Chapter Seven: The Oath of the Sheik'ah

It had been a long summer.

Not that he had seen any of it. The sun did not penetrate this far down into the prison.

Sheik lay on the small pile of straw they dumped here once a week. He had kept track of the time by counting how many times it had been replaced.

Ten yesterday. Or eleven? He rotated his wrists, working the stiffness out of his hands and arms. Then his shoulders, his torso. His legs were cramped from the constant chill.

Maybe pointless, but he would keep his flexibility for if he was freed. Link had the advantage in that, twenty years younger.

It was never long before his thoughts fell to wondering about the boy and his queen. Did they escape the palace? He felt sure someone would come to gloat if she was dead. But there had been nothing, just hay and the meager prison portions, the change of the guard and the piss bucket.

Speaking of which.

Steps came down the corridor. The new guard hailed the old, who groaned and gave his report.

"Nothing."

"Even…?"

"No."

Should he cackle ominously from the darkness? That wasn't really his style.

Their voices dropped to whispers.

"Have you heard? About the Ordonians?"

"Yes, from Vun. Wild, huh?"

"Do they know where the queen is, you think?"

"As far as I'm concerned, she's dead. I don't ask for trouble."

The newcomer scraped back a stool. "My cousin is the executioner. That wasn't the queen under the hood."

The second yawned as he replied. "I don't care as long as I get paid. Have a good night."

"You, too."

Sheik sat cross-legged in the darkness. If they had resorted to such theater, she must have escaped.

If she was with Link, she was safe. It was only a matter of time before the boy led an army victorious to reclaim her throne. He'd make a good consort for her. Restive, but one couldn't expect the Hero to be anything else.

He waited until the guard was dozing to do his exercises. The walls were slick with dampmoss, but the cracks between the stones have him purchase. His gymnastics were soundless, bare feet on smooth stone slabs.

When his body was tired, he settled in to wait for dawn. Maybe they would bring more gossip.

Another week and he started making plans to escape. There was no variation in the routine. The castle appeared to continue to run smoothly despite its monarch being supposedly executed.

It was time to destabilize things a bit.

When his daily meal came, he coughed horribly.

The guard slid the bowl in at him. "Shut it!"

The next day, Sheik crawled weakly to the door. He grasped at the guard's legs and was soundly kicked.

"Get off me!"

The third, he lay limp by the door.

"Oh, just what I need," the guard grumbled. He prodded Sheik's body with his boot. "Hey, get up." He sighed and slammed the door.

Carefully arranging himself in the same manner the next day, the guard opened the door to see him again.

"Hey, Dastin!"

"What?" called a distant voice.

"I think this one's dead! He's been laying here two days now."

"Pitch'm, then."

The man not named Dastin made a disgusted noise. "I did the last one!" he protested.

"Do it and stop whining!"

Sheik was hefted by his armpits. His heels dragged. He was dropped unceremoniously on the ground and a barrow fetched. He lay still, barely breathing, which was not hard to do given the stench of the place.

Not-Dastin bent to lift him to the transport. He gave one shivering gasp and fell, knocked unconscious.

Jumping up, Sheik stripped the man quickly and traded clothes. He was a bit taller but could slouch. He stuffed the unfortunate guard into the wheelbarrow. His limbs hung convincingly limp. He'd considered killing him outright, but the man had done him no personal wrong. Just doing his job.

Dastin didn't glance up from his book.

"Don't stop for a smoke, yeah?"

Sheik managed a fair imitation of Not-Dastin's voice. "Why not? Need one after this."

"You're an old woman, Farl."

Sheik lumbered by, carrying Not-Dastin-but-Farl out into the main prison complex. The long ramp up broke sweat on his forehead. No matter how diligent, calisthenics in a cell were no match for arms practice.

It was afternoon, overcast thankfully. He squinted against the light. Most guards ignored him and his burden. A few challenged him.

"Dastin told me to," Sheik grumbled.

