Chapter 10
Link was in a light-hearted mood. Smiling, his heart pulsing with life, he led Fran and the Twins across the cracked stone bridge that connected the prison complex to the rest of the land. Dawn's pale light crept up the prison's walls, highlighting the dull, rusted portcullis that stood in their path. Freedom. Just the thought of the word reminded him that he had been stripped of all the stifling restrictions that had held him down all his life; the Assassin's Code, Mystral's smothering touch, Fran's insistent sermons. Now nothing really mattered to him. All he was responsible to was himself and the One, Unseen. Nobody else could judge him.
He flexed his fingers, letting fly tiny shards of ice that had coated his leather gloves, and breathed in the chill, cold morning air. Ever since he had bested the Twins in combat he had felt reborn, the last traces of his old self finally scorched away in the heat of battle. Or so he hoped. This was a fool's errand, he knew. He also knew that this was probably the last day he would see. No fear touched him, nor grief. His jumbled, sorry excuse of a life would come to an end this day and his soul would finally soar to be, he hoped, reunited with his parents. Hopefully he would learn exactly why his life had twisted and turned so much, would see the wisdom behind every small event. He knew there must be some. He believed there was; he had to, if only to hold on to the last shreds of his battered sanity.
Link almost scoffed at his own sense of melodrama. Mystral would probably have shaken him, told him to stop thinking so negatively. A sour taste flooded his mouth at the remembrance of his sister's name. Closing his eyes, he tried to shake both her voice and her image from his mind. Sahasrahla's words had pierced deep into his heart. There was no way for him to get to her now; no way he could free her by himself, and, he thought wryly, there was little chance that the squat old man could truly help him. The finality of his decision weighed down on him, but he knew it to be true. They - whoever 'they' were - had won and he had not. Justice was not forthcoming. At least, not in this life.
Still. A faint ember of hope, teasing and taunting like a rash that refused to heal, burned within. He had to try. He had to see what would come if they truly did free this Princess.
Link closed his eyes, trying to shut out the murmur of voices around him, and then let out a breath. The contradictory thoughts, spinning and confusing, ached in his head. No sooner did he set himself firmly upon one path, before another, equally enticing, would whisper seductively to him. He needed to cling onto something. He needed to look deep within.
He found it. Anger smouldered in his heart, flowing through his veins and pushing him onwards. It cleared his mind just as the sun cleared the night sky of darkness. He didn't have to release it; he only needed to feed upon it. To be resigned to fate he could handle. To not see justice win out he could accept. But that didn't mean he had to tolerate injustice. The anger flashed in response to his thoughts, like sunlight off of polished steel. It was enough.
He looked over at Fran walking besides him. The older man's face was pinched with tension, his eyes darting from left to right.
"Nervous?" Link asked calmly.
"Aye, lad," Fran said in a measured voice. "If we fail today, all hope would be lost. There's a good chance none of us will come out of this alive."
Link smiled. It felt strange, like a taut rope around his face. "One can only hope."
Fran turned to him, his eyes flaring. "Lad, you don't seem to comprehend the gravity of the situation."
Link looked at the three of them, taking in the determined expressions that hung on their faces. It was strange, he thought. He'd been taught to consider all targets as nothing more than meat. Diseased, flea ridden meat that needed to be put out of their misery. But here were these people - Fran and the Twins - with hopes and concerns, ready to give their all for something they believed in, despite their differing motivations. Sighing, Link realised that, no matter how much he didn't want to, he admired all three of them. Not that he would ever tell them. His fingers curled into a fist. He was not going to let them down like he had let Mystral down. He might not agree with their reasons, but, at the moment, their little venture was the only reason he had to keep plodding on. That, however, was all. He didn't want to get too attached.
"Still," he said. "It is a nice day."
Fran looked up, noticed the angry looking clouds slowly amassing in the greyish sky, and merely grunted in response.
They stood, feeling increasingly restless, at the back of a queue of other prisoners and their wards. The line shuffled silently onwards. There were complaints, moans and angry little outbursts, but only occasionally did any of the prisoners try to physically struggle. Even then, the guards would silence them with swift blows from their weapons.
Link, Fran and Rya were all dressed in the garb of prison guardsmen. Where the Twins had managed to rustle up the clothes, Link didn't know. Eagle, his head hanging low and his wrists in iron clasps, stood behind them, pulled along by a chain. It had come as no surprise to them that Rya had decided to oversee her brother's bonds. Link looked down at his new attire and shook his head. He much preferred black.
"You should have worn green," Fran whispered, leaning closer.
"Why?" Link asked.
"That was the Hero of Time's colour."
Link sighed again, not really wanting to discuss mythology at this time. Silence hung between them for a heartbeat, the bulging sack containing their weapons swinging at Link's side, before he spoke again. "A question."
"Yes?"
"If he wore green," he continued, licking his lips. "How did he avoid being spotted by his enemies?"
Fran frowned as the line took another step forward. "He managed," he said quickly. "Somehow."
Nodding, Link lapsed into silence again. Birds flew overhead, swept along by currents of air, their wings flapping against a sky now heavy with dark clouds. The young Hylian kicked a pebble out of his path and watched as it clattered down into the chasm below, spinning all the way.
