Chapter 17

They still had Zelda.

Therefore, they all had to die.

The simple equation rolled around Link's mind as he felt the guards release his bonds. He slid to the ground, dank water splashing under his knees. Closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath, and tried to still his thoughts. He focused inward, searching for the peaceful centre of his heart. Faith. That's what Zelda said he had to have. Letting the outside world fade from his senses, he looked for that spark inside him, that connection between this world and the next. There. A presence, something quietly powerful, yet still far beyond him, caressed his heart, filling his weary veins with strength and soothing his battered soul. It was something he hadn't done since he'd been a child. He realised, after a moment's reflection, that his assassins training had burnt it from him and yet, truly, it had never really left him. His heart pulsed with life, his vision sharpening with crystal clarity. He was ready.

"Up," one of the guards barked.

Slowly Link rose, his gaze sweeping the area quickly and taking in his surroundings. His limbs tingled as the blood rushed back. He controlled it, falling back on one of the more useful skills that he had learned as an assassin. He hadn't been idle while hanging from that wall, hadn't let himself grow bored while the grit of the stone had stabbed into his back. He'd barely moved, slowing both his heart and his breathing, a trick that helped to preserve his energy. Not knowing how long he was going to stay there, he'd forced his mind to crystallise around one thing in order to keep his sanity. All it took was a single image, a happy memory or a passionate ideal. He'd found all three – Zelda's deep blue eyes had accompanied him, shining in the darkness.

He blinked, his mind reviewing what he'd learned in the passing few heartbeats. There were two guards, both carrying swords. Only two. Link's lips curled into a cold smile. They'd underestimated him. Their mistake.

"Move." They prodded him, one ahead, one behind. Briefly, he wondered where they were taking him, then, after a moment's consideration, Link decided that he didn't really care. Approaching the door, the young Hylian noticed that the massive oak frame was both unlocked and wide open. He peered ahead, trying to catch a glimpse of anyone else in the passageway outside. There was no one. It was time to act.

One step. Another. Torchlight pooled at his feet, like molten flame streaking across the ground. Another step. A slip, a scuff of boots on stone, then a stumble, as though accidental. Link tumbled into the guard ahead of him, tensing the muscles in his arms. The guard lurched, hissing, and Link shoved, creating a small gap between himself and the man. It was enough.

Twin metallic breaths sighed as blades were drawn. Link held his ground, dirty water spattering under his feet, and calmed his heart. "Idiot," he spat. "Watch where you're going."

The guard ahead bared his teeth, eyes flaring. Just as Link had expected. The bandit swung, a wide arc aimed at the assassin's head, and Link ducked, feeling a rush of energy through his body. He caught the anguished gurgle of the guard behind him as the sword sliced through the man's chest. The first guard's jaw fell open in surprise, watching his companion stagger back, then slump to the floor unconscious, blade clattering. Link saw that the fallen man was still breathing. Obviously, the shock of the blow had numbed his mind. Coward.

With liquid speed Link thrust his hand up, curled his fingers around the other guard's sword wrist and twisted, until a wet snap rang out in the chamber. The man gasped in pain, his eyes growing wide, pupils bulging in a sea of whiteness. Still holding onto the bandit's damaged limb, Link jutted his elbow into the man's chest, pushing him back against the wall.

The assassin leaned closer. "The armoury," he whispered. "Where is it?"

The guard trembled, his mouth opening and closing.

Link squeezed down on the man's wrist. "Tell me," he said. "And I'll let you live."

Gritting his teeth against the pain, the guard nodded vigorously. Link loosened his grip.

"Right from this chamber," the man gasped. "Then left, then left, then right again."

Link's palm flew up, slamming into the guard's jaw. "Much obliged," he said, watching the bandit slither to the ground.

