the Chief's voice made Link feel sick. His head throbbed as he saw everyone around him lean forward, entranced.
Angry shouts followed, the Harkinians briefly forgotten. Link felt his own heart churn and his hands curled into fists unconsciously. And yet, there was something holding him back. A trickle of doubt that flowed down to his tongue and begged to be released.
"Wait," Link called, trying to make himself heard. Servion looked up, catching his voice over the din, to meet his gaze. "How do you know this?"
The Chief snapped his fingers once more, as though he had expected the question. Another two guards entered, this time with another child, his face trembling with fear, walking tentatively with them. All eyes turned to the newcomer.
"Little Sean," Servion said softly. "Tell us what happened. Don't be scared now."
Link's eyes narrowed as he saw the little boy look up at the Chief in fear. Sean, unlike Aldrow, was not a picture of innocence, and was quite well-known for telling tall tales. Once, Link had caught the boy stealing apples from Tiny Borak's orchard. Dragging the screaming child to his parents, Link hadn't noticed when Sean had dropped an apple into one of the pouches in Link's tunic. When they had finally arrived at the boy's house, Sean had simply pointed at Link's tunic. Finding the fruit, his parents had been angered and Link had been forced to pay back all that had been stolen, while Sean had watched, smirking and taunting. The boy was a born liar. Catching the looks of hot rage in his compatriots' eyes, Link wondered if they'd forgotten that.
"We…we were playing," the boy said, occasionally peeking up at Servion for encouragement. "And…then…these men came…" He choked, sniffing.
"Go on," the Chief prompted gently.
"They said we were dirty Hylians. And…and they started hitting us. We tried to get away. They wouldn't stop. They had knives." The boy started crying, and Link had to admit that it sounded too forced and melodramatic. Hardly anyone else had reached the same conclusion though.
"My friends," Servion said, holding up his hands. "Your hearts yearn for vengeance. Multiply what you have seen today by a thousand and you will still not know the true horrors our people have had to endure." He gestured and yet another group of guards appeared. A hiss rose from the people as their eyes fell on the pair that the guards brought in.
Pushed along by the guards' unkind prods, a man and woman, both Calatians, stumbled into the Meeting House, their faces ashen with terror. They were both richly dressed and the woman wore a glittering diamond necklace, its light reflecting off the marble pillar. It was this necklace that Servion reached for now, tearing it off with a yank. He held it up so that it caught the light, enhancing its beauty.
"You see?" the Chief said. The mass of people were surging forward now and Link wondered when exactly they had lost control. "This is what they wear while our women have to content themselves with painted trinkets made out of wood." He looked down at the boy. "Sean, who are these people?"
The little boy looked up at them, his face blank. Link knew that only one answer would satisfy his fellow Hylians. "They are the ones that attacked me."
Link stood his ground, looking left and right in panic, as the crowd tried to push him on. Some were reaching out their arms, desperately trying to reach the Calatians. The couple cowered. There was a sour taste in the atmosphere, and Link shrunk back from the murderous glints in the eyes of those around him. He was surprised to see farmer Holly, her round belly jiggling and her eyes hollow, being the most vigorous in screaming. He even saw Deak, one of the few Hylian elders that he respected, also shouting vicious curses, his white hair trembling. How had these intelligent people been so easily manipulated? Hoping to find an escape from the insanity, he glanced around and saw Mystral, her face tight. Next he saw Tom, and the ugly look of rage on his face almost made Link tremble. Finally, his eyes found Fran, and he was finally heartened, seeing the worried look on the old man's face.
"What shall we do with them?" Servion asked. "What is your judgement?"
"The sword!" they screamed. "Pierce them and hang up their skins!"
The roar of response from the crowd made the Calatians step back, horrified. Link saw that there still remained a few people that were still fighting with doubt, islands of calm in the sea of people before him. He knew the indecision, coupled with being in the minority, would prevent them from action. The Calatians were dragged to the ground as Servion watched silently, and Link caught the flash of drawn daggers. He felt the air thicken with heat and his head started to spin. The man began to scream hysterically as he was pinned down, even before the blades started falling. His fellow Hylians reminded Link of a pack of ravenous wolves, drool and snarls included. The female whimpered as her dress was torn. Link's heart tightened. That was no way to treat a woman. He looked up at Fran. 'Do something,' the elder man mouthed.
Link nodded, swiftly scooping up crossbow his and aiming it at the Chief. He said no words, the whirr of the weapon's mechanism making the people scatter, screaming. Servion jerked as he saw what was happening. The guards around him drew their swords and swung them into position in front of their leader.
