Chapter 7
Mystral sat up in the bed, trying to ignore the dull pain in one shoulder, and sipped on the soup. The spicy scent made her head swim and her brow broke into a sweat. According to Chestnut Leese, the young girl that Servion had assigned to tend to Mystral, the concoction was good for her and would speed her along on the road to recovery. After all, it was so effective that it had made Chestnut's birth pains virtually vanish when her baby girl had been born. Mystral doubted the truth of that, but didn't want to offend the girl whose fussy charm had grown on her. It surprised her that her baby-faced nurse was already married and had a child. She looked no older than fifteen.
As the sound of bustling townsfolk drifted in through her window, Mystral remembered the night where she had planned to pay a simple, friendly visit to her friends. It had ended with most of them dead or dying and she herself had taken an arrow in the shoulder. Even thinking about her injury made her wince. She swung her legs down from the bed and then walked to the small window set in one wall. Gripping the sill tightly, she leaned out, catching the rising smell of baked bread and hearing the hurried shouts of the men and women. The people were busy today.
Mystral and her friends had been diverted from their rendezvous by an urgent summons from the Chief. He had led them, and all the other women as well, to the old, abandoned storehouse on the edge of the enclave. It had once been used to store provisions for both the people and their animals, back when the enclave was too small for them to house their own goods. Once they had gotten there, Servion had mumbled something about a surprise festival and had brought out drinks for everyone to share. One or two of them, Mystral included, had been a little wary about the offerings, but the younger ones had been delighted, and they had all drunk their fill. She recalled now how the sweet, red liquid had made her head spin immediately, rendering her unable to either speak or to focus her gaze on anything.
And after that she remembered nothing.
Oh, they had told her, of course. When she had awoken, feverish, to find a splintering pain in her blood-encrusted arm, they had spilled out the whole story. Even now, as she recalled all the details, it still struck her as ridiculous. The King had finally turned against them, they said. He had sent out one of his squadrons, the secret ones that no one talked about and people debated whether they even existed, to strike at the Hylians' heart. He had wanted to numb them into inaction by slaughtering the innocent amongst them. And, worst of all, he had used a Hylian - Link – to execute his foul command, the young boy taking vicious pleasure in attempting to murder his own sister.
Nonsense.
Mystral shook her and let out a deep breath. Deak had assured her that Link had, indeed, been involved, but even then she refused to believe that he had consciously tried to kill her. There were too many questions left unanswered, too many facts left hidden, buried deep under the Chief's magical, twisting words. She had no one to probe for information either. Both Tom and Deak had been furious with Link's supposed actions and vowed to cut his neck when they caught him. Mystral shuddered at the ferocity in their words.
Fran was nowhere to be found either, but she had a sneaking suspicion that he had somehow found his way to be by Link's side. Her brother, of course, was long gone. Again she had to breathe in deeply to prevent herself from being drowned in the despair that lurked in her heart. Her vision blurred, but she blinked away the tears. A lifetime of disappointment had trained her to control her feelings somewhat.
Someone had wanted Link gone from their enclave. The realisation blazed in her mind. Someone had taken Link from her. All she had to do was find out who. And why.
She turned as the door to her room opened. Chestnut entered, her youthful face grinning. She had been named after the colour of her long hair that flowed down to her waist. Somehow the young girl had escaped the massacre. Mystral had always been meaning to ask her what she had been doing instead on that night, but never found the right time to speak. Everytime she tried to form words regarding that fateful event, she would end up choking, the grief rising from her soul and into her throat. She had lost many friends because of the assassins. True, she wasn't as close to them as she may have once thought, but it still saddened her. What was worse was the notion that Link may have been partly responsible.
"How are you?" the young girl asked, skipping into the room and deftly picking up the empty bowl. "Feeling better?"
"Yes, thank you" Mystral answered truthfully. "Just a little tired."
Chestnut's eyes sparkled and her grin widened. "You see?" she asked. "Granma's recipe always works."
Though she was always in a bubbly mood, today there was an extra spring in Chestnut's movements. For some reason it unnerved Mystral.