"Another question."
"Go ahead," Fran said in a wry voice.
"This Princess," Link continued. "Is she pretty?" A pause. "And which kingdom is she sovereign of, exactly?"
Fran glanced over at the Twins to make sure they were ready. They nodded back at him. The line inched forward. "As I keep telling you every time you ask, lad, I don't know what she looks like," he said finally. "As for which kingdom." He paused, frowning. "It's a long story. That's all you need to know for now."
They stepped forward and came face to face with the gatesmen. Link gave them a small nod, the mischievous feeling of undiluted freedom creeping into his heart once more. He studied their faces quickly, and came to an easy conclusion. The smile returned to his face.
"Gents," he said as they gave Eagle a quick glance.
The head gatesman scribbled something on his scroll, the scratching of his quill the only sound, bar the shuffling of feet. "Crime?"
The corner of Link's mouth curled. "Illegal castration."
The man's hand froze and he blinked, before looking up. "What?"
Link licked his lips. "Nasty temper, see. Say the wrong thing to him and it's chestnut collecting season come early." He opened the sack and pulled out one of Eagle's foils. "He used this."
The gatesman leaned forward, his fellow guards also gathering around. Tentatively, he reached out a hand towards the blade.
The young assassin hissed, making the men jump. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
The men glanced up at him.
"Don't know where it's been, do you?" He replaced the foil with the ball and chain. "He used this, too." The men's eyes widened. One looked a little nauseous. Link put the weapon back and pulled out the crossbow. "And this." The gatesmen all swallowed, some involuntarily crossing their legs. Link grinned. "My favourite."
The head gatesman cleared his throat. "Documentation."
"Of course," Link said, handing over a scroll. He could see Fran shuffle his feet nervously from the corner of his eye. "I admire you gents."
"Oh yes?" the head gatesman said, his eyes darting left to right as he scanned the paper.
"Yes," Link said. "Out in the open air. You get to meet such interesting people. It must be so..." his eyes fell on one of the guards who was desperately trying to stifle a yawn. "...stimulating."
The gatesman rolled the scroll up. "Everything seems to be in order." He held Link's gaze for a heartbeat, then snapped his fingers indicating to the others that the portcullis was to be raised. "Take this one up to the high security area. Where we keep all our...dangerous...prisoners."
Link nodded, stepping under the raised gate with his friends. A drop of water fell on his hood.
"Yes, sir." With a smile, he stepped into the darkness.
...
Acrid smoke, stinging eyes and choking throats, stained the early morning sky. Torchlight spilled a scarlet glow onto the now burning buildings of the city, the last remnants of a battle that had raged through the night. Castle Dragmire, its walls spattered with blood, was ablaze. Flames caressed the ancient rock, stretching glass until it popped and cracked. Hylians strode through the streets, axes at the ready, snapping the necks of anyone who stood in their path. Deep, guttural laughter echoed through the streets. Screams rang out, rising into inhuman shrieks before fading into deathly silence.
Shattered bodies, twisted into inhuman shapes, lined the streets, silent and unmoving. Others still lived, their clothes ablaze, fleeing in a blazing mass like torchlight given life. Braver ones stood their ground, bellowing incomprehensibly as they threw themselves into the fray. It did little good. They were not fighters.
Others realised this and devoted their energies to dragging the wounded away, leaving streaks of blood under the dark, cold sky. Clouds, pregnant with either rain or snow, loomed overhead, silent witnesses to the slaughter.
Montero rested one hand on the cold, crumbling ramparts of the Castle's wall, and surveyed the scene, Impa standing at his side. Flecks of dried blood, caught in the fiery updraft, flew off his fingers. He felt strangely calm, as though he were an ethereal spirit watching on from the netherworld. All his anger had drained away after one hellish night filled with panicked escapes and desperate, blood soaked battles. He stretched, letting the knotted pain in his muscles and the weary ache in his bones wash over him
"They pinpointed all our weaknesses," Impa said bitterly, her eyes glazed with anger and fear. "They knew how to strike at us, how to hurt us." She took in a deep breath. "The sentry towers. The ones that we needed to add more armour to, they hit them. They took a cart piled high with barrels of explosive powder, cut loose the horses and let it run into the armoury."
The King glanced over at her, noticed her shaking her head, and knew that this cut her more deeply, especially since she was in charge of security.
"Indeed," Montero said. After the past few days of raging tantrums it felt odd to him to feel so serene. A strange sensation of suffocation enveloped him, and the sounds of the battle faded, becoming dull and dreamlike. He blinked. Focused. He had to stay focused. "It didn't help that our finest soldiers all went down with food poisoning."
"They got into our kitchens," Impa spat. "Contaminated the food. How did they know?" She smacked a fist against the wall, skinning her knuckles and drawing blood.
The King sniffed, trying to remove the burning smell of charred wood. There was another scent in there, too. A scent that hinted at things more brutal. He grimaced. "Patience," he said. "We must flee. Regroup. They are but a small group." He felt his anger grow, turning his heart to ice. "Worthless vermin."
Impa gazed into the melee, her face distant. "They must have prepared this for months," she said quietly.
