Chapter 19

Night fell on New Hyrule and with it came all the sounds indicating a city at peace – the insistent wail of a newborn, the hopeful laughter of a young couple, the metallic trill of dropped merchandise. From his vantage point high on the rooftops, Fran knew that the outward cloak of the city was nothing more than an empty façade. This was a land under occupation, a people crushed under a brutal heel. The gentlest of breezes caressed the torchlights, illuminating the cold, grey walls of the nearby dwellings, still stained with the dark blotches of rapidly fading blood. The hints were still all there. The subtle reminders, no doubt burning into the angry gazes of the Calatians that peeked out from their windows during the curfew. How had it all come to this?

Fran let his eyes drift upwards, past the old Quarters – no longer separated by race since they were all Hylian now – past the freshly minted buildings standing unoccupied, past the old, withered warehouses, past the Hylian Meeting House, now derelict, until he came to a stop on the silent form of Castle Dragmire. He wondered what it was called now. Castle Boarhound? He had to bite down on his tongue to stop himself from laughing.

The tall, emerald towers speared the night sky, and the tiny sliver of a new moon, razor thin and sparkling silver, peeked out from behind. Calculations darted in Fran's head. A new moon meant a new month. In his time alone in his hut, Fran had memorised all the movements of the heavenly bodies so that he'd know the exact passage of time. This month marked the seventeenth summer since Link's birth. The lad was a man now, fit to command armies and search for a spouse. In a score more summers he'd have reached the midpoint of his life. If he was lucky, he'd go beyond the fifty summers that usually marked the end of a person's worldly existence, much like Fran himself had done.

He spat, trying to rid the sour taste from his mouth. A taste that had arisen from the gloom he felt whenever he thought about Link. Fran had been certain that he'd been sent to this period of time in order to watch over the lad, to make sure that he would grasp both his potential and his heritage at the same time. But now he had no idea where Link was, though Fran was certain that he was still alive somewhere, despite not having any evidence to bolster his beliefs.

Movement caught his eyes from the street below, and he shifted in his crouched position, feeling the scratch of his boot against the grit of the flat roof. The five figures darted from shadow to shadow, one cradling a small, squirming bundle, another carrying a bulging sack over his shoulder. Fran followed, leaping from roof to roof, ignoring the protests from his aging limbs, and fixing his hunter's vision on the fleeing group. He'd noticed them the night before, huddled in the shade of an inn, and was about to praise his good fortune when he decided that luck had nothing to do with it. He'd been guided to them, pure and simple. Never being a very religious type and finding the finer points of theology a bit too much for him, Fran was surprised at the convictions that now stuck fast to his heart. Whatever, or Whoever, was guiding his moments he had decided to let 'It' open up whatever path had been laid out for him. At the very least, he no longer believed in coincidences.

Instead of directly searching for the Princess and the others, Fran had made his slow, tortuous way back to the city; a journey that had taken him a week, maybe more. At first he'd been surprised to see the Hylian guards posted at the city's gate, but then realised it was to his own advantage. They'd let him through, not caring about the bow strapped to his back, just on the strength of being from the same race as themselves.

Now he watched the small group as they made their way towards the Kokiri Quarter, running down one deserted street, before slipping into a narrow alleyway. No guards were posted here, such was the arrogance of Servion's minions. They'd become drunk on their victory, and that same self-confidence had made them complacent. Fran wondered why the Chief hadn't disciplined his followers already. That is, if he was even in the city.

Fran leapt from the roof, his cloak billowing, and landed on the cobbled stone below with the smallest of stumbles. Calmly, he strode into the alleyway, his eyes narrowing from the lack of light. He caught a glimpse of the group as they entered a doorway, and glanced up, realising that the broken, dirty building beside him was not, as he'd first assumed, a derelict fit for rubble, but actually some sort of dwelling. He stopped in front of the door, hesitated, then pushed it open gingerly.

Fran was ready for what was coming next. Not for the least moment had he thought that the group would not have noticed his movements, and he ducked as the two men, hidden on either side of the door, lunged at him, their faces lined with the satisfied triumph that told him that they'd been certain that he would fall into their trap.

He rolled, his bow digging into his back, sprang to his feet, then spun on his heel, brushing the dust from his tunic. "Your Highness," he said with a nod. He winced as the pain caught up to him. He was too old for this foolishness.

Montero glared up at him from the floor, snarling, "And who are you?"

"Fran!"