Servion pinned a stare on Link. "It looks like we have a Calatian sympathiser," he said in a soft voice. A tiny flicker of laughter rippled out from the crowd.
Undeterred, Link flexed his fingers around the weapon, reaching back into his quiver with his other hand and locking a second arrow into place beside the first one. There was no reason to do so, other than to show how serious he was. He could feel eyes on him, some fearful, some angry.
"Link!" Mystral hissed, terror pinching her face. "Put that down!"
He ignored her, trying to shut out the heated stares from all around him. His assassin training fell neatly into his mind. Keep your heart cold. Keep your aim steady. Of course, that very same training was screaming at him for threatening a target out in the open, but what choice did he have?
"Where's your proof?" he called. His mind raced, calculating at what angle he could hit Servion while his heart gaped, taunting him for daring to raise a weapon to his own Chief. His arm almost trembled, but he stilled it. Keep your heart cold. He could strike the man directly through the eye. Messy, but it would get the job done. "Where's your proof that these people did what you say they did?"
"The child," Servion replied simply.
Link didn't want to accuse him of lying, knowing that the people would see that as a cheap tactic. "He was confused and scared," said Link. "He said he saw only men. He mentioned no woman." There were a few sharp intakes of breath, as if though some people had just received a revelation. Others though, kept their stern expressions fixed.
The Chief flinched. His face almost curled into a scowl, but Link saw him control it with a slight shudder. "You realise I can have you cut down right now," he said quietly. "You wouldn't get out of here alive."
Link felt fear touch his heart, realising the truth of the man's words. This was stupid, he knew, one boy against all these armed and angry Hylians. Even if he did somehow manage to kill the Chief, the people would lynch him. He caught the intensity in their eyes, one or two of the more dim-witted ones itching to leap on him, saliva already rolling down their chins in anticipation. Like an idiot, Link hadn't thought ahead. He was surprised Mystral hadn't begun chiding him yet. What did he owe these Calatians anyway? The thought melted away under the weight of something he couldn't quite describe. The same sensation he had felt when his trigger finger had been stilled on the night of the Test. Still, he continued. "They still deserve a trial," he said, cocking his head towards the Calatians. "There has to be more proof."
"I concur," Fran called. "Proof. It's only right." There was a slight swell of voices, but not enough, Link knew, since Fran held no weight in their society.
There was silence as the Chief and Link watched one another with cautious, narrowed eyes.
"The boy is right." Link's heart was gladdened to hear Deak's voice, and he stole a glance at him, seeing the old man's face return to a sense of normalcy. The murmur grew stronger, an Elder's word demanding attention and reflection.
Another heartbeat of silence passed. The heat of the Hylians' stares made Link's brow break out in a sweat.
Abruptly, Servion spun on his heel, walking towards the captives. Link kept his weapon trained on the man, tracking his path.
The Chief looked at the prisoners with cold, hard eyes. "Let me show you how we Hylians truly behave," he said. "Unlike you Calatians we have mercy in our hearts." He paused, throwing a glance over at his fellow Hylians. "Despite your vicious crimes, I have decided to show you true Hylian spirit. Something that all my people share." Another pause. The people waited. "On behalf of the Hylian race, I forgive you for your misdeeds. You are free to go. Tell your people about how we treat wrongdoers."
A sincere and spontaneous cheer rumbled through the Meeting House, and people began chanting the Chief's name. Servion! Servion! Link dropped his arm, puzzled at how Servion had managed to turn everything to his favour. Of course, no one could credit Link with what happened. He was too young and it would be showing too much disrespect to the Chief. He felt Fran's hand on his shoulder, the elder man's hot breath on his cheek as he leaned in close.
"That's what happens when you pick a fight with a politician," Fran said. "Nice work, lad, though a little foolish."
Link looked at him warily, not sure how to respond to that. He caught the glares from some of the others and all of a sudden the room felt too small and too hot. No longer did he feel like he was in a room full of intimate friends. Now they appeared to him as stone-faced strangers. And, he realised with a chill, they were not likely to forget his actions this night. "I need to go out," he said.
"Wait, lad," Fran said, clutching at his sleeve. "Do you see what you did? You doubted his claims without seeing his proof."
He was in no mood for Fran's lectures at the moment. "So?"
"So," the elder man continued. "Why do you believe the King when he tells you to kill someone? Do you ask him for proof too?"
Link moved to leave, not liking how Fran's words unsettled him. The old King had saved his sister and himself from bandits. How could he possibly doubt him? "That's different."
"How so?" he replied with genuine curiosity.