"Indeed," he said. He knew exactly who had double-crossed him. Servion. His soul erupted in fury just at the mention of the turncoat's name. "We need to find some messenger birds," he continued, desperately trying to keep his voice level. He failed. "Contact all the Assassin Squadrons that are out on missions and recall them to some sort of sanctuary."
Boots scraped on stone behind them, and the two of them spun around. At first they saw nothing, the wind buffeting the thick, black smoke to and fro. Slowly two figures appeared. No, three. A man and a woman carrying a child. The breeze tugged at the woman's hair, her face stretched in fear like an unfurled scroll. In one distant corner of his mind, Montero realised that if people were coming up to the roof so freely that must mean that his guards were all dead.
Kafei stopped before them, a thin slit on his forehead letting blood pour down his dirt streaked face.
"Well, well, well," the King said, glass crunching under his boots as he stepped forward. "If it isn't another Hylian traitor." His face darkened and he stared hard at the Harkinian. "Must run in your blood."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kafei said, coughing. "We had no connection with the other Hylians. We feared them as much as we feared you." He breathed deeply, his eyes stretching imploringly. "My family. I have to protect my family."
The King resisted the urge to sneer. The traitor was truly pathetic. Montero glanced at the woman briefly, before turning his attention back to the man. "There are bigger issues at stake here. No one is safe."
Kafei gazed past him, his eyes widening as he took in the carnage. "This Servion person. He had guts."
The King's eyes thinned to slits as a sudden thought jolted his mind. "Indeed," he said, his tone sour. "He had courage." He turned to Impa. "Now, isn't that curious?"
Impa almost flinched from the shock. "You mean -"
"Ssssh," the King replied quickly. "Later."
Kafei looked from one to the other, hoping for an explanation, but none came. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words hung on his lips as all of them snapped their heads towards the horrendous sound of a door erupting into a cloud of splinters. "Anju!" he called, his heart pounding. "Behind me!"
Servion Boarhound strode onto the roof, his gait drunken and his eyes blazing. Other Hylians, one big and burly, the other thin and wiry, followed his lead, dragging a fallen man behind them. Montero recognised him instantly.
"Father."
"Yes," the Hylian Chief said. "Such a shame. He put up a decent fight." He spat out a blood stained tooth. "I sincerely hope that you are not going to follow in his footsteps."
Gritting his teeth, Montero strode forward, his torn cloak billowing in the wind, until he came face to face with the usurper. The Chief's men tensed, their joints cracking as though they were aching for more battle, but Servion beckoned for them to be still. Montero drew himself up to his full height, not wanting to appear cowed in front of the Hylians.
"The Triforce of Courage," the King said in a harsh whisper. "You have it."
Servion's eyes widened and Montero felt a burst of bitter satisfaction.
"Very clever," the Chief said. "Not that it will do you any good now."
"So this is how our little agreement ends, is it?"
"You would have betrayed me without the slightest hint of guilt," Servion snarled. "Typical Calatian."
The King cocked his head to one side. The man was right, of course. Not that he would let him know that. "The Triforce of Power. The Triforce of Wisdom. You have those, too?"
"The Triforce of Wisdom is already in your possession, my dear majesty," Servion said with a smile.
Frowning, Montero's head began to spin. How was that possible? He wanted to probe further, but kept his tongue still, not wanting to betray the fact that the Chief's words had caught him unawares.
Contempt burning in his eyes, the Chief gave a little laugh before continuing, "As for power. It looks like I have that now anyway, doesn't it?"
"There are still Assassin League squadrons out there," the King said defiantly.
"Really," Servion said, coating the word with scorn.
"You're a target," Montero continued. "No Calatian is going to rest easy with a Hylian in power." At the back of his mind he noticed that both Impa and Kafei were being unusually quiet. He didn't have time to dwell on the significance of that.
"We shall see about that," Servion said. "Once you give me the Triforce of Wisdom -"
"Fool." They all stopped at the sound of a woman's voice. For a heart stopping moment, Montero thought that Impa had spoken, but one glance at her confused face told him otherwise.
Servion spun on his heel, sighing. A Hylian woman stepped out of the darkness, her face hard, her eyes like ice.
"Mystral, my dear," the Chief said, his tone laced with impatience. "So nice of you to -"
"Silence yourself," she barked. One of the Hylians growled, but Servion waved him down. "What is this? What does this achieve?"
Montero exchanged looks with Impa, curious at the conversation. Clearly all was not well in the Hylian camp. Disunity amongst the enemy was always an advantage. Heart thudding, he closed his eyes trying to think. There must be someway to turn this to his advantage. There must.
"A wedding gift," Servion continued, baring his teeth in a mockery of a smile.
Folding her arms across her chest, Mystral glared at him. "No."
The Chief let out an angry breath. "Then revenge. For too long we have been under their heel. Now it is time for us to reclaim our birthright."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "By slaughter? Torture?" She shook her head.
"The Chief is right," the thin guard said, stepping forward. "How long are we going to be buried under the Calatians' heel?" He shook his fist. "This is the right way."