"Chestnut," she asked carefully. "What's happening?"
The young girl frowned, her soft features creasing in genuine confusion. Mystral had to stop herself from reaching out and patting her on the shoulder, had to resist the urge to tell her that everything would be fine, so much did Chestnut resemble a little girl.
Mystral waved to the window. "The people are preparing for something."
"Oh!" Chestnut said, her face brightening immediately. "Don't you know? It's so exciting!"
"What is?" Mystral tried, and failed, to keep the dread from her voice.
"Oh, don't worry," the young girl said. "The Chief has decided that we're not going to be pushed around and bullied by the Calatians any longer." Her smile stayed on her face, as though they were a pair of gossiping maidens chatting about potential suitors. "He's preparing to attack the Castle and take over the city!"
Mystral's mouth dropped open as she blinked, stunned. She had to run the words in her head again just to make sure she hadn't misheard. "Is he mad?" she cried. "What do the others think about this? Deak and the Elders?"
"Oh, they all agree," Chestnut said, her voice still cheery. "Don't worry about a thing. We'll find that thug of a brother of yours. And then you'll be settled and happy."
Wincing over hearing Link mentioned in such a way, Mystral almost didn't catch the insinuation in the girl's last words. "Settled? Happy?" she asked, frowning. "What do you mean?"
Chestnut began fidgeting, her eyes darting left to right, as though she had been caught stealing or something of similar magnitude. She rushed to the door, almost tripping on her way there. "Nothing, nothing," she gasped. "Don't mind my words."
Mystral reached her in a few short strides. Experienced in dealing with those younger than her, especially when they were being un-cooperative, Mystral glared down at Chestnut, making sure to tighten the muscles in her own face so that the stern expression that she had perfected over the summers would appear naturally. It worked, and the younger girl cowered, swallowing, her eyes furiously pleading for her to be let free.
"What do you mean, Chestnut?" Mystral said slowly. More bad news was the last thing she wanted, but she knew from experience that false hope was always a disaster to entertain.
"It's supposed to be a surprise," she moaned. "You're not supposed to know."
"What surprise?"
Chestnut grit her teeth as tears sprang to her eyes. "Promise you won't tell anyone I told you?" she squeaked. "Promise you'll act surprised when the Chief tells you?"
Mystral sighed. "I promise," she said, softening her tone. "What is it that the Chief is going to tell me?"
The young girl straightened her back, grinning. She smoothed down her dress and cleared her throat, as though she were about to make an important announcement. "It's really exciting," she said, her unease forgotten. "And you do deserve it."
Mystral was beginning to lose her patience. "Deserve what?" she said, forcing her voice to stay calm. "Tell me."
Chestnut's smile grew wider. "Well," she said. "After the attack on the Castle is over, the Chief is going to ask you – well, order you I suppose, but that doesn't sound as nice - he's going to ask you to marry him!"
...
The rhythmic clatter of the horses' hooves on the cobbled pathway kept Impa awake as she rode beside the prison cart. She hadn't slept the previous night, pouring over more scrolls until she had finally pinpointed the location of the Hero of Time's grave in the city. Her tunic was still coated with dust and the odour of decayed parchments clung to her. It still surprised her at how eager she was to find the Triforce. She shared none of the King's ambitions, but whenever a challenge had been placed before her she had always risen to the occasion.
Once, Ganondorf had told her the story of the Travelling Archers of the South, and how they had never been beaten in a target challenge. Even a trivial thing as this had made her blood pump faster, and she had trained long and hard every night thereafter, waiting for the time to test her skills against them. Finally, they had come to New Hyrule one day to put on a show and throw out a challenge. Impa had steeled herself that morning, keeping her mind focused so that it would be as razor sharp as the tip of her arrow.
Going out in front of the mass of assembled Calatians she had accepted the archers' challenge and had proceeded to beat them one by one in every game that they devised. Satisfied, she had boasted of her success to Ganondorf. The King hadn't even remembered mentioning the group to her.
