Chapter 16

Commander Kisho gazed out at the sea of glowing lights stretched out across the plain. Twilight was falling, and everything grew dim, casting shadows over the small tents, their coverings flapping in the wind. The breeze blew again, rustling the trees in front of their hiding place. Leaves hung from the branches here, indicating a different climate as they moved further and further away from the city.

"Bandit camp," Kisho said, sitting himself down on a boulder. "Status, please."

Rivero, standing at his side, brushed some dirt from his tunic. "It's a permanent camp." He waved outwards. "They even have a central building, around which the tents are pitched."

The Commander let out a breath, pondering. "How is it," he said, tearing into a tough roll of bread, "that two seasoned assassins like ourselves have been bested twice by Link and that girl."

Rivero sniffed, crouched, then picked up a tin water can and tapped it against Kisho's shoulder. The commander took it gingerly, his face wearing a mask of expectation.

"They got lucky, that's all," the big man growled. It was as though he didn't really want to talk about it. "Next time, we'll have them."

Kisho took a swig from the can, letting the gritty, cold liquid swish around his mouth. "I wonder," he said, his voice distant. "Maybe we're getting old." Weariness crept into his tone. "Maybe it's Assassin's Rot."

Grunting in response, Rivero started to pick at the crude bandage wrapped around his shoulder. Kisho smiled, amused at his friend's reluctance to speak.

"How's your arm?" the Commander asked.

"I'll live," the big man growled. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "I'm used to having women throw sharp objects at me, sir."

Kisho chuckled, taking another sip from the can. "Link, Link, Link." He couldn't stop the pain well up from his heart and coat his tongue. A sigh threatened to burst free from his chest, but he closed his eyes, stilling it. Let your heart grow cold. How many times had he said those words to himself? How many times had he let them rock him to sleep in his cold, empty bed? "I never would have guessed that he'd turn out like this."

"Never trust a Hylian," Rivero replied, his voice icy. "That's what my mother always said."

"Really," the Commander said dryly. He leaned forward, the sharp air bringing water to his eyes, watching as the lights flickered into shimmering blurs. "I never made any distinction between races. A person is a person. He or she is judged on his actions."

"Then, with all due respect, sir," Rivero said carefully, "you're very naïve."

The Commander laughed, not bothering to respond.

The big man's hands curled into his fists, the light in his eyes fading. "When I get my hands on him," he snarled, "I'll show him a whole world of pain."

Kisho shuffled, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. "No."

"No?" Rivero's head snapped towards him. "No?"

The Commander swallowed, trying to order his thoughts. He had to be careful here. Though he was the commanding officer, he knew that his old friend required a tight hand in order to be guided. "I'm no fool, Rivero," he said. "There's more than meets the eye here." He took in a deep breath. "When we find Link, I'd like to have a little word with him."

"What?" The big man was shaking now, as though unable and unwilling to push his anger away. "Even after all he's done? He killed Jonah! The word is that all the other squadrons are mocking us back home! Sir, this is not wise."

"Regardless of all that," the Commander said dismissively, waving his hand. "I'm a fair man, Rivero. I want to hear Link's side of the story." He paused, a brief heartbeat of time. "I need to hear it." He waited again, then said in a placating voice, "After that, we'll decide what to really do with him."

Before the big man could reply, Kisho sprang to his feet, pulling his Glimmer Capsule from his belt. He flung it to the ground, where it cracked open, revealing the golden form of his Bird, Stannich.

"What's happening?" the Commander asked, the liquid molten form of the creature hurting his eyes in the near darkness.

The bird turned his head towards the camp. "I sense my nest brother, Bannock. He is in distress, unable to flee."

Kisho rubbed his chin, the bristles there scratching his skin. They'd been using the bird's innate abilities to track their prey. On some deep, instinctual level, Glimmer Birds possessed the capability to detect others of their species nearby. Stannich was the only one of few Glimmer Birds that had honed this particular skill to such a razor-sharp degree. "They've been captured, then." He waited, ideas flying around his head. Finally, he looked down at his companion. "What do you say, Rivero?" he said. "Let's regain our lost honour. Let's show the world how dangerous we really are."

Rivero raised an eyebrow, a cruel grin slowly spreading across his face. "Two assassins against a whole camp of bandits?"

Smiling in response, the Commander nodded. The wind blew again, scattering twigs and small stones.