"There are other ways," Mystral replied. "We just didn't take the time to think about them." She looked at the guard. "And, Tom, I would have expected better from you."
"The lad speaks the truth," Servion said before Tom could answer. "Show these dogs the slightest hint of weakness and they will make you suffer for it for centuries. We are on a righteous path, and everyone except you could see that. Surely that puts you in the wrong, unless you are arrogant enough to think that your opinion outweighs all of ours?" He snorted, then spat again. "And I always thought you to be the sweet, homely type. When did you become a scholar on the affairs of the world, woman?"
Mystral didn't flinch, maintaining her flinty stare. A pair of heartbeats later, and the one called Tom looked away, ashamed. A hint of a smile touched her lips. "How did you manage to convince the Elders to your insanity?"
"With this," Servion said, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a chain, at the end of which hung a small, triangular shaped object. Strange carvings were etched into its frayed surface, and it seemed to emit a dullish green glow. All the captives recognised it immediately. Kafei gasped and Montero snarled. The Chief shot them a look of contempt before turning back to the woman. "The Elders knew the significance of this. This was all that they needed to believe in the truth of my mission." His eyes flashed. "My blessed mission."
Unnerved by the tone in the Chief's voice, Montero looked towards the woman, hoping to catch some hint telling him that she would be an ally. None came. A sudden thought came to him, and the resulting sense of isolation smothered him, almost making him stumble. Kafei. Impa. This woman. All his potential 'friends' were Hylian.
Servion steadied himself, before continuing, "That day in the Meeting House should have sealed it. If it were not for your interfering brother..."
Mystral's eyes widened. "Link...?" she said, her voice trembling. "Where is he? What have you done to him?"
The Chief ignored her. "But now the Elders believe that he's a cold blooded murderer." He smiled unkindly. "How sweet it is."
The Hylian woman's curled into fists. "And after all that, you were going to propose marriage to me?" she spat. "You heartless-"
"Enough," Servion said, holding up a hand. He motioned to his men. "Take them away." His gaze lingered on the three Hylians for a heartbeat. "All of them."
...
"There's three others with him," Jonah said, adjusting the lens on his viewer. " A woman. A big man. And an older man. All of them bar the big one are dressed in prison garb." He lowered the viewer, slot it into his belt, and turned towards Kisho. "So what do we do?"
The Commander chewed on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as the breeze blew powdered snow over their boots. In the distance Prison Complex G stood, framed with an orange tint from the rising sun. Behind him stood Rivero, opening and closing his fists in barely controlled fury. "We have our orders," Kisho said. "It's clear that Link is going after the Harkinian Princess."
Rivero roared, smashing one fist into a nearby tree. It shook, showering them with snow. "I knew it!" he bellowed. "I knew it was a bad idea to have a Hylian on our team."
His face remaining impassive, Kisho fixed his teammate with a hard stare. "Calm yourself," he said. "We need to clear our minds, all of us." He looked down, his face a mournful mask. "None of us are to blame for Link's...actions." His voice quavered with pain.
"It's not your fault, sir," Jonah said, smiling. "Perhaps...perhaps he could be reasoned with?"
Kisho shot him a venomous look. "Stop talking nonsense. Think about it. If he is here to find the Harkinian Princess, then all his training with us, all his practice with a bow and sword, were all for one purpose - to kill the King."
Jonah's eyes hardened, then flashed with anger. The Commander sighed with satisfaction, before continuing, "I trust that none of us are going to find this task difficult?"
Jonah swallowed. "No, sir." His chin twitched for a heartbeat. "I just can't believe it. We were friends -"
"It was nothing but a sham," Kisho said, wanting to end the conversation quickly. "A means to grow close to us so that we would be soft on him." An idea drifted into his mind. "Although, if there was some sincerity, we could use it to our advantage..."
"I certainly won't find it difficult," Rivero said, his voice a low growl. "I'm looking forward to it."
The hatred and fury that drenched the big assassin's voice made the Commander turn to him once more. "This is a target like any other," he said, his words sharp with warning. "Remember that."
"Understood," the other two said.
Kisho turned to Jonah, the ground, padded with fresh snow, feeling deceptively light under his feet. "Jonah," he said, his voice reverting to its usual businesslike tone. "Update us."
"Sir," Jonah said with a nod. "The Harkinian Princess is under His Majesty's custody. She was captured by Commander Bailey and his Blue Order "
Kisho grimaced inwardly. Bailey's already fat head had swelled to a gargantuan size because of his latest hit. A hit he made sure to tell everyone about. "Continue."
"We have reason to believe that there will be an attempt to free her. We believe that this endeavour will be led by one of our own." Jonah's voice trembled, but he cleared his throat immediately. Kisho let it pass. "One of our former members. Our task is to thwart this attempt."
Flicking a switch on his crossbow, Kisho closed his eyes, the whine of the weapon and the smell of burning powder soothing his heart. "Gentlemen," he said. "Let us begin."
...
"It is time..." Eagle said, the guard choking in his grasp.
"...young master, begin!" Rya finished, knocking another guard unconscious with one swing of her weapon.