It didn't bother her though. She had improved her skills and tested them against the Travelling Archers. And she had overcome them. Even if no one else remembered the feat or even took the slightest notice of it, Impa would always remember.
And now she had found the exact location where the Hero of Time rested, along with his piece of the Triforce. Satisfaction surged in her heart, and she had to keep herself from sighing like a lovesick maiden. Another challenge met.
Montero was on his way there now, along with an Assassin League squadron.
"You're a Hylian."
Impa turned to the source of the voice, one of the prisoners in the cart beside her. It was more a cage on wheels, and it bumped up and down on the uneven surface, rattling the steel bars. There were two young women inside. One, her blonde hair framing the calm expression on her face, sat looking at the other, dressed in blue with one half of her face covered. The Princess and the one known as Sheik.
Montero had entrusted Impa with the task of delivering the duo to the Dragmires' prison complex in the south. The building was more securely protected than the dungeons of the castle. Both the King and Impa had been shocked at discovering that they had captured the Hylian Princess. Impa had felt her heart lurch at the revelation and Montero's eyes had gleamed. Now one part of the Cycle had been revealed. Not knowing what to do with either of them, the King had decided to keep them safely locked away while he pondered on the matter.
"Yes," Impa replied, turning to Sheik. "I am."
The young girl's eyes flashed with anger. "I can't seem to escape from all you traitors, can I?"
The Princess hissed at her; a warning for her to still her tongue, but Sheik ignored her.
Traitors. Impa mused over that. The one known as Kafei had come to them one night, after one of the squads had almost killed him and his young family. He was the only Harkinian amongst the three of them, and it obviously weighed heavily on his mind that he couldn't provide a safe and prosperous future for his wife and baby son. In exchange for his immediate family's safety he had agreed to reveal the location of the Harkinians' safehouse, though he had agonised in guilt for hours afterwards.
"I owe you no loyalty," Impa said.
"Why not?" Sheik asked. Resting her head against the bars, she hung her arms out through the gaps in, what appeared to Impa, to be an almost lazy gesture. "What do you owe the Dragmires?"
Impa turned away from her, trying not to be goaded by the young girl's impertinence. "That is none of your concern."
Sheik stared at her in frosty silence. At the beginning of their journey Impa had wanted to remove Sheik's face coverings, but after seeing the enthusiastic leers from the guards that were accompanying her, she had changed her mind. Though she did not care about the Harkinians, she still did not want to give the men the satisfaction of seeing either of them dishonoured.
Sheik glanced at the Princess, looking at her with eyes full of concern. Impa found the gesture puzzling. She had noticed that the young girl would rush to the Princess' side whenever the latter was in pain, whether emotionally or physically. It seemed the mark of a tender-hearted person. And yet, Impa knew that this same young woman had fought off a whole squad of dungeon guards, wounding two and making the others cower. Clearly she was a person of action and her kindness did not extend to her enemies. Impa smiled grimly at that. A lot of compassionate people were undone by the very characteristic that others so admired in them. Still, it was an intriguing paradox. She surprised herself by feeling a modicum of warmth in her heart for the girl.
Impa turned back to Sheik. "How is she?"
The young girl's head snapped back towards her, eyes flashing with undisguised suspicion. "Why do you care?" After a moment, she added, "What do you want with us anyway?" Finally her strength began to falter and her voice cracked. "Why did you kill the others?"
Again Impa was surprised to feel a twinge of sympathy in her heart. "We did what we had to," she said, suddenly feeling her own voice weaken. She twitched, angry with herself. "You, with your idiotic desire to reclaim the throne, are a danger to the stability of Greater Calatia. You wouldn't have stopped unless we cut you off at the source."
"It is ours," Sheik said, almost sounding like a little girl in the process. "Our rights have to be restored. The throne belongs to the Harkinians."
"And Greater Calatia belongs to the Hylians," Impa snorted. "Stop living in the past. All that matters is the here and now."
"No," Sheik replied hotly. "All that matters is the future."