He stepped down hard onto the sword's hilt. In a hail of sparks, it flew spinning into the air, and Link swiped it into his hand. Glancing at it, he pondered, the bodies of the two fallen men still at the corner of his vision. Temptation tugged at him. It would be so easy, he thought. Two quick swipes, the satisfying gush of hot blood seeping between his fingers. Who would know? The image of Zelda's face and the sound of her voice entered his mind. No, he decided. He'd resisted the red-haired woman and he could resist this, too. Despite his earlier promise, these two wouldn't have to die. They were down, beaten. He'd only kill those who were a direct threat. Or those, he added as ice trickled in his heart, that had hurt Zelda.

Melting into the shadows of the passageway outside, he quietly closed the door behind him, his eyes darting left and right. Still no one appeared. Unusual. Were they all preoccupied with something else? Facing right, he began to walk forwards, his footsteps barely making a whisper of noise, another trait courtesy of the Assassins League. He felt no fear. Gentle serenity swam in his heart. He felt protected, as though the One, Unseen Himself was cradling him. Link trusted in the feeling, turning left down another corridor, and then turning left again.

He passed windows here, and orange light danced against the glass. He caught his flickering reflection, saw his own diamond-hard eyes, and looked away quickly. Muffled shouts drifted from the outside. There was some sort of commotion – a fire, or something similar. Link paused, frowning, a sour taste spreading across his tongue. To start a fire was an assassin's trick. Distract the victim through smoke and panic. Still no trepidation touched him. If Kisho and Rivero had tracked Link here, then he'd just have to use their actions to his advantage.

He tested the air with his blade, slicing and chopping, the steel shimmering in fluid blurs. Rounding the final corner, he slowed, spying the doors of the armoury ahead of him. Licking his lips in expectation, he tapped gently against the wood, and it shuddered in response, spraying dust into the air. The doors were locked.

Stepping back, he took in a deep breath, then launched himself forward. The doors splintered open, hinges screaming. As the debris cleared from the air, he scanned the room quickly. It didn't take long. His modified Assassins League crossbow lay in one corner, encircled by Zelda's knives. His Glimmer capsule was there, too and it was the first thing he picked up after discarding the sword. Next, he tucked his friend's weapons into his belt, walked across to one of the shelves, then grabbed two quivers worth of arrows and strapped them to his back. He locked a handful into his crossbow and flicked the switch.

Link closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the weapon's hum soothing him like a mother's sweet whispers, the scent of the burning powder flowing over him, making his heart tremble. He wanted to stay there, forever wrapped in that deadly embrace. But no. He had to find Zelda.

"What are you doing in here?"

It was pure instinct. Link spun, swinging his arm up in one fluid movement, and fired. The arrow burned through the air, tore into the guard's shoulder and flung him against the far wall, knocking him cold. Link watched him for a moment, then strode forward, stepping over the prone body. Glancing around to see if he'd attracted any more attention, he dragged the guard back into the armoury. With one last sweep of the room, he stepped outside, closing the door behind him. It wouldn't shut, damaged as it was from Link's kick, so he left it slightly ajar, hoping the darkness would mask it from prying eyes.

He walked on, his eyes adjusting to the different shades of dimness. The cries from outside were becoming more urgent now, and he saw the watery silhouettes of the people, fleeing here and there. Reaching the next door, he checked the lock, found it open, and walked in. Lamps burned in this room, flames pluming up from pools of thick, acrid smelling oil. The carpets were thick and soft; so soft that his boots almost sunk into them. Paintings hung on some of the walls, landscapes from all over the world, frozen in time. Suspended from another wall were thick drapes, shimmering blood red.

Zelda. The thought flooded his heart, and spread out through his soul. He hissed. He was wasting time here. Searching through every single room would be time consuming and ultimately fruitless. Thoughts swirled in his mind. She clearly wasn't being held in the dungeons. She had to be somewhere else in the building – but where exactly? The longer he stayed here, the greater the risk grew of him being caught. He had to distract them here, then re-enter the building from some other point.

Reaching out, he grabbed one of the lamps, then flung it to the ground. The glass shattered, and the olive coloured oil oozed out, the stench rising into the air quickly. The fire flickered, following the fluid's path, then caught onto the carpet and spread, consuming everything in its path. He let his gaze linger on it for a moment, his skin warm, his heart cold. Striding past the rapidly rising flames, he stopped in front of one of the windows, ignoring the thick cloud of smoke trailing across his vision.