Link nodded and turned towards the dark, narrow passageway, cells lining both sides. This was the 'high security' area of the prison, but the only difference that he could see between this and the lower levels were that more guards prowled the area, checking in on the inmates every hour. The metal bars were also slightly thicker.
This, they believed, was where the Princess was most likely to be held. They had hatched the scheme before sunrise, calculating how to get access to this area, and how to bring their weapons in at the same time. A tight smile stretched across Link's face. He'd enjoyed the little game outside. They had followed the other guards for a few hours, flashing their forged scrolls at anyone who asked, before finally getting the chance to slip away.
Link stepped forward, glanced momentarily at Fran, and then flicked the switch on his modified crossbow. The mechanical hum filled the gloomy corridor, exuding calm menace. The sound did not go noticed. Prisoners, first raising their heads curiously, then inching out of their bedding, shuffled to the bars.
There were fewer prisoners here, and Link had picked up a large number of arrows from the village. Still. He wasn't certain whether he would be able to get to the Princess before he ran out. Briefly he considered just searching the cells by eye, but rejected the idea immediately, knowing that at least one of the inmates would raise the alarm.
"Stand back," he said.
Link strode down the passageway, his arm swinging from left to right as he let arrows fly into the locks; a crack, a snap and the creak of a well rusted iron gate swinging open signifying success. Sparks coated his sleeves, while his boots, taking measured steps on the rocky ground, echoed in a rhythmic fashion.
The stench was horrendous. Urine, filth and the reek of unwashed bodies hung in the air, making the prison a claustrophobic tomb. Link ignored it as the others trotted behind him, their weapons raised. They glanced into each open cell searching for the Princess.
Their actions had caught someone's attention. The prisoners, cautiously as if fearing some trick, stepped into the corridor. Hushed voices murmured, then bubbled into shouts. Panicked cries came from below, and horns started to fill the air with their shrill cry - the alarm had been raised.
"She's not here," Fran cried, his voice tight, his head darting in and out of each prison cell. "She's not here."
Link kept himself calm. "I'm running out of arrows," he said, his voice level. "Whose idea was this, anyway?"
"Yours," Fran spat. "Come to think of it, lad, I'm not sure it's wise to let these people free." He glanced behind him as the prisoners started to pool into the open. "They are dangerous after all."
"You didn't protest at the inn," Link said. "If you'd only pointed out the flaws then, I would have reconsidered." He couldn't help the snideness that crept into his words. "I'm sure we could have just rapped at the door and asked for her back." He felt elated, his newfound sense of freedom freeing his tongue as well as his mind.
A flash of reflected light caught his eye. Fran saw it too.
"Your plan sounded a lot more sane back then," the older man replied.
Link gave a little shrug as Fran stopped outside the cell where the light had come from. "I didn't promise it would be sane," he said. "Besides, nobody expects anyone to do the insane." He leaned forward, noticing that the source of a light was a silvery pendant, hung around a prisoner's neck. "We have the advantage of surprise, see. Who would break into a prison and release all these prisoners - these murderers, rapists and all together unwholesome people?" He gave a little laugh. "Only fools."
Fran ignored him. "It's her," he said, pointing at the cell.
Curious at how Fran had come to that conclusion, but knowing they didn't have the time to ask, Link fired an arrow into the lock. The door swung open, revealing a small, sad faced Hylian female.
"Princess," Fran said, striding into the cell. Link stepped in as well, while the Twins stood guard. "Come with us."
The Princess stood, her face calm. Link studied her for a moment, noticing her pale blue eyes framed by pale, fair hair, and thought that she could be no more than a few summers older than himself. She still wore a necklace despite her prisoner garb and Link's eyes were drawn to the pendant that had somehow told Fran who she was.
"Who are you?" she said. Her voice was level, almost serene, and Link wondered how she could possibly stay so calm. She glanced past both of them, eyed the Twins for a moment, and saw the rush of screaming prisoners in the passageway outside. "What do you want?"
Fran turned his head to one side, so that she could see his Hylian features. "We're friends," he said quickly. "From Sahasrahla."
Recognition flickered across her features. "He sent you?"
"Yes," Fran said.
Link cocked an eyebrow as the old man pulled a red parchment out from under his tunic. The Princess glanced at it briefly, then nodded. Clearly Fran had received more than advice from the Sahasrahla.
"We must hurry, Princess Zelda," the old man said.
Her blue eyes flashed momentarily and at that very instant Link realised the significance of her pendant - etched on its silver surface were three small triangular shapes.
"My name," she said. "It's-"
"She's a Harkinian?" Link said, gaping.
The Princess turned to him, eyeing him with curiosity. "Yes," she said. "Why is that-"
"We will discuss this later, lad," Fran said with a glare. "Now is not the time."
Fran held out his hand and, after a moment's hesitation, the Princess took it. The quartet rushed out into the passageway. Pandemonium reigned; prisoners and guards clashing, blood flying and screams and shouts echoing. The guards, huddled together in the areas where the corridors expanded into chambers, fired arrows into the fray, the sharp snap of their weapons booming like cracks of thunder.