The big man chuckled, flicking the ignition switch on his crossbow. 'I'd say," he said, standing as the steady hum of his weapon filled the air. "I'd say I'd like that very much."

...

Lady Malon Rusthammer made her way down the spiralling staircase that led to the dungeon, her heels tapping on each stone step, the hem of her skirt swishing around her legs. Torches hung on the wall, the flames curling light around the corners, stretched like molten fingers reaching into the darkness. As she passed by each sputtering fire, heat would blossom upon her face momentarily, then grow ice cold, then blossom up once more. It didn't bother her. A different type of heat, hungry and impatient, raged her in heart.

She'd once been known as Malon of Lon, a small village sitting west of the camp. Then the bandits had come, tearing through her home like heated blades, killing, capturing and looting. She'd been one of the captives, and the Bandit King, Hikirem Rusthammer had claimed her as his own, giving her his own family name. At first, she had been stricken, hoping to sink in a mire of grief and wishing bitterly to die. Then, she had grown familiar with life on the camp, gradually mingling with the others and picking up their ways. Slowly, she merged into their day-to-day lives, until she had become woven into the fabric of their existence.

She'd heard stories before; tales of captured women who grew to fall in love with their captors. She'd scoffed at them, but slowly she realised that what she had mocked in others was fast becoming a reality with her. Learning quickly how to make herself beloved to her new master, she had risen in the ranks, past further than any of the myriad other women Hikirem had under his thumb. It was the very knowledge of those other women that had cracked her. But, instead of snapping like a reed in the wind, she grew proud and kept her back straight. She realised that if she couldn't have Hikirem's love, she'd just have to satisfy herself in other ways.

Now she was the Lady of the land, dressed in the finest silks, dining on the sweetest delicacies. Her songs filled the night air, bringing any who heard them to a mesmerised halt, much to Hikirem's annoyance. By day, she tended to the various animals that roamed around the camp, preferring their company to that of the vicious, envy-coated tongues of the other women. By night, though…by night, she was fond of more…interesting pleasures.

The thought sparked the flint of desire in her heart, and her mouth curled, the tingle of anticipation making her shudder as she came to a halt in front of the dungeon's door. She knew where Hikirem would be this night. He'd be showering that girl with sweet words, in the hope that she would wilt under his charm. He could do what he wanted. Malon had her own entertainment. She began to hum as her expectation grew.

"Open the door," she said, facing the two guards. If they found her request unusual, they didn't show it. They knew better than to question her orders.

The bolt was released with a tug and a clank, and Malon stepped in, letting the warmth wrap around her like a cloak. Her anticipation grew as she drew closer, a thrill that made her heart tremble. Mouth drying as her eyes fell upon the prisoner, she slowed to a stop, gazing. The Hylian was young, his face catching her breath with its angled beauty, though his eyes betrayed the weight of some sort of hidden burden. Delicious. She wondered how long it would take for her to soothe his turmoil. He'd probably beg her to return night after night.

Malon flinched as the boy's ocean-like eyes pierced into her.

"Let me go." His voice was raspy, broken, yet earnestly insistent, and Malon had to stop herself from stepping forward and unclasping his bonds. Pity prodded her heart, but she pushed it away instantly. She'd long since given up being moved by emotion.

"I'll let you go, darling," she said, resting the tip of her tongue on her lower lip. She found her breathing getting heavier. "If you'll do a little…favour for me."

The Hylian watched her without comment. A cold smile stretched across her face. She preferred the quiet ones, all mysterious and wracked with inner torment. A drop of water fell from the ceiling, the splash echoing through the darkened room. Malon ignored it, not wanting to be distracted.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Link."

She stepped forward, swaying, her eyes not leaving his face. "That's an interesting name, mister." Stopping in front of him, she leaned forward so that she could let him feel her breath on his skin. His eyes grew wide, and Malon grinned. She had him now. "I am the Lady Malon. Consider me your…generous hostess, if you'll be understanding my meaning." Heat flashed through her body. She knew how young men thought, knew he wouldn't be able to resist the combination of authority, experience and invitation that she was laying at his feet here. Pulling at the collar of her dress, she hoped that this would be a very long night.

"What is it you want?" he asked, his gaze dropping to the floor. Malon blinked, uncertainty creasing her face. What game was he playing here?

"Why," she said, "I'm here to set you free." Curling a lock of his hair around her finger, she took a step forward, her heel scraping on the stone under her feet. "You just have to…let yourself go first."