He aimed his crossbow at the window and fired. The arrow lodged itself dead centre, spreading a spider web of fractures across the glass. He fired again, and the window exploded out into a million glittering shards. With measured steps, he approached the opening as flecks of glowing ash began to rain down, singeing his tunic.

Leaping through the window, the young assassin took a sharp intake of breath as the sudden bite of the night air washed over him. He landed on his feet, the soft soil giving way under his boots. Chaos reigned. People ran, screaming, carrying their possessions in hastily wrapped bundles. Children wailed, men roared, and women cursed. Pockets of fire dotted the camp, tall flames evaporating into the night sky. Clouds loomed overhead, smudging the moonlight, some natural, some the offspring of the inferno below.

Link heard it instantly. The distant whine of discharged crossbows, the whisper of spinning arrows cutting through the air. Rivero and Kisho. It had to be. He couldn't see them, but it was obvious that they, like him, had become living shadows, striking from the dark. He froze, his heart finally murmuring with fear. They were looking for him, and they would tear down the camp just to find him. He should face them, end this once and for all, even if it resulted in his death.

Zelda. His mind focused, funnelling in on that one word, letting all other considerations burn away into pure nothingness. All that mattered was her.

A twig snapped, followed by a slight rustle of movement. Link twirled, swinging his crossbow up. A small figure huddled in the darkness. Frowning, Link stepped forward.

Pinpricks of fear gazed back at him, and the shape of a small, trembling child came into view. The boy whimpered, his eyes wide. Link thought he could actually see the child's heart thumping wildly from within his chest. The terror that stretched the boy's face like a parchment made Link feel nauseous. What had he become?

"Go," the assassin said, lifting his weapon. The boy ran, stumbling once or twice, before letting the night swallow him.

Link kept close to the building, watching the people scamper past him, oblivious as they were to his presence. The fabric of the tents curled as flames ate at them, giving off a sharp stench that almost watered his eyes. He sighed. Being outside was no better than being inside.

His heart caught as something snatched at his sight. A dark blur stretched across one of the dwellings in the distance. He recognised it immediately as the hulking form of Rivero. The big man had blended into the shadows, and no one but another assassin would have noticed him. Link watched, almost mesmerised, as the dark shape twisted and turn, obviously firing away. He could imagine the Calatian's glee as arrows split skin and shattered bone. Fury burned in Link's heart. They were a stain, these assassins, clinging to a life that they coldly took from others. Link felt dirty. He needed to be cleansed. He needed to be purified. A thought, solid steel in its certainty, touched his mind. It seemed as though he would have to face one of his former team-mates whether he wanted to or not.

He began walking, his eyes fixed on his prey, ignoring the broken pots and forgotten toys that cracked under his boots. With each beat of his heart, his anger grew stronger, building up and spreading through his body. The muscles in his cheeks clenched, and the taste of metal washed across his tongue. A breeze pulled at his face, but it couldn't dampen the heat in his soul. Regret, rage and guilt mixed to make an unholy concoction – one that could only be relieved with one pinpoint action.

Now running, Link weaved in and out of the mass of humanity, catching brief glimpses of their frightened expressions, and feeling their bodies brush past his in their rush. Closer and closer he drew, neither Rivero nor the Commander – wherever he was – noticing his approach. If either of them spotted him, he'd be dead. He had to do this, he knew. The assassins were a direct threat, and they would not stop chasing him until either he or they perished.

Link hissed, the throng of people closing in around him like a fist, a never-ending stream of arms, legs and faces. Sweat sprung on his brow as the waves of heat from the myriad fires radiated outwards. Panic pierced him. He was going to lose Rivero. Then the two assassins would find him, kill or capture him, and he'd never get to Zelda. The youngster grit his teeth, his breath growing shorter as the crowd loomed over him.

A gap suddenly appeared, like the hungry gasp of a drowning man just released from a watery prison, and Link wasted no time. He dived, the wind in his face, and rolled across the ground, bringing his crossbow to bear.