They waved him on.

The prison infirmary was busy. It always was, with laborers hobbling dramatically and those serving lighter sentences demanding to be seen for their liverish complaints.

The harassed medic jerked a thumb toward the back. Sheik left the man in a storage room. Someone would have a nasty surprise when the guard finally woke.

He kept his uniform and made for the gate.

"What do you think you're doing?" the guards there demanded. "Shift's not over for four hours!"

Sheik held his stomach. "Sick," he explained shortly. "Told Dastin and the warden. Need to-" He retched and they jumped back.

"Alright, alright."

Sheik walked into the evening unmolested. And they had been surprised when Link had escaped after only three weeks. Of course, they hadn't known it was the Champion of Ordon they held.

How they could miss it, he wasn't sure. The boy's whole being radiated power. If nothing else, the dangerous glint in his eye should have warned them it was no ordinary prisoner. If Sheik had known he had been captured, he would have been locked in the deepest part of the prison, completely isolated. It would have been the only way to keep him contained.

But then, he would not have slain the Hinox of Wuilto Forrest, not drawn the attention of the queen. Not planted the idea to ask Ordon for help.

And she would not have met him and fallen in love with him.

He hadn't been thrilled with it, originally. He foresaw many arguments and broken crockery. And when Link grew resentful of the constraints placed on him, who knows what he would do? Hopefully, not turn to other women to allay the boredom. He liked the boy; killing him would be disappointing.

The air was sweet and clean. He found a public bathhouse and snuck in through the vents up by the roof. He soaked until he was refreshed and made a quick pass through the dressing rooms and came away with a pocketful of coins and a handy stiletto. He slipped it into the pocket of his freshly laundered guard uniform and strolled into the night.

It was a nondescript tavern, identical to dozens of others. Pacquin's was not quite slummy, serving day laborers and minor tradesmen. Honest enough, it seemed, though Sheik was sure the beer was watered. Link's trail led here and nowhere else.

It had taken a few days to trace Link's progress after he arrived that spring. The boy slipped like a ghost through the countryside. Goddess Touched; Sheik had recognized it the first time they met, years ago.

The Champion had been poking around Castle Town. His Hylian was good enough, but that drawl pegged him an outsider right off. Sheik's men had noticed his odd behavior and raised the alert.

He had followed the boy as he roamed the city. His path seemed aimless, until Sheik noticed a pattern. He always circled back to a gate and always kept a landmark to his right or left.

Mapping the city in his mind.

Now officially concerned, he kept track of which taverns he frequented. Many he hit only once, cleaning out the locals at dice or cards and slipping away before the hapless patrons realized something more than luck was in play.

Sheik had edged closer, the light midmorning traffic causing no issue in trailing him. The boy turned up a side street. Sheik had come around the corner to find the alley empty.

No crates to hide behind. No doorways to slip into. Just empty.

He went a few paces in, watching for the flutter of the boy's cloak, listening for a footfall. Nothing. The trail went to the middle of the street, then vanished.

He'd lost him until one of his men spotted him going out a gate on the opposite side of the city.

Magic was the only explanation. A discomforting one, but he hadn't known then the boy's true identity. That was a few years later, when the Hinox moved into the forest and started eating people.

"Haven't seen you around, friend," the inn-master's wife said as she handed him a mug of their watery ale. The dishonesty let them cheat the pint tax newly imposed at the beginning of summer.

"Just moved from the Fello Bridge warren."

She sniffed rudely. "You'll be a Regulars man, then?"

Sheik smiled as disarmingly as he could. "Nah, house divided," he admitted. "Why I'm here instead of home with the missus." The East Enders had thrashed the Fello Regulars that afternoon and the city was potent for brawls.

Madame Pacquin grinned. "Well, you're always welcome here on matchday, should things grow heated over supper."

"Many thanks."