He turned at the sound of the familiar voice, his face melting in relief, and Mystral ran towards him from the shadows, a flaming torch in her hands. His arms curled around her, careful not to let the flame get too close, and he buried his face into her hair, closing his eyes, grinning. "My dear," he sniffed. "It's so good to see you again."

They parted, and Fran had to lower his gaze as Mystral's wide eyes searched his face. "Link?"

He shrugged. "I don't know," was all he said, "I'm sorry."

Biting her lower lip, she nodded slightly, then turned away.

"Excuse me." The other man – a Hylian, Fran noticed – pulled himself upright. "This is…?"

"A friend," Mystral said, her hard eyes daring him to contradict her.

"But…"

"If she says he's a friend, Kafei." Another woman appeared, holding a sleeping child. "Then he is."

The Hylian rolled his eyes. "Anju, put Hobert to bed," he growled. "Then see if there's any fresh food left in the pantry."

There was a pause as husband and wife stared at each other. Fran recognised the struggle, saw the subtle pulling on the chains of authority. Finally Anju relented, gently walking towards the stairs.

"What's happened here?" Fran asked, pulling everyone's attention back. "Why are there Hylians posted at the gate of the city?"

The King, now on his feet again, looked at him with a slight hint of contempt. "An error on my part," he said. "One that I'm about to rectify." He peered past them into the hallway. "Impa?"

Yet another woman appeared, carrying a scroll glistening with fresh ink. "It's ready," she said, her fingers smudged blue from the quill. "A summons to our allies."

"Good," the King said with a thin smile. He turned to Kafei. "You said this place has messenger birds?"

The Hylian nodded slowly. "At the back, yes."

Gesturing towards Impa, the King said, "Show her."

As the duo departed, Montero turned his attention back to Fran. "Soon this city will be crawling with Calatians once again." A cruel spark ignited in his eyes. "And the streets with run red with Hylian blood."

Fran, his mouth suddenly dry, held his gaze for a heartbeat longer and almost flinched from the words. The King's tone was cold, drained from any semblance of compassion. Is this what power and vengeance did to people? He felt Mystral beside him, tugging at his sleeve and saying, "If we could be excused…?"

Montero assented with a wave of his hand and they left, walking slowly down the corridor as Mystral touched her torch to the exposed lamps hanging from the walls, instantly igniting the oil swimming slowly within.

"This place…?" Fran asked when enough distance had parted between them and the King. He still kept his voice low, however.

"Harkinian safehouse," she whispered back. Her voice took on a layer of concern. "Where have you been?"

Fran gazed at her, waves of affection radiating from his heart. He'd always thought of her as a daughter, and it pained him that he had no good news to relay to her. "I helped Link escape." He caught the hope glinting in her eyes and quickly added, "But we were separated. I don't know where he is now."

She looked away, her expression thoughtful, but not downcast. Fran pursed his lips, feeling a surge of pride within. He spoke again, breaking the sudden silence. "Were you harmed?"

"No," she replied, smiling. A cloak of darkness fell on her features for a moment. "They did terrible things to the others." The muscles in her neck tensed as the memories returned, and Fran winced, wanting to cradle her and ease her anguish. "I'd never have believed that Servion and the others were capable of such things."

Fran looked away. "Humiliation begets rage," he said, choosing his words carefully. "And rage makes people do things that they wouldn't usually do."

"But Tom and Deak and the Elders," she replied. "Everything they taught us died when they stormed the city." She paused, silent with her thoughts. "If only we could find a way to help them, to being them back."

Fran felt the tingle of surprise. How could she still feel pity for them after all she'd seen them do? He felt shame touch his cheeks. She was a much butter person than he – and her compassion was what made her unique. It was what made her remind him of his daughter. His real daughter. With a sigh, he said without much conviction, "There's always hope."

Mystral nodded. "What's going to happen, Fran?" she asked, her voice trembling. "To all of us?"

He had no answer and he knew that she was too old to be fooled by insincere assurances. He spied the heavy sack in a corner. Waving his hand towards it, he asked, "What's that?"

"The King had us retrieve it when we fled from the dungeons," she replied. Fran frowned, but she didn't go into any details of their captivity. "He said that his men had developed a way to make 'explosive packages'. They wrap leaves around tightly packed bundles of powder. It detonates on impact."

"He's going to use it to fight the others?"

Ignoring his question, Mystral turned to face him, her eyes fixing him with a burning stare. "What's happened to Link?"