He fired once. Twice. Three times. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Burnt powder settled on Link's hand, and the rosy afterglow of the ignited weapon scorched his eyes. Rivero's shadow jerked as each arrow ploughed into his body, his neck snapping grotesquely, like a puppet snapped from its strings.

An acidic emptiness coated Link's heart. He tried to shake it away. He'd never liked the big man anyway.

Link slipped away, darting back to the relative safety of the building. The Commander was still out there somewhere. Kisho would know instantly who was responsible. More people passed. They hadn't even noticed his actions, so absorbed they were in trying to preserve their own lives. Link found his eyes drawn to a green-haired young man, probably not much older than himself, running towards him in panic. Falling flat against the wall, Link stuck out his leg, and the man toppled to the ground.

In an instant, the young assassin was upon him, the razor-sharp tip of his arrow barely inches away from the man's face.

"Please," the man gasped, his body shuddering. "Please don't hurt me."

Link held his weapon at an angle so that he could see the bandit's face. "I'm looking for someone," he said, his voice quiet, but loaded with menace. "A girl was captured recently. I need to know where she is."

The man's breath grew shallow, sweat pouring down his face. Realisation struck him at that moment, and he seemingly knew that Link wasn't going to kill him. "I think I heard something about that, mister," he said. "I think the King has her in his dining chamber."

Link almost closed his eyes in relief. She was safe. "What's your name?"

"H-Harlequin Jack, mister," he replied. "At your service."

The Hylian stared at him for a heartbeat, his mind racing. "I have a proposition, Harlequin."

Jack nodded, the bulge in his throat bobbing up and down. "Name it."

"I say that I let you see another sun rise on another day," the assassin continued, "if you take me to the girl."

Again, Harlequin nodded, not even pausing to think. "Done."

Link stood up straight, pointing his weapon skywards. "Lead the way."

...

Impa sat cross-legged, her fingers knitted and resting on her lap. The others waited, too; waited for that telltale scrape of an unreleased bolt letting them know that it was feeding time. There was a sharper sense to her impatience, though. Twice she'd failed. She'd let the Harkinians mutilate the building and then, and then, she'd been unable to stop the Hylians from taking over. Anger boiled at the bottom of her stomach, shame taunting her every thought. She wasn't just supposed to be good at her job – she was supposed to be the best. How had everything collapsed so quickly?

For some reason, thoughts from her childhood drifted into her mind. She'd once lived in the Hylian Quarter, along with all the others; she even remembered a young Servion, who had been nothing more than a mean spirited bully. She'd never once felt any loyalty to her 'people,' though. Not even a glimmer of warmth came to her when she thought about her family. To her, people were people, and the only thing that she'd ever bothered with as a child was her thirst to fight.

She'd accepted any and all challenges, from both boys and girls, from both men and women. And she'd beaten them all.

When she'd reached adolescence, she'd begged her parents to let her enlist with the Castle's security guard. They'd refused, of course, aghast that their daughter would even think of such a thing. No, their daughter was going to sit at home, marry and have little babies, safe and sound from the evil world outside. Impa almost snorted at the thought. She'd run away eventually – not because she was truly unhappy at home, but because she was being prevented from doing what she'd really wanted. And, although she had found her way into the King's graces despite being a Hylian, she always advised against anyone else who wanted to take a similar path. It hadn't been an easy life, and she knew that many, many other people would have failed, breaking down by the wayside.

Impa looked up as she heard the shuffle of booted feet. She glanced at Montero, who gave a small nod in return. A faint tingle of anticipation ran in her veins.

The guards came into view, keys rattling and blades clinking. In their hands they carried tiny platters of food – dried bread and days old meat. Locks clicked and doors swung open with rusty creaks. Impa waited, watching, watching…

There! Both guards turned to face the women's cell and, in that briefest of moments, they struck.

Montero kicked, slamming the door into one of the guards. The other panicked, his eyes wide, and dropped his plate. Impa leapt forward, scooped up the fallen dish, and threw. It spun, sending food flying everywhere, and rammed into the man's windpipe. He fell to his knees, gagging, and clutched his throat. Impa walked up to him slowly, the taste of victory flowing in her soul like nectar. The man looked up at her, one hand falling to his waist, desperately trying to find the hilt of his sword. With a swift kick, Impa sent him careening across the passageway. His body twitched once, twice, then fell still.