Why this tavern? Had he enjoyed the food? Not likely, it wasn't anything special. Clearly not for the middle-aged mistress of the house. He wasn't a heavy drinker. He'd had only three glasses of wine at that dinner and spent the next day squinting. Sheik had kept careful track of his habits; a drunken Link would be an unparalleled disaster. The Chosen Hero with no inhibitions? Not that he appeared to have them anyway, galivanting around other people's countries, doing whatever he wished.

The recent change in power was a topic, of course. The official word was the queen was guilty of treason and had been executed. There were the usual conspiracy theories circulating. But the lumbering force that was the city absorbed the disquiet and moved forward. Men and animals needed to eat. Crops needed tending or there would be hunger this winter. The queen had enforced a contented peace few were willing to abandon.

He hung around the neighborhood, sleeping in attics and stopping by the tavern every few nights. When his face stopped attracting looks, he started mixing with the regulars.

"Is there a Master Pacquin?" he asked. "Or does the mistress just want to put off her admirers?" For she was a pretty woman. A little stout, but carrying her middle-age well.

Chuckles hid behind tankards. "Aye, there's a Master Pacquin."

Sheik made an appearance of taking that at face value. "Too bad. My missus would like to see the back of me."

Her storeroom provided little information at first glance. He squatted down and pressed his hand to the floor. His command was a bare whisper.

"Dhze'ba."

Pale light raced from his fingers, searching. A square outlined briefly, then faded. It was a trapdoor about a yard square. Large enough to move small barrels through.

He found the latch, a small bit of floor planking joined so smoothly as to be nearly invisible. The panel lifted silently. Impressed, and wondering why then they watered the ale, he went down the sturdy ladder.

The bottom was a small room mortared securely against the city's constant damp. There were crates, but they held travel provisions, not illicit goods. A few weapons wrapped in oilcloth. A stack of plain clothing in all sizes, male and female.

Another word of opening and a concealed door gleamed. This one swung on invisible hinges. This was much more than some part-time smuggling to cheat the magistrates. What had Link been doing?

For he had been down here. His touch radiated all around. The trail was too old to track even magically, but Sheik knew the boy's feel well. A tingle and snap of air, like lightening too close.

Sheik followed the tunnel. He could see in the blackness, another trick of his people's magic. The way angled slightly down and drifted to the south. The damp became more pronounced until his ankles sloshed through standing water.

The ladder was strong, made of leather wrapped metal. The trap here was harder to work. A heavy metal slab fastened with a wheel-lock. Recently greased but still resistant.

A two-man job, he figured. One inside to unlock and one out to help lift it free. He leveraged it with his shoulder, cursing his incarceration.

He came out onto a stonework ledge. The Irritara flowed by, smooth and fast. And above him the towering Goddess Bridge.

What had Link been smuggling into Castle Town? Who was Pacquin? And where was that blasted boy?

Steel met him back in the inn.

He came through the storeroom door like a shadow and drew up as a low voice commanded: "Hold!"

He did, hands up and open.

"You?" the man grunted. "Figures."

Sheik looked at the three of them. "I mean you no harm. I'm looking for someone."

"I'm sure the warden will be very interested."

"A man called Gotkasi."

Their stillness warned him to be very careful.

"What about him?"

"Have you seen him recently?"

"No."

"Has he contacted you?"

"No."

Sheik lowered his hands. "I need to find him."

"Why?"

"He has the queen."

That baffled them. "Impossible."

"He would never-" The man broke off.

Sheik relaxed a little. "He helped her escape. I was there. I am Sheik."

A long moment of silence and one of them lit a match. A lamp glowed, revealing three of Pacquin's regulars.

"Explain."

"Gotkasi learned of the plot to assassinate the queen. He took her that night. I was wounded." The slice to his abdomen was still tender; a curse of growing old. "I've been in the prison until a fortnight past. I need to find him."

Madame Pacquin came down the stairs with a business-like knife in one hand and her skirts bunched in the other. She surveyed the scene.