"It's the King," Link said a little testily. "Kings don't lie."
Fran's eyes arched and his mouth curled into an incredulous smile. "You have a lot to learn, lad."
Link felt another pair of angry eyes burn into him and he quickened his pace, eager to leave both the hostile atmosphere and Fran's confusing musings. "Take Mystral home for me," he said. "I need some fresh air."
The noise of the gathering fell into a dull throb behind him as Link made his way down the twisting passageways to the exit. The air grew colder as he approached, the lanterns hanging from the damp, stone walls giving off little warmth. He could see the giant, wooden door now, stretched and cracked with age and he was puzzled that there were no guards posted there. Despite being completely safe in their own Quarter, it was always wise to keep someone at the ready, especially when so many of them were assembled in one place.
The silver glint of a sword flashed in front of his eyes and Link found his path blocked by the sudden appearance of two of the Chief's guards. They parted, revealing Servion Boarhound himself, his mouth split in a toothy grin. Instantly, Link's fingers clutched for his crossbow, but a big, meaty hand swung up and pinned him to the wall. Link could feel the stone's heavy coldness press into his back.
Servion leaned forward, his breath the only source of heat in the narrow passageway, his eyes swirling with a mixture of smugness and intense rage.
"Do not cross me, boy," he whispered when he was close enough to Link's face. "I did not appreciate your little game back there."
"It was no game," Link bit back when he could find his voice. A part of him was shocked that he was talking to the Chief this way and, once again, he had to steel himself from trembling. He didn't know Servion Boarhound personally, but had always given him the respect that was his due, the Chief's presence a constant in his life, like a relative that was known to exist, but had never bothered to take the effort to become intimate with the rest of the family. "What you wanted us to do. It was wrong."
Servion shook his head, his mouth curling. "Wrong? What do you know of 'right' and 'wrong', boy?" he said. "It is right that we live in virtual poverty while the Calatians live like kings and queens?" He paused, letting Link ponder on his words. "Do you deny us the right to take back what really belongs to us?"
Somewhere in the back of his mind Link realised that the conversation had shifted from discussing the attempted murder of two Calatians to something completely different, but the heavy confusion in his thoughts distracted him. Doubt tickled him. Was he really being foolish by clinging to his position when all around him had sided with the Chief? It was a little stupid for him to believe that he was right when those older and wiser than him disagreed. Seeing the earnest look in Servion's eyes, Link stream of guilt trickle over his heart. He longed to climb up to the caverns around the city so that he could just find the time to think.
"I don't know," Link said, and then immediately chided himself for saying something so stupid.
"You don't know," Servion repeated, the lines around his eyes tightening. "I suggest you find out. I need everyone on the same track if I am to proceed." He looked Link up and down one last time. "But I can see that you're going to be trouble, boy. You might want to reconsider that." He paused again, making sure that Link had his full attention. "For the sake of your sister, that is."
Link felt the warmth drain from his face as Servion moved away, beckoning the guards to follow him with a sharp flick of his hand. His heart feeling like a slab of lead, Link took in a deep breath and ran to the door, stumbling once or twice as he tried to calm his dizzy mind.
...
Link's footsteps echoed around the deserted streets of the Hylian Quarter, most of the people still back at the Meeting House. Shops were still open and the glow of the hanging lanterns mixed with the moonlight in the air. Link glanced up, glad that the moon was no longer smothered in darkness. He wrapped Mystral's scarf tighter around his neck, the scent of her perfume clinging to his skin. It comforted him.
His mind was still awhirl, Servion and Fran's words creating the unwelcome whisper of doubt that stroked his heart. Link didn't want to consider the possibility that Ganondorf had misled him like the way Servion had misled the Hylians. If that were true, then his life had been wasted. But, as Fran had pointed out, he had never asked for proof about the nature of their targets' crimes. He had just gone along on trust alone. The again, after hearing the Chief's words, he couldn't decide if Servion had been misleading or if Link himself had been the one that was misled.
Link tried to push the thoughts away. What he needed was something to ease his mind. Something to make him forget his troubles, at least for a little while.
Abruptly, he felt the breeze above him change and a dark blur of movement unfurled in front him. Instantly, Link whipped his crossbow up to face the newcomer that had just appeared in front of him. He was a little annoyed that he'd let the person sneak up on him so easily. Not very impressive for an assassin.
The figure stepped forward into the light and Link tightened his grip on the crossbow.
Sheik crossed her arms over her chest, looking back at him with a smile in her eyes. "Put that thing down," she said. "And tell me this: why are you wandering the streets in the middle of the night all by your lonesome?"