"See?" the King said, straightening his tunic. "Easy."

Kafei grunted, brushing past him and running to the aid of his wife and child.

Impa knelt, unhooked one sword from one guard, then stood and did the same with the other man. "Here," she said, nodding at the King.

Montero grinned as he caught the blade.

Kafei stepped back into the passageway, Mystral, Anju and the baby behind him. "Don't I get one?"

Stepping past him with the briefest of glances, Impa said, "No."

"Quickly," the King said. "Before they realise what's happened."

Montero led the way, the women and Kafei trailing behind, while Impa brought up the rear, making sure no one would sneak up unawares. They went deeper into the dungeons; turning down twisting passageways, up flights of stairs and through damp tunnels that Impa didn't know even existed. That thought disturbed her – she was in charge of security, after all. The King walked with the confidence of one who was familiar with every nook and cranny of the castle, as though there was a map laid out in his head.

All of a sudden, Montero came to a stop. He gazed at the wall, though Impa could see nothing there that actually stood out as unusual. Pressing his face against the stone, he ran his fingers up and down the wall, cobwebs tearing under his touch. The others watched, confused. Then his hand came to a sudden stop, and a grin spread across his face. He pushed with his fingers. A deep click followed and, somewhere deep inside, a spring broke. A groan rumbled in the distance. With a crack and a breath of dust, the wall split open to reveal a darkened corridor.

"This," he said, his voice oozing with smugness, "is our way out."

Impa peered into the darkness. For a moment, everything was still. Then something slithered, a pair of crimson eyes winking into existence before vanishing. The others saw it, too.

"Mine!" she snarled, swinging her sword into an attack stance. A low growl followed, then a dark blur leapt into their path. Mystral screamed, and Kafei pulled Anju into the new passageway. Montero stepped back, panic in his eyes.

Impa swung, a sharp arc that ripped the air. She missed; the creature, whatever it was, moving far too quickly. "Get inside!" she hissed, turning so that her back was to the open doorway. Still she couldn't make out the animal's form. It seemed to shimmer and slide, like liquid darkness seeping across the floor. Breathing quickly, Impa waited, clasping the hilt with both hands.

The creature lay, as though asleep, except for the series of clicks that spat from whatever it was it had as a mouth.

She wasn't going to lose, she realised. She never lost.

As though waiting for a cue, the dark monster flew, claws and fangs shooting out from its body. Instinctively, Impa thrust her sword forwards. She caught it a glancing blow, felt hot fluid splatter on her hands. It could bleed, then. Spurred on by that thought, she swung again, missed, then followed through, thrusting once more, and skewered the thing against the wall. It gurgled in pain, and she twisted the hilt until the creature shuddered, then fell silent.

Glancing at the others, she saw the awe etched on their faces. Good. That's the way it should always be. A thin smile spread across her mouth.

"What if there are others?" Anju asked, her voice hushed.

Impa's eyes thinned to slits. "Not a problem."

She stepped into the hidden passageway, the door snapping shut behind them all with a resonating boom.

...

Zelda felt numb, a chill that spread through every fibre of her being with every beat of her heart. She knew that she should move. Arrows were flying in through the broken windows, the assault of unseen assailants. People were screaming, shouting. Smoke choked the air, blotting out the torches. All around her was a whirlpool of activity – guards peering through the blackness, their swords ready, flames licking at the walls, eager to devour everything within, barked commands rolling through the air. And yet, she felt nothing, standing still in the centre of the storm.

She saw the Bandit king at the head of the room, his face contorted red with fear and fury. "What's happening?" he bellowed. "What's going on?"

No one answered him, though his people rushed around, weapons suddenly appearing in their hands. The breeze tugged at her tunic, making the fabric flap. Zelda didn't care anymore. Let them all die. A jolt shook her in response to the thought. Something drained out from her heart – hope or compassion, she wasn't sure which.