Impa sighed, nodding her head. Again her gaze was drawn to the Hylian Princess, sitting quietly and with as much dignity as possible. She felt something stir deep in her soul, prodding her devotion to the Dragmires. An old, almost ancient feeling whispered to her, telling her that it was the Princess that she should be tending to, not Montero. She pushed it away, wondering where the doubts were springing from. It was probably Sheik's earlier words playing with her mind.
A thought occurred to her. "What do you know of the Triforce?" she asked.
Both Sheik and the Princess looked back at her with blank faces.
Impa frowned. "The symbol of your family. The three triangles."
Something flashed in Sheik's eyes and, with a hesitant glance at the Princess, she clutched at her tunic. Impa pulled on the reins of her horse, immediately calling for the cart and the other guards to halt. She stared at the young girl. "What is it?"
Sheik began to back away slowly as the Princess looked at her with a confused frown. The other guards circled the prison cart, wondering at the delay. Impa slid off her horse and, with three long strides, reached the metal bars that penned the two Harkinians in.
"What is it?" she repeated, leaning in closely. "What do you know about the Triforce? Tell me!" Her hands curled around the cold, frost-coated bars.
In a blur, Sheik leapt, grabbing Impa's tunic and pulling her face into the metal until she could feel it leave an imprint in her flesh. One hand grabbed Impa's neck as her boots scrabbled in the dirt below, trying to find her footing. She hissed again, angry with herself for being tricked by such a basic deception.
The other guards reached for their swords, but their faces betrayed their hesitation.
"Let us go," Sheik barked. "Or I'll snap her neck."
Impa felt her face redden as she struggled for breath. She wanted to choke out an order to the guards to not let the girl win. It was too late though, as one of them cautiously approached the prison cart, the long, thin keys jangling in his hand. Impa tried to growl, but her voice came out as a gurgle as her saliva pooled in the corner of her mouth. She could hear the indecision in the guards' movements; could hear their boots nervously scuffing the frozen ground. What were they doing? Were they trained to be so incompetent? Slowly, the guard slid one key into the lock and, with a small click, let the door swing open.
Sheik did not waste the chance. Letting go of Impa, she clutched at the Princess' wrist and tugged her towards the exit. Impa sank to her knees, gasping, as her hands went instinctively around her throat, trying to massage the blood back into her veins. She growled as her anger exploded. Sheik and the Princess ran past her, but she was not going to let them escape.
Impa dived at the Princess' legs, bringing her to the ground. The girl tried desperately to hold on to her fellow Harkinian, but all she managed to do was tear a thin strip from her tunic. Sheik spun around, her eyes widening as the guards brought their weapons to bear. She paused; her body caught between two possibilities, half wanting to flee, half wanting to aid the Princess.
"Go!" the Princess screamed as the whirr of a crossbow filled the air.
Sheik ran as the first arrow spun towards her. It grazed her shoulder, making her whirl to one side. The second arrow caught her in the midsection and she fell, rolling down a slope and into a ditch.
Impa grunted, pulling both herself and the Princess to their feet.
"Watch her," she spat, pushing the Harkinian girl towards one of the guards. Impa snapped her fingers at the others, and they walked to the ditch as she wiped dirt from her mouth. The guard with the crossbow locked another arrow into place as they peered over the edge. Sheik's path down the slope had uprooted grass and saplings, leaving a trail of churned up soil. The girl lay unconscious in a stream at the bottom, her face scratched and her blood mixing with the water. The guard aimed, but Impa pushed his weapon away. "Leave her," she said, anger burning in her eyes and voice. "Let her suffer. No one will come to aid her."
Impa kicked at the pebbles by her feet, and watched with satisfaction as they tumbled down the slope, coming to rest on Sheik's bloodstained face.
...
Montero wished the man would stop staring at him. It galled him slightly, that this paid murderer was giving him such intense attention. He was the King and this man was his minion. Yes, in the make-believe world his father had created where he would 'train' to be an assassin, the man was his 'Commander', but in reality Kisho Coldsnare was nothing. No, less than nothing - a worthless little tool, the King's personal dagger, so that Montero would have no blood on his own hands.