Eagle took the lead, ploughing through the surging crowd of humanity. Shrieks and maniacal laughter assaulted their ears. The Princess grimaced, but a steely light shone in her eyes. Hands tried to grab at them, tearing and scratching hungrily. Link felt the blood hammer in his head, the scenes of chaos before him turning his mouth dry. At that moment, Link decided that he very much wanted to live. He threw a glance behind him. Rya stayed at the rear, swinging her spiked sphere at anyone that dared to come too close. Many did. Many failed.
They turned around one corner, their boots slipping on a floor now wet with blood, and a prisoner lunged at them, his one eye bulging and his straggly hair slick with sweat. They froze. An arrow tore through the air and lodged itself into the prisoner's throat, instantly transforming his roar of triumph into a gurgling choke.
More prisoners pushed against them, babbling incoherently. They were caught in the tide, bobbing up and down on the waves of insanity. There was no room to move, no air for them to breathe, and everything felt hot, too hot. Wherever they turned they were met with scowling faces, dripping with hatred and half mad with the taste of freedom. The prisoners had been cooped up for too long. And now, with escape in their grasp, they were prepared to trample anyone and anything to reach the promised land outside.
Fran and Link glanced at one another. "I'm starting to think," the young Hylian said, "that this wasn't such a good plan after all."
...
The fire burned in her soul once more.
Sheik stood on the edge of a precipice that hung over the domed roof of the prison complex. The world below, a ghostly tableau of frost and scurrying people, looked tiny from this dizzying height. The glider hung to her back, heavy and awkward. She fingered the leather clasps around her shoulders, leaving behind streaks of sweat that hardened into ice almost instantaneously. Her chest felt tight, but apart from that, the frosty touch of fear hadn't touched her yet. She was too excited to feel scared.
"Missy," Carissa's voice called from beside her. "We cannot apologise enough. We are sorry that we couldn't help further."
"I don't need your help," Sheik replied, without thinking. He blinked, then turned to the Calatian woman. "Thank you. All of you."
The old woman smiled. "May the One, Unseen go with you."
"And you," Sheik said politely.
She marvelled at her situation. Sadness and humility churned within as she considered the traders' action. Good people, she told herself once more. But they were Calatians, unaware of her ethnicity. What did it matter? Sheik was certain that Carissa and her friends would have treated her the same, regardless. Her conviction, though, wasn't strong enough for her to remove her face wrappings.
Hope calmed her heart. She needed the Princess; needed a rallying point by which everyone could see the truth of the Harkinian claim. But these Calatians - these simple, hard working people - they didn't deserve the ruthlessly violent methodology that Kafei had wanted her to pursue. They didn't deserve to die for who they were. If they could accept a Gerudo as their King, surely they could accept a Hylian as Queen?
Thoughts such as these cluttered her mind. All that Sheik knew was that she had to get her Princess back. From there, they could rebuild the shattered remnants of their cause, even if she didn't know how. And they would do it shedding the least amount of unnecessary blood as possible.
She took a step back, and paused to check if everything was ready. The traders had taken her to some nearby hills, just high enough so that she could fall without injuring herself, where she had practised with the glider before dawn. It was, she had to admit, a little frightening, but once she had launched herself into the air she had found her spirits soaring in euphoria in response to the sensation of flying.
Her newfound friends had also provided her with a set of silver, needle thin daggers, their razor sharp tips twinkling red in the morning sun. Where they'd found them, she didn't know and didn't ask. The knives were tucked away in her belt now.
"Do you need anything else, missy?" Carissa said, her voice thick with the concern that Sheik was now well familiar with. "Maybe a last minute practice flight?"
"No, I'll be fine," Sheik replied. "Tell everyone that I'm grateful for everything."
The Calatian nodded sagely.
Noises drifted up from below; urgent shouts, and the low moan of horns. Sheik frowned. "What's happening?"
Carissa sucked on her teeth. "A little bit of fortune, missy," she said, kicking at some soil and watching it disintegrate as it plummeted. "Looks like they're having a wee bit of a problem."
Sheik smiled, a light, tinkling laugh escaping from her fingers. It felt good to do that once again. "Then it appears," she said, confidence surging in her heart. "That I shouldn't waste any time."
Nodding, Carissa stepped to one side. Sheik dug her feet into the ground for an instant, tensed her muscles, then sprang forward and leapt into the abyss. The initial shock made her gasp, and she panicked slightly, flapping her arms. The wings of the glider fluttered in the wind, then became taut, floating in the air. Sheik grinned as she swooped down towards a thin metal platform that coiled around the dome.
She landed, running, her boots making the rusted surface shudder under her weight. The wings curled inwards automatically, so that the glider became nothing more than a convenient travel pack on her back. A guard appeared, mouth agape, but one swiftly hurled dagger brought him to his knees. She darted over to him, cracked her elbow to the side of his head, and sent him into inky unconsciousness.
Sheik frowned as she removed her knife from the man's shoulder. Why would there be guards up here?
The entire world split, losing colour and texture, then shattered, a cacophony of horrendous noise that assaulted her ears. She grit her teeth, biting back tears. It had returned.
"Perhaps the guards are protecting something," the voice said. "We should investigate, little one."
"I don't have time," she spat angrily, feeling a little foolish that she was speaking to thin air. She hadn't let Kafei and the others tell her what to do, and she certainly wasn't going to let an apparition do so either.