"What is going on?"

Sheik explained as succinctly as he could. Her dark eyes narrowed as she listened. Then she shook her head. "Always knew he'd find a scrape he couldn't charm his way out of."

In Sheik's experience, the Champion was more likely to bite than flirt, but then he wasn't a pretty woman. "What are you smuggling into the city?"

Madame Pacquin did not answer him. "Has anyone else been alerted?"

"No, ma'am."

"Then go home. I'll handle this."

The men were still mistrusting, but obedient. Sheik watched them go into the night, then turned to the mistress of the house. She was regarding him with narrow eyes. She picked up the lamp.

"Come with me."

At the top of the house was a peaked attic. Link's trail was present, mixed with many others. Madame Pacquin went to the wall connecting this house to the next in the row. A clever latch, hidden in a support beam and the door swung open.

The next attic also held his trail, but much fainter, eroded by time and the passage of people. In an attic?

"He hadn't been to the city in almost a year," Madame Pacquin said as they went down another set of stairs. "Longer than usual, but not concerning. And then he shows up out of the blue and pulls that stunt at the palace!"

She knocked a pattern on the door at the foot of the stairwell.

"And then hearing he was going to marry the queen, Hylia preserve her!"

Sheik cast her a quick look. "There was nothing decided."

She tossed her head. "My sister's girl works in service to Lord Bast. All the palace staff knew what was in the air."

Unfortunately, that was true. The Magistrates had been desperate to throw their daughters at him. They also had sons who needed to be disposed of to advantage. An outsider prince had been most unwelcome.

The door cracked. "Vimnala? What has-?"

"All is well." Madame Pacquin assured her. It was a standard rowhouse, with a front room and the scullery behind. A second set of stairs led to the sleeping quarters.

These were lined with bunks. The sleepy occupants rose as she entered. Women clutched children close, fear in their hollow eyes

"Are we discovered?"

"You are safe." Madame Pacquin said soothingly. "This man is a friend."

There were twenty of them, all crammed into the small rooms. Some singly, some in pairs. Women, children, men.

"I have always supported my king," Madame Pacquin said. "But his law is weak in the east. The magistrates are corrupt and deal with slavers from Tatola."

Sheik knew this and wished he could express Zelda's frustration and shame with it. When all those involved protected each other, denying any accusations? And how could the slaves come forward, with their families threatened with death?

"I met my husband in Rus. He had already been doing what he could to sabotage the slave ships roving the coast. I fled to the city when our town was attacked. By Hylian soldiers, at Rustam's command, though I am sure there is an 'official' reason for the raid. My husband stayed at sea, of course.

"He continued to free as many as he could. I would travel to Rus and bring them back with me, but I could only take two or three at a time without raising suspicion. Then, six, seven years ago? Gotkasi came to the city. How he discovered what we were doing, I don't know. I feared we had been compromised when he told me he knew everything. Swore to do anything to aid us."

Sheik was not surprised by this. "He was born a slave."

Madame Pacquin gripped his arm. "Link?"

Sheik nodded. "He escaped as child, possibly dumped when he was seriously injured."

"He never – he never told me!"

"He didn't speak of it. I think Ordona may have made him forget much of it."

"No wonder, then. He is such a kind boy, but when he was out there…" she shivered. "I will admit, Master Pacquin was concerned about him going too far, not knowing when to stop."

"I knew he had been causing problems for the magistrates for a while," Sheik confessed.

Problems like garroting corrupt officers as they slept, others taken from their homes, their bodies found days later in the woods, gruesomely mangled. Supposedly by wild animals. Sheik had good reason to be leery of a vengeful, unchecked Link. "I never told the queen. She would have had to intercede, officially demand his arrest. They, of course, could not complain. There would have been an investigation."

Madame Pacquin's eyes shone with fierce pride. "He's helped us move hundreds over the years. Gave us the money to set up the tunnel, a network to hide them as they moved to the city."