The King watched as the diggers cracked the frozen ground with their pick-axes, sending shards of solidified earth flying into the air. This was it. This was the place where the Hero of Time lay buried. According to the scrolls, the Triforce of Courage, transferred now into a physical object, lay atop the Hero's decayed bones. He'd expected to find the grave in the Hylian Quarter itself, but was surprised to see that it was located in the Kokiri Quarter. The area itself was run down, and the people that lived here were poor. The Hero rested under an old, decrepit building; one broken dome letting light pour onto the crumbling walls with faded paint and rusted ornamentations. A shrine of some kind, no doubt. He hadn't been forgotten for a while then.
Montero looked up as Kisho cleared his throat.
"You wish to ask something?" the King asked calmly.
"You know what I want, Your Highness," Kisho replied. Montero imagined that the Commander had struggled to say those last two words. "I led one of my own into a trap. On your word. And on your promise that I would see proof that Link is this traitor that you say he is." Distaste was clear in his tone and on his face.
Montero crouched down, clearing away the debris as the diggers went deeper. "He's a Hylian," he replied. "They're all traitors."
He didn't have to look up to feel the heat of Kisho's continuous stare. "Wasn't it Servion that tipped you off?" the Commander asked. "Is he a traitor too?"
The King let out a breath as more and more dirt was thrown to the surface. "Servion knows his place," he said, tired of the conversation already. "Proof is hard to come by, and you of all people must understand that. Traitors don't leave physical trails."
He heard the Commander's boots crunch on the unearthed rock as he shifted position. "And yet you somehow still knew Link was not faithful," he said. "I just wish you would share this information with me. For the sake of my sanity."
Montero drew himself up to his full height once more. "Are you doubting my word?" he asked. "I am the King. When I give you an order, you do it." His lip curled in scorn. "Is that easy enough for you to understand?'
Kisho's cheek twitched and his eyes blazed, but he gave away nothing else regarding the nature of his inner thoughts. "Yes, I understand," he replied, no trace of a challenge in his voice. "But it's difficult for me to motivate my squadron when we are shadowed from the truth. What you ask…"
The King raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not asking you to kill him," he said. "I just want you to keep him away from the city for as long as possible."
"But why?"
Montero kept himself from lashing out. He had become far too used to people obeying his every whim without question that this pathetic man before him was starting to grate. Resting one hand on the Commander's shoulder, a gesture that Kisho noticed with narrowed eyes, the King smiled with as much enthusiasm and sincerity that he could muster. "You just keep him away. You don't have to even injure him. And I'll bring you your proof. You have my word as the King on that."
Again the muscles in Kisho's face twitched and, after a pause where Montero thought the Commander would press him further, he nodded reluctantly.
A hollow metallic noise rang out, and the King snapped his head towards the hole that his men had dug.
"We think we've found it," one of them called. He climbed out of the opening, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Montero swallowed, feeling his heart beat faster. "Bring it out," he commanded.
The worker nodded and motioned to his fellow diggers. Kisho watched with interest, a confused expression hanging on his face.
"What is it?" the Commander asked. "What are you trying to dig up?"
The King glanced at him momentarily. "A coffin," he said. He held up a hand before continuing, "Don't ask me 'why', Commander. This is my personal business."
Straining and grunting, the diggers pulled a medium-sized metallic capsule from the hole. It was unremarkable to look at. There were no special markings or decorations to indicate the immense status of the person that lay within. For a moment doubt nudged at Montero's heart, but the realisation that this place was surely a shrine of some sort coupled with Impa's intensive research melted the disquiet away.
They all crowded around him, their curiosity getting the better of them. None of them knew exactly why the King had summoned them to perform this task, and certainly none of them had any idea as to who lay inside. Montero doubted that they would even be affected even if he had told them the identity of the corpse. Nobody remembered the Hero of Time anymore.