She closed her eyes. Link – an assassin? A pit of emptiness opened at the bottom of her heart. Her family's sworn enemies. Her family's murderers. They'd hunted them from the moment the sun peeked up from the horizon through the moment it sank away pulling the light down with it, to the moment it returned with the fresh promise of a new day. Living in fear, huddled in the shelter of the safehouse, hushed whispers had told stories about the King's elite guard. They were men who had had human emotion torn from them at a young age. They were men that knew nothing except the joy of the kill, the power to end another's life thrilling the darkness in their soul. Simple feelings like love and kindness were alien to them. They lived only to satisfy the animal urges of their heart, being the only pastime that could briefly quench the emptiness that overwhelmed their lives.

But, Zelda thought, Link wasn't any of those things. Was he?

It made sense in a strange sort of way. Who else but an assassin would be able to drive the Warrior's sword through her heart? No tears came to her eyes. She'd left those behind with the Great Deku Tree. Bitterness blossomed from within, staining her mouth with an acid taste. She didn't want to rely on anyone; indeed, she'd spent her life making sure she didn't have to do just that. But she couldn't be the one to slay herself. Zelda needed Link. Needed him to kill her. At this moment in time, that seemed the most appealing notion in the whole world.

When she opened her eyes again, the world was splintered, covered with blood. She sensed the now familiar presence.

"Kill him before he kills you," the voice droned. "He would obviously have taken great delight in the task. After all, it's what he was trained to do."

She bit her lip, disbelief creeping in her mind. No. No, something wasn't right. Her hand fell to her Oath Blade. Link didn't want to kill her, she was sure of that – but why hadn't he told her what he was? She shook her head, trying desperately to dislodge the voice's hooks from her soul. At the very least, Zelda knew she was, for the time being, safe in Link's company. She had to talk to him, find out what was really going on.

Zelda spun around as the double doors collapsed in a cloud of dust. Two shadows peeled out from the murkiness. One, she didn't recognise. The other, she did.

"You!" The bandit King's voice spat. "It's you they want, isn't it? There are assassins out there, it must be. And it's you they are after, isn't it?"

Her forehead creased automatically at the words. What was going on here? Assassins were pursuing Link?

The young Hylian, his face a mask of ice, strode into the room, aimed, and then fired.

Zelda's head jerked as her eyes followed the spinning mass of red hot metal and wood. The bandit King yelled, then ducked, the arrow splintering into the wall above his head, the tail still humming. She saw him scramble away, his minions crowding around him in a pathetic attempt at protection.

Turning, her gaze locked with Link's, and her heart spiked as his face melted with relief, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He walked towards her, glass crunching under his boots, and it took all her willpower just to keep from stepping back. Her heart trembled as he approached. His beaming face, she noted surreally, made her gasp in awe. Her eyes fell on his crossbow – his assassin's crossbow – and the feeling was quickly snuffed out.

Stars streaked across her eyes as a vice like grip curled around her throat. A flash of red and the scent of heavy perfume told Zelda that it was the woman – Malon – who had grabbed her. Dimly, she heard the whine of Link's weapon grow louder. Terror gripped her heart. Through her blurry vision she saw his finger coil around the trigger.

"Don't be playin' games now, fairy boy," Malon said, a smirk in her voice. Zelda felt the woman's hot breath tingle her ear. "We both know you'll not fire while I have the little girly here."

Zelda clawed at Malon's arm. Her head throbbed, her pulse speeding to an unnatural degree. "He…" she gasped, "…will…fire!"

The crossbow's drone was vibrating through her skull now, and her heart skipped a beat, feeling certain that she'd hear the snap of a released arrow at any second. She felt Malon grow rigid, as though she too had realised what was about to happen and knew that she didn't have time to escape. With a snarl, Zelda brought her boot down on Malon's foot, then thrust her elbow into the woman's stomach. Malon let go, reeling back, and Zelda swung, her fist connecting with the bandit woman's jaw with a satisfying crunch. Zelda stepped back, watching Malon crumple to the ground.