This time Fran knew that she wouldn't accept it if he dodged the answer. He leaned forward, sighing once more. "He's safe, somewhere," he said. "You have to believe that. He's important to what's going on. I don't know how else to explain it to you."

"My Link," she breathed, tears pooling in her eyes. She swayed and Fran reached out, thinking that she would faint. "Why him? Will I ever see him again?"

"Yes." She jumped back, startled by the determination in his voice. "You will."

Mystral turned her head slightly, watching the King as he stood gazing at the door. "There's going to be a war, isn't there?" The mournful tone in her voice almost broke Fran's heart. "There's going to be more bloodshed."

Fran touched her shoulder gently. "My dear," he said, his own voice matching the sadness in hers. "The war has already begun."

...

Servion rocked from side to side, perched on his horse, his guards flanking him on either side, as he watched the Holy's cloud form in the air ahead of him. He gripped the reins tightly, partly out of fear, partly to keep his ride from becoming too panicked. In the distance he saw their destination: the blackened remains of some sort of settlement. Some parts of it still glowed orange, highlighting the area in the darkness.

"Have you arrived yet?"

The Chief swallowed, desperately wishing that he had some music to calm his nerves. Instead, his fingers grasped the two artefacts swinging from his neck: the Triforce of Power and the Triforce of Courage. "Almost," he gasped. "What am I looking for there?"

"Your agent is there," the Holy said. "One of your assassins."

Briefly, the Chief's mind wandered until the correct knowledge flitted into his head. Kisho's squad, it had to be. "Only one?"

"The others are dead," the Holy replied, "killed by the Demon."

Righteous anger flowed through Servion's veins. Now he was eager to wipe the stain of evil from the world. "You saw this through the girl?" he growled.

"No." Amusement laced the Holy's voice. "I have other ways of obtaining information."

Another puzzle. Servion dismissed it from his mind. Obviously the Holy possessed near limitless power. A frown came to him quickly, and the shape of the Triforce of Power felt heavy in his hand. If that was the case, he thought, why was he trapped in girl's soul?

He was jolted from his musings by the Holy's hissing voice. "You still haven't found the Triforce of Wisdom."

At a loss for words, the Chief could merely shrug weakly, though the fact that she'd eluded him taunted him no end. "Soon," he muttered.

"I hope so, for your sake." Some sort of hint, something Servion couldn't quite catch, slipped into the Holy's voice. "If you wish to see your city intact, that is."

The Chief sat bolt upright in his saddle, startling his horse and drawing curious glances from his guards. "What do you mean?"

The Holy gave no reply, save for a chuckle, before the cloud closed on itself and vanished. Servion slumped in his saddle, his heart trembling from the Holy's words. Had he done something to anger the spirit? Surely the Holy must know that he was trying his best to find the Princess? Confusion made his forehead crease, and he almost didn't notice that they'd arrived at the former settlement, the stench of charred wood and burnt skin breaking him out of his reverie.

Kisho sat, crosslegged, in the centre of the quiet carnage, his eyes following the Chief carefully. Servion had sent a messenger bird ahead a few days earlier, commanding the assassin to stay put.

"What are you doing here?" the Commander spat.

Servion waited for a heartbeat. If he replied too quickly he would be showing that the assassin could command him and the Chief didn't want that. He wanted to flex only his own authority, to show everyone who was in charge now. "I'm the King's representative," he replied. "I've come to aid you find the boy."

"I see," the assassin said carefully. "And what if I were to tell you I don't need your help?"

Servion shrugged. "It wouldn't matter," he said. "The King wishes it."

"What proof do you have?" Kisho's eyes glanced to the two guards. "And why would the King send three Hylians?"

The Chief almost winced, but steadied himself in time. He pulled on the reins, and his horse took a few steps forward. "You forget. Link is not loved amongst our people. Hence the King thought it would be wiser to send us – men who are burning for revenge. Is that proof enough?" He fidgeted in his saddle, hoping the words would have effect. "I bring you aid."

"I don't need it," Kisho replied dismissively. "And I still don't see why a Hylian would want to track down a fellow Hylian."

"Considering that Link has killed both your teammates," the Chief replied. "I would say that you're in dire need of my help."

The assassin's eyes narrowed, but his posture remained unmoved. "How did you know that?" he said. "About Link and my squad, that is."

A smile spread across Servion's face, and he quietly gave thanks to the Holy. Clearly the gift of that information was a reward for his devotion. "I know a lot," he said as cryptically as possible, hoping that the assassin would be unnerved. "Which is one reason why you should let me help you."