The King felt his mouth dry as he opened the coffin. His imagination ran riot, teasing him with images of him holding the Triforce of Courage with swirling energy illuminating his body and filling him with strength. Already he had found him self awake at night after having dreams showing similar things. Like a child receiving his first gift from his parents, Montero felt his gut weaken in anticipation. Slowly he lifted the lid.
A cloud of dust mushroomed out, making them all cough and cover their eyes. When it cleared, Montero peered in. A mound of grey powder lay within, and a stale, overpowering smell floated into the air. He didn't want to think about the dust at all, seeing nothing even remotely human about it. A sword rested there too, alongside a strange metallic object with a chain and spike. Both items were rusted and filled with holes. He ignored them all, as he searched all around the coffin's interior.
There. A small triangular shaped imprint was clearly visible under the purple cloth that lined the bottom of the capsule. Flexing his fingers, Montero felt the chilly breeze brush against his face. It didn't stop the sweat that broke out all over his skin. He let out a breath, relieved that he had, at least, found what he was searching for.
With a fierce tug, he pulled the cloth free.
Underneath, where there was a clear triple-pointed hole for the Triforce of Courage to rest, was nothing but an empty space.
They kept away from the main tracks that connected New Hyrule to the other towns and villages of Greater Calatia. Traders and common folk used those winding paths, and both Link and Fran knew that they had to keep themselves out of sight. It wasn't that their egos were so swelled to believe that the King would have then entire populace on the lookout for them, no; it was more to do with the fact that a pair of Hylians would attract too much attention traversing roads full of Calatians.
Fran had led Link to a nearby village the previous night. There they had picked up a pair of horses and some boiled meat. The food was wrapped in leaves to keep the freshness. The villagers had all smiled and nodded at the old man, obviously sharing some sort of familiarity with him despite the differences in their races. The horses were an 'old favour' according to Fran. Link had merely grunted, not wanting to find out more. His mind was still elsewhere, and his heart was still heavy. He kept his words short, speaking less than usual. Fran didn't press him for conversation and Link was glad for that.
When dawn had broke, the pair of them rode up the slopes of one of the hills, making their way through the old, gnarled trees, stripped bare of leaves and standing so close together that their branches twisted and entwined around each other. The crooked limbs of the trees, coated with a sharp, icy edge, scratched at Link's face as he pushed his horse onwards. It reminded him of the stories of the Forest Ghouls, those with twisted and miserable faces, that Mystral would tell him as child as he lay by a crackling fire with sleep softly tugging at his eyes.
A little whisper of curiosity nudged Link's heart. Fran obviously knew the terrain well, and both his face and posture gave off a confident aura as he travelled. The elder man was obviously skilled and this, coupled with the fact that he owned an ancient bow, made Link wonder exactly what sort of man Fran had been in the past. His friend's history was hidden from him, and Link found his inquisitive side awakened. If anything, it would keep his mind off other matters.
"How far is it?" Link asked. "I mean to the place we're going. To this friend of yours." The words sounded strange to Link after riding in silence for so long.
"Not far," Fran answered cheerily. "Just beyond this hill." A smile crawled across his face. "It'll be good to see him again. He's a bit…eccentric. But still a good man." The old man turned to him. "Just be on your best behaviour."
Link nodded. He swallowed, trying to order his thoughts into coherent words. "Fran," he said, his voice soft. "Do you have any family?"
The other man cocked his head to one side, his eyes flashing. Link waited, wondering if the question had been too personal. Fran turned away, pushing a long, misshaped branch out of his path as he scanned the route ahead.
"Aye," he replied finally, making Link jump. He hadn't expected the old man to reply at all. "I did once."
Link kicked at his ride, waiting for his friend to continue. The horse slipped on a patch of ice and he had to pull hard on the reins to keep them both from falling. He'd explored the area around his hometown many times during his childhood, and yet he now realised how little he had committed to memory. Fran, on the other hand, rode with practised ease and with a clear path in mind. It was almost as though he had prepared for this journey well in advance. Link swallowed the sour taste from his mouth and shook his head slightly. Now that the memory of the Chief's betrayal was beginning to dim, he had to stop himself from entertaining paranoid notions.