In an instant Link was by her side, pushing something cold and hard into her hands. She looked down, seeing her knives. There were only four left and she'd have to find more soon.

The Hylian boy studied her for a moment. "Zelda," he said, the joy clear in his voice. "Are you alright?"

She held his gaze for a heartbeat, then said, "I'm not hurt." She felt uncomfortable, her eyes continually shifting to his weapon. "You?"

He flinched, clearly not knowing how to react to the abruptness in her voice. "I'm unharmed, too."

"Thank the One." The whispered words had come to her lips without thinking, and it was only at that moment that she realised how sincere she was. Confusion flashed painfully across her mind.

Link smiled again. "Go. Wait outside. I'll follow you soon." He turned to the other man. "Harlequin, stay with me."

The green haired bandit grimaced. "I thought the bargain was that I lead you here, young mister." He paused, staring. "I'm not fighting your battles for you."

"You don't have much choice," the Hylian continued. The heavy threat in his tone made Zelda wince. "I'll let you go when I've decided it's best to do so." He waited. "Friend."

Harlequin's eyes widened. "You point a weapon at my face, then march me in here." His movements grew more frantic. "And this makes me your friend?"

"What can I say?" Link said, attempting another smile. "I'm grateful."

"I can stay," Zelda interjected. "I don't need to be coddled like a child."

Link turned to her, his eyes swimming with unease. "No," he whispered. Again, she was struck by the sincerity in his words. "You don't need to prove your bravery to me." His voice dropped, so low that she had to lean forward to catch it. "If you stay here, they might hurt you and if they hurt you, I'll ~"

"Stop." It was as though a bolt of lightening had seared through her mind. She didn't want to hear what he was going to say next. "I'll go."

"Take a left," he continued. "Then go to the end of the corridor. The main gate is there. Wait for me."

Zelda turned to leave, then hesitated. "What is it that you're going to do?"

He glanced casually at the guards still milling around the broken windows. "I'll make sure we're not followed."

Liquid chill dripped onto her heart. "Link," she said, standing firm. "Let them live."

"But~"

"Please."

A shadow fell across his face. "I was planning to, anyway."

Nodding, she left the chamber, turning left as Link had instructed. Smothered screams echoed from the outside, and she slowed down automatically. She heard her own breaths, hissing and sighing. When, exactly, had the world gone completely insane? A blanket of pure loneliness enshrouded her at that moment, and she felt tiny, a speck of dust caught in the winds of fate.

She almost turned back. Whatever else he may, Link was still a familiar face in a world that was becoming increasingly alien with each passing moment. "I am Zelda Harkinian." The words tripped off her tongue, though she wasn't quite sure why she'd said them. Perhaps the echo of her own voice was the only thing that had sounded remotely human in the past few hours. "I am Zelda Harkinian," she whispered. "And I must die so that the world may live."

There. It was out. The very words that had prodded at the corners of her consciousness for the past week had now finally formed on her lips. A heavy burden, rushing like a torrent of rain, fell upon her heart, almost bringing her to her knees. She steeled herself, fighting it. "But," she gasped, her limbs trembling. "I will not break." Salt water flowed down her face and flooded her mouth. Her fists clenched. "I'll gladly go back to the One, Unseen, purified and free." Images slid across her mind: Kafei, the bandit King, Link. "Which is more than I can say for most people."

"Brave words."

Zelda's head snapped up, and she saw Malon before her, the woman's face swollen and purple. Before she could even react, or even guess how the bandit had crept up on her, Malon blew some sort of dust, sparkling gold and scented jasmine, into her face. Head spinning, Zelda stumbled backwards, her skin prickling with heat.

Malon stepped forward. "I don't know who you are, little missy." Her voice swam in Zelda's mind, sounding slurred and stretched. "But it looks like my time here is done, if you'll be catching my hint." Blackness poured in at the corner of Zelda's vision, and the world slipped away as Malon's final words reached her. "So, I'm taking you with me. If you really are a 'Princess', then I'm sure I could find someone willing to buy you from me for the appropriate fee."

Zelda sank into the darkness, the bandit woman's laughter chasing her down.