"I can find him myself," Kisho replied. "My Glimmer Bird can track his. I know where he is exactly at this moment."

The Chief cocked his head to one side, grinning. "But do you know where he is going?" he said. "Because I do."

"How could you possibly know that?"

"How did I know that your team lay dead at Link's hands?"

Servion sat back, satisfied, as the assassin lapsed into silence. A slight breeze blew, whipping up a cloud of ash that skipped across the ground, then brushed through the branches of the trees standing nearby. Animals of the night whispered and howled. Feeling the thrill of victory in his heart, the Chief waited for the assassin to admit defeat.

Another gust of wind blew, bringing with it a flash of movement. No, Servion realised with a jolt, not the wind. He blinked. Kisho was gone. He sat up straight, noting the shocked expressions on his guards' faces, and glanced furtively left and right, searching.

Nothing.

The air left his lungs as something slammed into his back, then he gasped as an arm coiled around his neck. His horse reared, neighing in fear. Panicked shouts rang out from his guards as they struggled to free their weapons and guide their rides aright. Servion saw the night sky become red, his eyes screaming with pain, his throat and chest tight. Desperately his hand reached for his sword, brushed against the cold hilt once or twice, then clutched at nothing but icy air.

Hot breath materialised by his ear. "So you see," Kisho whispered. "I don't need your help at all." Servion snarled at the smugness in the assassin's voice, but was instantly cut off as the man jerked his head upwards. "You're nothing but a liability." The contempt was clear. "Call your men off."

Servion waved frantically and, out of the corner of his flickering vision, he saw the two confused guards back off slightly, though they kept their weapons ready.

Kisho spoke again. "The only use you have is your supposed knowledge that you have regarding Link's destination."

The Chief forced his mouth open, the pain ringing in his jaws. "The King commanded me to help you," he gasped.

"Maybe he did, maybe he didn't," the assassin said calmly. "Know this, though. If we are to work together, then Link isn't to be harmed unless I say so." He tightened his grip. "Understand?"

Humiliation and rage churned in the Chief's soul, but he knew that at the moment the heathen had the advantage. That would change. It would have to. The righteous could never be cowed like this. He nodded as vigorously as he could considering his circumstances, and choked the words out. "I understand."

Servion felt Kisho relax, and he wheezed, taking in huge gasps of breath. Black spots danced in his vision and his head pounded with blood.

"Good," the assassin said, a grin apparent from the tone of his voice. "I'm glad that's settled, then."

...

Darkness.

A flash, first silver, then crimson, cuts through the gloom. Then her face appears, bloodstained and grinning wildly, slipping out from the oppressive blackness as though it were nothing more than a curtain. In her crimson coated hand hangs the King's severed head.

The Princess awoke with a start, her eyes focusing on the window set in one wall, revealing the bubbling green liquid outside that threw skittering patterns onto the floor. She blinked as full consciousness returned to her, and continued to gaze at water image was soothing. She clutched her blanket for a moment, breathing deeply as she buried her head into the soft fabric.

"Your sleep is disturbed."

Looking up, she saw the Zora guardswoman that sat in one corner, liquid eyes gazing thoughtfully. At first the Princess had resented the creature's presence, protesting indignantly to the rulers of the Domain. They had brushed aside her complaints without a moment's reflection, something that still irked her to this day. A thought touched her mind – how long had they been here anyway? She barely saw the others, except for perhaps Sahasrahla at the daily meetings with the Zora Queen. They discussed many things in the gatherings – the state of the people, the trade routes – everything except what the Princess considered essential, which was, of course, the exact scheme they had to help her regain her Throne. Everyday her hosts put off discussing their plans in full, their serene voices speaking cryptic words to which she could find no reply.

"It's nothing," the Princess replied, swinging her legs out from the bed. She stood, resisting the urge to stretch or yawn, the many summers of learned royal etiquette holding her back. She waited, sighing. If this had been the safehouse, attendants would have rushed to her side by now, helping her dress and asking her what she wanted to eat. Nothing of that sort happened here. Another indication that these creatures were far from being civilised.

A knock came at the door, rapid and urgent, and, with the briefest of shared glances, the Zora guardswoman stood to open it.

Standing in the passageway was the Duchess Ruto, the Zora woman who had brought the Princess and her friends to the Domain. "I bring news," she said quickly, not bothering to indulge in any pleasantries. "It is time for you to prepare for what is to come."