Fran turned to look at him, his eyes peering out from under his thick hood. "I had a wife and daughter," he said. Link frowned at the strange tone in his friend's voice. "They're gone now."
Silence hung in the air between them as though daring Link to prod further. Fran turned away and the young man settled in his saddle with a sigh. The biting air carried the earthen scent of the forest over to him. Whenever he had played in the woods as a child, the place had been teeming with small animals and coated in green, both the tall, lush grass and the thick crops of leaves, filling the breeze with the aroma of spring. Now, in winter, the forest was empty, hollow and cold. Much like Link's heart. Again, he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block out the depressing thoughts that tried to hook into his soul and pull him down so that he could wallow in their thick embrace.
"Your daughter," Link asked, youthful curiosity outbidding the need for tactfulness. "Did she marry? I mean did you have any grandchildren?"
"No," Fran replied. His voice was stern and gave Link no doubt that the topic was now closed.
Link decided to change the subject to one that Fran had been so enthusiastic about in the past. He didn't really want to discuss it, but having finally broken the silence he found that he very much wanted to continue talking. The quiet was too overwhelming.
"Tell me about this Hero of Time again, Fran," he said as they rode over the top of the rise. He straightened his back and clutched onto the reins to make sure that they didn't descend at too quickly a pace. There were still too many trees up here and Link couldn't see what lay at the bottom of the hill. "Did you know him personally?"
The old man glanced at him, a wry smile on his face and a small chuckle escaping from his lips. Link smiled back. Fran understood perfectly. He knew that Link wasn't interested in the subject and was only trying to make small talk. Thankfully, his friend didn't even attempt to tease him.
"Yes, I knew him," he replied. "Though not too well." He pressed his lips together as he thought. "In fact, everyone knew him in a way. They all had their own personal image of him."
"He was that well known?"
"Aye." Fran jerked his ride to one side to avoid a large boulder, broken in two and with one side sunk into the ground, its sharp edges staring into the air as though it were grinning. The horses picked up their pace as they trotted downhill. "He saved the people many times."
Link leaned forward in his saddle and scratched his ride behind her head. She flicked her ears happily. "Then why haven't I heard of him?" He kept his voice soft so that his words would not be misinterpreted as a challenge. "If he's so important."
Fran sighed. "It was a long time ago, lad. Before you were born." He kept his eyes ahead as he shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me even if told you."
Link's forehead creased as he mused over the puzzle. "Why do you think I'm connected to him?"
The elder man scratched at his face, just under his eye. He opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind, and then opened it once more. His words, when they came, were slow and measured. "There's a story…a legend. Somehow, I don't know why, something happens every one hundred summers that shakes the foundation of our world." He glanced over at Link to see if the young man was still paying attention. "An evil…force appears. And two arise to stop him. A princess. And a hero."
Again, he looked at Link's face, no doubt searching for the scorn he was certain would show there. Link, however, decided to humour him.
"A princess?" he asked, his eyes sparkling.
Fran turned back towards the town, his expression troubled. He couldn't see the Castle from here, but somehow Link thought that his friend's distant look was focused on that place. "Yes," the old man said curtly. "A princess."
Before Link could say anything else, he found that they had reached the foot of the hill. He blinked as the trees parted to reveal a wide lake directly ahead, mist rolling off the top of the water in curling, slow-moving tendrils. It was so thick that Link had to catch himself from reaching out and trying to touch it. It was a strange sight, especially considering the climate. Idly, he pondered what other wonders there were to see in the world.
Fran climbed off his horse and tethered it to a tree. He motioned to Link to do the same. The young man peered ahead, noting a strange glow within the murky gloom at the lake's centre. Careful not to slip in the mud on the lake's shore, Link followed Fran as he walked along the edge. Finally, he spotted it. A small boat, made from wood and not looking all that secure, bobbing up and down as water peacefully sloshed at its hull.
"I take it we're headed to the centre," Link said.
"Aye," Fran replied, cutting the rope that held the boat to a small stump lakeside. "That's where Sahasrahla lives."