His head snapped up. "I'm not interested."

Malon flinched, the heat draining from her face, cold fury rising in her veins. "What do you mean?" she snapped. She felt as though she'd been slapped, so unused she was to being rejected. It reminded her too much of her time with the bandits, especially her pathetic, girlish attempts to win Hikirem's heart, and that just tore the thin skin from the pain that she kept locked inside. "Don't you like women?" A sudden thought flashed in her mind. "You're not…you're not some kind of a fairy boy, are you?"

The Hylian glared at her.

Taking a deep breath, Malon tried again. "Don't worry," she said, honey lacing her voice. "I've managed to…convert…fairy boys before." She let one hand rest on the wooden plate at one side of his head. "They just hadn't met a real woman before, that's all." Her other hand came to rest on the other side, his face now directly in front of hers. She gasped again, her head spinning from his beauty. She felt the moss under her fingers, prickling her skin. Her lips parted, her heart thudding, and she leaned forward slowly, eyelids drooping.

"If you value your life," he growled. "You'll not move an inch closer."

She stepped back, hissing as her eyes flung open. "Let a girl down gently, why don't you?"

"Malon!" She cocked her head to one side as Hikirem's voice echoed from the outside. Her cheek twitched as she tried to still the anger bubbling under her skin.

"Duty calls," she muttered.

Malon let her gaze linger on his face for one last moment, before snorting in frustrated disgust. She spun on her heel, her skirt swirling, and strode off angrily, two words flying from under her breath: "Fairy boy!"

...

"Why doesn't he just kill us?"

Mystral looked up at the sound of the King's weary voice. Her arms hugging her knees, she saw the deep, dark holes that passed for Montero's eyes now, ever since the day they had all watched Servion slaughter his father. His face was haggard, his hair untamed. For some reason, though she wished she didn't, she felt a stab of compassion in her heart. It was her nature, she knew, to reach out to others. Sometimes, though, she wanted she could be a little bit more selective.

They were back in their cells now, separated once again according to gender. Impa slept on the floor, and Anju lay back against a wall, cradling her snoozing child. Mystral assumed that it must be night outside, though she couldn't really tell. Sleep didn't come to her, though. As soon as she closed her eyes, Link's face would appear, not as it was now, but when he was fresh and innocent in his childhood days. The pain would always shock her awake. It was worse than when she lost her parents. Now she was truly alone.

Kafei stirred from the other cell. "Who knows?" he said, his voice burdened with bitterness. "Perhaps one of us holds the Triforce of Wisdom?" He chuckled, a harsh sound, though no one else joined in.

"Escape," the King said, his voice drifting. "We must escape."

Mystral swallowed, trying to loosen her constricted throat. She hoped the Gerudo wasn't going to succumb to madness.

No one spoke, the only sound they could hear being the slow rhythm of their breathing. The baby shuffled in Anju's arms, yawned, then settled back to sleep. The tiny movements brought a smile to Mystral's face. Her eyes fell to the stained, metal plates on the floor, the crumbling remains of their meagre supper lying there, cold and untouched. Hunger didn't tug at her, however. Her appetite had left at the same time as her need for rest.

The temperature dropped. Mystral was suddenly aware that the King was staring directly at her.

"Your brother," he said, his tone thick. "You know he's the 'Hero' that my father spoke of, don't you?"

Mystral jerked, ice running in her veins. "No," she breathed. She hoped it wasn't true. If Servion would treat Ganondorf Dragmire so brutally, what would he do to Link? How could anyone do that to another person anyway? She shuddered.

A frosty smile crossed the King's lips, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared. "He is," Montero said. "That's why we got rid of him."

Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her spinning thoughts. "Link isn't a hero. He's a young man that your father twisted for his own purposes." Heat boiled in her heart. "He'll come back. And he'll be safe. And he'll live a proper life," her words became frantic and muddled, "And marry. And have a family. And he'll be happy."

The King laughed. "It's too late for daydreams, don't you think?"

She fixed him with a hot stare. "Where is he now?"

"I don't know," Montero said, sighing. "I doubt Servion has found him yet. Or else he'd look a lot happier."

"And the Triforce of Courage?" she said, flicking a glance at Kafei. "Is it…one of us?"

The King shrugged. "We never found out where it was."

Kafei piped in. "And we never will."

Montero turned to him, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "Listen." He leaned forward, licking his lips. "Both of you, listen."