Hope skipped in the Princess' heart, mixed with the feeling of relief. At last. At last she'll learn what all this was about. Bowing her head minutely she said, "Come in."

Ruto glided into the room gracefully, threw the guard a meaningful look, then stopped as the other Zora left, hastily closing the door behind her. Glancing around the room, she said, "I trust everything is to your liking?"

The Princess stood up straight. She didn't have time for small talk. "Tell me," she said, knowing it was a breach of good manners to press on her hostess like this, but not caring all the same. "Tell me what you're people have planned."

Ruto looked at her for a heartbeat, her face expressionless. "The Zora live under the water and care little for the affairs of the land," she said. "Unless, that is, those entrusted with the safe keeping of the world have failed in their covenant." She paused, taking a step forward. "In which case it falls to us that cleanse the land of evil and to install ourselves as guardians."

It was what the Princess had wanted - straightforward and to the point. Still, the cold bluntness of the Zora's words made her heart tremble with dread. "Have we fallen so far?"

The Zora laughed, a short, shrill noise, then stepped up to one of the tables lining the walls and picked up a jewel-encrusted goblet. Looking at it pensively, she said, "You've threatened – all of you – the balance that keeps the world in check. Your selfish desires and your petty feuds have torn the land apart." She set the glass down and turned to face the Princess. "For the sake of the animals, the trees and all the other living things in creation, you must be stopped."

The Princess's mind raced, but she fought to keep her face still. "How will you do this?"

"We have raised an army," Ruto said slowly. Her voice was carefully modulated, betraying no emotion. "We strike at the capital city soon."

"Invasion?" It was a struggle now for her to keep the fear from her face. Blood thudded in her ears and she felt suddenly faint. Misery coated her words. "Will you kill us all?"

Another laugh, and the Princess felt the flare of anger in her heart. Ruto cocked her head to one side. "We won't become like you," she said. "No. We won't kill you. But we need to keep you in check and we know from experience that your kind will not accept us because we're so…different." A pause, as though she wanted the words to sink in. "So we need someone to speak on our behalf."

"What do you mean?" she asked. "And why have you brought me here?"

A slight hiss flew from the Zora's lips. "Are you really so dense?" The Princess grit her teeth, though she felt her face clench with indignation. "We will bring the city under our control and then we will install you as our representative. You will, in effect, be the ruler that you always wished you were. You can keep your title as well, if you wish. But," and here her voice dropped as she took a step closer, "But you will rule only by our guidelines and our philosophy."

"No," the Princess said instantly, turning away and walking towards the window. "I will have my land back on my own terms only."

"You really have no choice." The Zora's tone was hard, brittle. "I am offering you our entire army at your disposal. You have no other means by which to capture the city."

"I'll find a way."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ruto growled. "All that time you spent planning how to reclaim your throne – did you even once pause to wonder how you would run the country?"

The Princess had to admit that she had not – not that she'd actually say that in front of the Zora. It was, she knew, a tactical failing, and her much vaunted wisdom should have had the foresight to plan ahead. Closing her eyes, the Princess let hands rest on the cold windowsill. It was a tempting prospect, but a deflating one, too. The Zora army would never be truly loyal to her. And she wanted total control, needed it like she needed food and water. Not only that, but it filled her with disgust that she would even had to rely on these creatures. They were right – neither the Hylians nor the Calatians would accept them, especially as they had appointed themselves judges over the world. Ideas flew through her head, different schemes and plots, and she studied each one quickly, before rejecting them and moving on. The Princess could feel Ruto's eyes upon her, lingering patiently. Let her wait.

Still. Her people would live and that meant she would have some semblance of a loyal population. So – the Zoras would install her as soveriegn. That would be one aim achieved. Then, they would create an infrastructure that would assist her in governing Greater Calatia. That would be a plus – and it would be child's play for her to establish the brighter Hylians in a position where they could learn from the creatures. After that, she could bide her time, slowly implementing whatever madness the Zoras wanted until she deemed it the correct time for the Hylians to strike back and wipe both the sea creatures and the Calatians from the world. All she needed was patience. A smile broke across her face.

Slowly, the Princess turned back to Ruto. "You're right," she said. "I am ill-prepared to take the burden of leadership." She calmed her nerves, hoping nothing would show on her face. "I need you. I apologise once again for doubting you." She took in a deep breath, feeling the tingle of anticipation in her veins. "I accept your proposal. Let us begin the invasion of Greater Calatia."