"You have some strange friends," the young man said as he climbed into the boat. It rocked slightly as he sat down.
"Steady there, lad," Fran said sternly, gripping the sides of the boat. "Aye, I do have strange friends," he added with a smile. "Sahasrahla will tell you more. Has a lot of knowledge that one."
"I hope so," Link mumbled as he looked out across the watery expanse. He couldn't see much, but could hear the waves lap up against the small vessel. Fran took ahold of the oars and set the boat off. When Link offered to share in the effort the old man merely waved him away. The mist did not part, but Link's eyes were still drawn to the glow in the centre. Like a burning flame enclosed in a crystal lantern he could not tear his sight from it. Above them strange birds circled the waters, croaking in strange voices as their withered, leathery wings beat against the air.
"Why would anyone live in a place like this?" the assassin asked.
The boat jerked to one side, cutting off any reply from Fran. The old man stopped rowing as their eyes met. A thick silence fell, punctured only by the sound of their breathing and the slow thudding of their hearts.
Something bumped against the little boat.
Link reached out with one hand to steady himself, and then drew his crossbow with the other hand. Setting the oars down, Fran untied his bow from his back. He flicked at the string, testing its strength. It vibrated with a hum and Fran, feeling satisfied, readied an arrow, stroking the feathers on its tail as he lifted the bow into an attack stance.
The water bubbled and the boat rocked from side to side. Panicked, Link glanced over at his friend and was surprised to see Fran's face split into a grin.
"Looks like Sahasrahla is going to play a game with us," the old man said.
Before Link could respond, the surface of the lake split and the slick, grey Sea Serpent, far removed from its usual haunting ground, shot into the air, water dripping from its fins and smooth skin. Yellow eyes and needle like teeth regarded the two Hylians with mild interest. With lightening like fluidity, it dived towards them with a scream that made the birds scatter.
"Fall back!" Fran cried, pushing down with his weight on one side of the boat. Realisation hitting him, Link quickly did the same and the side of the boat plunged into the lake, narrowly dodging the attack and drenching the two friends with icy, cold water. As soon as the vessel righted itself, Link began firing, the explosive whistle of his arrows accompanied by the familiar orange flash. The arrows bounced harmlessly off the Serpent's skin and Link snapped his head to and fro, frantically looking for an escape route.
Silence fell again, and all was still, the mist rolling into their eyes. Link tried to peer through the gloom, but he could see nothing except the glow at the lake's centre. He couldn't even see the shore anymore. He kept his hand gripped tightly around his crossbow. Without even thinking, his training leapt into his mind. How to find a target in low visibility. How to attack a powerful foe. He wished he had more tools than his weapon. A rope would be useful, or even a spear of some kind.
Like a burning iron rod through butter, the Serpent plunged through the haze, revealing itself once more. Link screamed and fell back, the boat rocking violently from his movements.
The Serpent turned and plummeted towards the boat again, but this time Fran pushed against the water with one oar, making the boat spin with dizzying speed.
"Your friend sent this?" Link gasped as he unsuccessfully tried to fire off some more arrows. He bit down on his lip, cursing the amateur attacks he was using. Rolling to one side to get a clearer shot, Link aimed at the creature's sallow eyes, hoping that that would be a weak point. The Serpent was smart though, and ducked and weaved as the arrows tried to land home. A strange creature indeed.
"Like you said," Fran said, releasing an arrow with practised ease, "I have strange friends." The beauty of the manoeuvre almost made Link forget about their situation. The arrow had no effect, but seeing the graceful weapon in action made him gasp.
Fran was still grinning as he cocked his head towards the young assassin. "Can you swim, lad?"
"What?" Link asked, not able to concentrate as the Serpent rose again.
"I said 'can you swim?'"
"Yes," Link replied, his voice betraying his impatience. "Of course I can. What kind of assassin would I be if I couldn't?" He paused as Fran's words finally sunk in. "Are you suggesting we-?"
With a sliver of movement the Serpent dived, colliding into them with a crack, and reducing their boat to a thousand splinters.