Mystral found that she didn't really want to pay attention to the man. No matter what he'd gone through, what gave him the right to shatter her hopes? Anger made her cheeks twitch. His words danced around her mind, and she dug her fingers into her skirt, desperately wishing that her hands could curl around his neck. Closing her eyes, she let out a breath. She'd never let her temper get the better of her before. Her heart cooled, chilling her skin.

The King went on. "They come twice a day. Morning and evening." He glanced at them both, making sure they were listening. "They unlock both cells. Then, while one watches with his hand on the lock, the other pushes food into the women's cell. After that, we men get our slop. They lock the cells and leave."

"So?" Kafei asked.

"So?" the King repeated, his face wearing an incredulous expression. "So?" His jaw tensed. "For one brief moment – when they push the food into the women's cells – both guards turn their attention away from us." A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face. "That's when we strike."

Kafei blinked. "Assuming we do get past the armed guards," he said sourly. "Where would we go? We'd be captured instantly."

The King's eyes glowered in the darkness. "Would you prefer to stay here?" Before the Hylian could reply, he added, "This is my castle. I know every inch of it. More than these usurpers." He grinned. "I'll find us a way out."

Mystral's heart tightened. Hope ignited, flickered, then flared. In mere moments the King had pulled her down into murky despair, then flung her into the heady heights of bright optimism. She shook her head, amazed at how he'd affected her.

Kafei spoke. "I'm not willing to jeopardise my son over such a risky venture."

"I am." They all turned to the sound of Anju's soft voice. She blinked. "I'm willing to – if only to know that he won't rot in this horrible place."

Her husband stepped forward. "You can't make a decision like this. We both have to agree."

Mystral, from the corner of her eye, saw the King's face crease in amusement as Anju got to her feet. "Since when has following your decisions ever got us into anything except the direst of circumstances?"

"No," Kafei said firmly. "We're not going through with this."

Anju's eyes flashed. "Then you can stay." She looked at the King. "At dawn, Your Highness?"

The King bowed his head. "At dawn." Mystral saw the respect grow in the man's eyes. It troubled her to see the couple fighting like this. Though she knew that marriage was not always a smooth sailing ship, she'd always been taught that all disagreements should be kept intensely private.

Kafei snarled, looking flustered. "You're all mad." He looked at Mystral. "What do you think?"

She gazed back, letting her face shift into the stern expression that she'd always used when Link had misbehaved. "It would be madness to stay," she said, then glanced at the other two. "I'm willing as well."

"Fine," Kafei said, sighing. "Let's do it."

The King smiled. "Wake Impa," he said, rubbing his hands. "We have to prepare."

...

Hikirem, his tunic clinging to his skin, fidgeted in his seat, not noticing the servants rushing around his table, setting food and large jugs of juice, the ruby coloured liquid sloshing over the edge. At any other time he would've been furious at such a lapse, but not tonight. His mind was still plagued with thoughts about the Hylian boy. It was strange that, despite being safely locked away in the dungeon, the lad could affect him so drastically. The pieces of the puzzle may have eluded him, but he did know one thing. There must be something about the girl - something unique - that could provoke such a reaction from the lad.

His eyes flicked up as the double doors to his dining chamber opened. Malon stepped in, eyes pinched and cheeks flushed. He frowned, wondering where exactly she'd been. She threw him a heated glance, offering no words, and took her place, leaning against the far wall. Hikirem sniffed, briefly considering asking for an explanation, then deciding against it. He blinked as more food was brought, the citrus tang of freshly sliced fruit and the spicy aroma of honey-roasted meat drifting in the air. The girl would be hungry, he knew, and this feast would be his first step towards sinking his touch into her heart.

The room itself was another lavish display of his wealth. White washed walls, engraved with intricate floral patterns, cocooned marble pillars joined at the top by pointed, gold plated arches. The scent of thick incense and subtle rose hung in the air, mixing with the fragrance of cooked food. Hikirem felt a bolt of iron clad certainty in his heart. She wouldn't be able to resist this.

As if on cue, she appeared, pushed along by a pair of guards. Hikirem sat up straight, pulling on his tunic and letting an easy smile cross his face. His eyes dropped to the single, scarlet-hued dagger that hung at her waist. They'd managed to remove all her other knives, but when they had attempted to take that particular blade she had fought them, clawing and biting. In the end, he had let her keep it. What harm could she do with just one small weapon?