She stomped towards an entrance hatch, her steps ringing out with a dull metallic clang. A small wooden construction caught her eye. A box, it's lid warped and rotted from the elements stood silently nearby. Curious, she stepped up to it and tested the handle. It was unlocked.
The musty stench of decay wafted up to her as she opened the lid. Grimacing, she peered inside, and saw small packets, wrapped in leaves. She brought one to her face, and sniffed.
"Powder," she said. "Explosive powder." She flipped the packet into the air, then caught it nimbly. She pulled back one of corner of a leaf, and the powder sizzled as it touched the air. "They've learned how to ignite it without using fire."
"Perhaps this is what they were protecting."
"Perhaps," she said, then quickly shook her head, not wanting to start a conversation with a ghostly voice. She spun away, thrusting the packet into her belt, and made for the entrance.
"Wait." The menace in its tone made Sheik freeze. There was something bubbling in the voice, some darkness that wanted to be set free. "He is here!"
...
The surging mob of the unwashed and the uncouth pushed onwards, grimy faces and broken teeth framing eyes burning with the hunger for revenge. Link and the others tried to stay together, but it was a futile task against this living ocean of hatred. Link desperately tried to grasp for his weapon, but his fingers kept slipping as he tried to find a sure footing.
In an instant they were separated; Fran, the Twins and the Princess pushed down one corridor, while Link was shoved into another. There was a briefest moment where the crowd ebbed slightly and he clutched at the opportunity. He fell back, rolled, then sprung to his feet, leaving the smallest of gaps between him and the oncoming prisoners.
A flash of metal in the distance caught his eye, and he saw that Eagle had found himself a pair of axes. Their eyes locked. A heartbeat passed, the rumble of feet upon rock ringing in their ears. Just before Link saw the others be swept away, Eagle threw one of the weapons.
Swiftly Link caught the whirling axe, glanced at it, then ground his heels into the floor, twirling. He spun in a wide arc, the blade clanging against the metal bars on either side. Sparks exploded into the air, hung for an instant like a shower of shooting stars, then rained down in glowing orange droplets, hissing. The fiery glow melted the gloom for a heartbeat, and the prisoners froze, shock and fear carved onto their faces.
Link didn't hesitate, taking quick advantage and flipping his crossbow into his free hand. Dropping the axe, he scooped a handful of arrows from his quiver and slot them into place. He fired again and again, his hand jerking from left to right, the red flower of the ignited powder blossoming a hundred times over. His foot crunched down on the axe's handle, launching it into the air, from where he plucked it into his hand. He turned, hooked his crossbow to his belt, and ran down the narrow corridors, tightly gripping the axe's grainy wooden hilt. Around one corner he went, then another; boots scraping against solid rock floors, and heart beating so hard that it threatened to burst.
Two prisoners, eyes bloodshot and drunk with the taste of blood, leapt out of the shadows. Link swung, grunting, the satisfying crack of steel against bone breaking his attacker's necks. He stepped past them as they dropped to the ground, limp. Another corner beckoned, but something made him stand his ground, a disquieting sensation that crept into his heart.
"Link." The voice drifted into the passageway.
The youngster's hand fell to his crossbow. "Jonah."
"What are you doing?" his old friend replied with a chuckle. "Breaking into prisons. Causing havoc. You don't have to do this to impress the Commander. He already accepted you after your Test."
Link edged forward, his fingers tensing around his weapon. "What do you want?"
"I'm hurt," Jonah's voice floated back towards him. For a moment, he sounded almost genuine. "This isn't the way to greet an old friend. We miss you. We cared about you."
Pressing his back against the cold rock, Link eyed the edge of the wall. "That would be before you betrayed me, then?"
He spun around the corner, his weapon arm curling upwards. Jonah stood there, crossbow at the ready, one solitary tear dropping slowly down his face. Overhead, the roof of the prison curled into a dome, making this chamber far less stifling than the corridors. The two former friends, their faces still save for the odd twitch, faced each other, weapons aimed. For Link it felt as though all air had been sucked out of the building just then. Silence reigned.
"Listen," Jonah said at last. "It was a mistake." He licked his dry, cracked lips. "Come back to us." His eyes were pleading now, his hand trembling. "We'll explain everything." Slowly he lowered the crossbow, then stretched his arms wide, beckoning. The tone of his voice changed, as though coated with sugar. "Remember our vow? Remember what we said after we got lost in the Outlands? How we would always look out for one another? Brothers for eternity?" His eyes seemed to turn inward, as though he were reminiscing. "Little brother," he whispered with a smile. "Come back."
Link blinked once, twice. He sniffed, feeling his own hands start to shake. Thoughts whirled around his head, confusing, dizzying.
"Sorry," Jonah gasped. "We're so sorry."
His weapon arm dropped to his side and Link stepped forward, his lips quivering. Jonah sighed, a grin spreading across his face, and wrapped his arms around the young Hylian, squeezing tight.