The girl – Zelda, that was her name – stopped short in the middle of the room, her eyes gazing around carefully. Obviously, she was impressed. Again, Hikirem felt his body tingle just looking at her. So young. Still, however, he couldn't guess what was quite so special about her. He flexed his fingers, his mind searching for the most appropriate thing to say. This was a game to him, a subtle dance that usually ended with a sweet victory. He just needed a good opening gambit. At last, something came to him, his smile growing wider. He opened his mouth, flooding his voice with as much charm as possible and –

"Where's Link?'

Hikirem closed his eyes, his head throbbing. This could not possibly be happening. Eyelids opening, he saw her move to speak again and sharply held up a hand.

"Wait," he said, rubbing his forehead. ""Let me guess. You wish to see him, correct?"

Zelda straightened her back, folding her arms across her chest regally while her cool, sapphire eyes flashed dangerously. "Bring him to me."

The bandit King gaped. The insolence of the girl! He saw Malon smirking from the corner of his eye and had to keep himself from snarling.

"And who exactly is commanding this in my very own land?" he asked, a hint of a threat curling around the words.

The girl kept her gaze on him, not flinching in the least. "I am…Princess…Zelda Harkinian."

Hikirem waved a hand. "I've never heard of you." He glanced at Malon. "You hear that? She's a 'Princess.'"

The Lady Rusthammer stepped forward, smirking. "She doesn't look like royalty to me," she said, her eyes scanning the girl up and down. "She doesn't carry herself like me. She doesn't seem used to the finer things in life like me." A cold light flashed in her eyes. "You know…I had a very good time with your boy. Very…sweet."

Zelda didn't look impressed. "I find that very hard to believe."

"Oh?" Malon replied, features twisting into a scowl. "What makes you say that?"

"Link isn't that weak."

Striding up to the girl, Malon snarled, "And what's so extraordinarily wonderful about you, then?" She took a step back, as though examining her. "Thin as a waif. Unhealthy skin," her eyes dropped to Zelda's chest, "flat." She scrutinised her with a careful gaze. "It's your hair, isn't it? That's what they all like. And, even then, you keep it hidden under that veil." Her hand reached forward towards the headpiece.

"Don't touch me," Zelda said, stepping back.

"You deny yourself a lot of pleasure, if you'll be following my indication, with an attitude like that."

"You're sick people. All of you. May the One, Unseen curse you all."

Malon's eyes narrowed. "Bitch."

Zelda's mouth twitched. "Harlot."

"Ladies," Hikirem held out his palms, an appeal for calm. Usually he would have enjoyed such a spectacle. But then, that was when he was witnessing women fighting over him. He cleared his throat. "Tell me, 'Princess'," he said. "Why is it that you're travelling with a Dragmire Royal Assassin?"

The girl's face crumpled in shock. "What?"

"Ah." Hikirem knitted his fingers together, leaning forward. The sense of victory simmered in his heart. "Ah." A chuckle left his lips. "You didn't know, did you?" His grin grew wider. "You didn't know he was an assassin, did you?"

"You're lying."

He cocked his head to one side. "Am I?" He picked up a bowl. "Fruit?"

Zelda stared at him, her jaw clenched. Malon snickered from the shadows.

"You see, his crossbow," Hikirem continued, glee flowing through his soul, "It's an assassin's weapon." He took a bite from a piece of fruit, considered it for a moment as juice trickled down his chin, then threw it over his shoulder. "How long have you known the boy?"

The girl maintained her stony silence.

The bandit King smirked. "Not long, I gather?" An idea began to form in his mind. "The follies of youthful love."

"It's not like that," Zelda said finally. "He's my friend."

"Of course he is." He watched her for a moment. Silence hung in the air between them. Hikirem needed to push his advantage now, while it was still within his grasp. The piled up platters of richly cooked food held no interest for him now. He always became agitated like this whenever an idea teased him. It sunk its claws into him, not willing to let go until he'd seen it through to the end. "Let's find out how good a friend he is, shall we?" He clicked his fingers. A servant appeared at his side. "Bring the prisoner to me." The servant nodded, gliding away.

Zelda swallowed, her face trembling. A cruel spark flashed in Hikirem's eyes. If he thought the two women fighting was entertainment, he could barely wait to see what these two 'friends' would provide him with. "Let's bring your 'Link' here," he said, fixing her with an icy stare. "And ask him directly."