The crimson flash of an ignited crossbow illuminated their faces, the passageway ringing with the crack of an arrow set free. Frozen in time, they stared at each other; both their faces a portrait of shock. A thin tendril of smoke curled up between them. Trembling heartbeats thumped. A ghost of a smile passed across Jonah's face.
"Thank you," Link said coldly as Jonah slumped to the floor. "For teaching me not to trust anyone ever again."
He looked down on his old friend, saw the arrow sitting snugly in Jonah's chest, and struggled to fight the conflicting emotions that were screaming to be set free from his heart.
Something flickered in the darkness. Link snapped to attention. A roar, twisted with fury, then Rivero appeared, bursting from the shadows, and slamming Link against the wall. The youngster's crossbow fell clattering to the ground, and the world started to spin. Link's eyes bulged as he saw the great bulk of muscle and bone bear down on him. Saliva flew from Rivero's mouth as his hand curled around Link's throat.
The world took on a scarlet hue, blood thumping in his ears and what felt like broken glass in his throat. Link was pinned against the wall, his feet kicking uselessly against thin air. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kisho step out, survey the scene distastefully, and then fix Link with a baleful glare. Link stared back. He'd once considered the Commander as a father to him. What a fool he had been. The young Hylian felt his muscles start to go limp, and could sense his heart struggle painfully to keep beating despite the lack of air.
Rivero bared his teeth, growled, then leaned forward, his hot breath stinging Link's face. "A man likes to take pride in his chosen profession," the big Calatian rumbled. "And you, boy, are a disgrace."
Gritting his teeth, Link began to choke out words. "You...are...not...much...better," he spluttered. He had thought that the sight of his old friends would have broken him; turned him into a quivering heap. But now that he was face to face with them, his heart was nothing more than a block of ice. Anger bubbled within. A defiant grin came to his face. "I...take...it...you follow...the subtle...school of thought...amongst assassins, then."
Rivero's growl grew into a snarl.
Link felt his breath start to dissipate; short, painful bursts that were like a knife in his throat, darting in and out. His lungs were burning and his body felt heavy. His eyes rolled, glad not to be able to see the triumphant smirk on Rivero's face. Just as the darkness was about to claim him, Link thought he saw a bird swoop in from above.
In a blur, the pressure around his neck was gone, and Link fell to the ground, gasping for air. His head whirled, his vision expanding and contracting in time with the laboured beating of his heart. He could sense a commotion nearby; could hear panicked shouts and angry curses. He scrabbled around in the ground, searching. Relief flooded his mind as his fingers touched the comforting cold steel of his crossbow.
Link looked up. Silver darts flashed through the air, slicing through his former teammates' tunics. They responded in kind, firing their crossbows wildly. The newcomer dodged the attacks, spinning and twisting, a strange winged contraption on his back. No, not his, Link realised, his heart leaping as he peered forwards. Her.
"Sheik?"
Deftly she landed on the ground, ducked as two arrows screamed towards her, reached for her belt, turned, and then threw. The small object spun, before striking the far wall and erupting in an orange flash, sending rock and dust billowing into the chamber.
Link covered his eyes instantly, coughing as a wave of hot, grimy air washed over him. He looked up, saw Rivero and Kisho sprawled on the floor, and turned his attention to the girl, noticing the wings on her back once more. His eyes narrowed as he pulled himself upright. "Now," he said, reaching for his Glimmer capsule. "Why didn't I think of that?"
He ran forward, seeing the dark, cloud filled sky through the opening Sheik had just made. Their eyes locked, but she offered no words. He hurled the capsule into the sky, where it erupted into the form of Bannock. The bird soared upwards for a heartbeat, wings flapping.
Link grinned as he heard Sheik gasp. "Come on," he said. Why he felt concerned, he didn't know, but he was gripped by the sense that it was the right thing to do. Besides, he owed her for saving his life. "We have to go."
Sheik turned away. "The Princess."
"She's with Fran," he said, his tone urgent. "She'll be safe."
The girl looked at him, confusion flashing in her eyes. "Who's Fran?" She blinked, shaking her head. "Wait...you know about the Princess?"
Link glanced back into the chamber and saw his two former teammates start to stir. In the distance the murmur of voices grew - more prisoners coming to the fray. "We don't have time." He jumped onto Bannock's back. The bird rocked slightly under his weight. "You won't get lucky a second time."
A frown stretching her face, Sheik looked from Link to the chamber, indecision sparkling in her eyes. Finally she snarled, throwing her winged contraption to the ground, and leaping onto the Glimmer Bird.
"Let's go," Link said.
Bannock swooped away from the prison, his leathery wings beating in a slow, hypnotic rhythm. A twinge of guilt pinched Link's heart. He'd left the others behind. Closing his eyes, he pushed it away. There was nothing he could have done about it. Going back would have meant certain death and, despite what Fran may think, he was not in favour of a heroic last stand.
Sheik began to speak, her words tripping over one another in a nervous torrent. "Don't go too far; we might need to go back. Let's find this friend of yours now. Quickly. The Princess...I need to make sure she's safe."
The wind whipped at their faces, scattering their hair. "Tell me," Link called, raising his voice above the din. "Do you trust me?"
He felt Sheik's eyes burn into his back. "No," she said bluntly.
Link smiled. "Good."