Money from Hyrule's own treasury, most likely. Sheik hoped he would marry the queen soon and put an end to his guerrilla antics. He almost felt sorry for the slavers; having the Hero of Legend lead an army to destroy you would be most unpleasant.

Sheik followed the inn-mistress back to her chambers. "I cannot aid you directly," he told her. She set her lamp on a table and sat.

"I know. So why did you come to us?"

"I am looking for the queen. Link has her. He came here often enough to leave a trail."

"Trail?"

Sheik spoke that which he swore to never tell anyone. "My people's magic led me here."

Madame Pacquin settled back in her chair, taking a second look at him. "You are Sheik, not just in name."

He nodded. "We serve the king and queen of Hyrule, as we have for centuries."

"A legend, they say. An honorary title, and no more in this day and age."

"We prefer that assumption."

She smiled. "How can I aid you, then?"

"Where would Link go? Did he have other places of refuge? His trail…his Goddess protects him well."

She shrugged. "We only saw him infrequently these days. He never spoke of his other business."

"Did you know he is the Champion of Ordona?"

"I guessed there was something more. Things he said, strange people he knew. And his power, it wasn't natural. Knew he had to be Goddess Touched. Then he has to audacity to march into the city and claim to be a prince!"

Sheik laughed with her, remembering well the astonishment of the palace guard who came to fetch him that day. "He is, of Ordon, at least."

She had the same opinion of the smaller nation as most of Hyrule. "No wonder he had such strange mannerisms. And his accent! Enough to choke a Goron. There are others of you in the city?"

"A few. I have not contacted them."

"Why?"

"I need to know the extent of the conspiracy before I go to my brothers." They may be compromised. Or complicit. He must know before he risked the queen in a such a way.

"I swear, I knew nothing of this until the word came she had been arrested."

"Did you believe them?"

Madame Pacquin hesitated. "No, but many did. Not all have been happy with her rule. She has been more aggressive than her father in many ways."

He knew that well enough. Many, many afternoons had been spent in hot debate with her tutors, demanding the reason for the continued slave trade, for one. Arguing for changes to the structure of the Magistrates Council, expanding the power of the royal family, reaching out to other nations, taking back territories lost in past generations.

She should have been born a man. Her rule would have come easier. And the whole business with Link would have been much less complicated.

"We have not seen him, since that day. He stayed for a single night."

Sheik sighed. "Then I must find a new trail." That meant getting into the palace.

Madame Pacquin offered him a bed. "I am assuming there is no missus waiting for you?"

Sheik grinned. "No, ma'am. Forgive my deceptions."

"If you can find our Link, all is forgiven."

He had less freedom than when he was the queen's personal guard. But he also attracted less attention. People spoke freely in front of him, disguised in a servant's uniform.

The king was still alive. Sheik slipped through the hidden tunnel, following Zelda and Link's clear trail. No one else had used it since.

The king was sitting by the window, his face slack with sleep. His attendant also snoozed on a divan. A whispered command and both their sleeps became deep and dreamless.

She had been here. Why? Her father would not have remembered her. She may be nostalgic at times but had to have known the risk of this detour.

Another word and a ghost of her moved through the room. Link stood by the door, his form restless and impatient. His intensity left strong memories.

She went to a jewel case and retrieved something. It shone white in her hands. Sheik whirled as Link's memory lurched forward, sharp, angry, desperate. It roiled, flaring with darkness. Instinctively he stepped between them, Link's presence here so strong Sheik felt he could touch him.

What had she found?

"Lost."

Sheik jerked face the king. He stared at Link's shade, eyes unfocused and weak.

"He is lost."

Sheik went to the man and knelt by his chair. "Your Majesty? Who is lost?"

The king's attention faded. His gaze moved aimlessly over the room. "He is lost."

"The Champion?"

Gibberish for a moment. Then, "When will he come?"

"Who, Your Majesty?"

"We waited. But he did not come. All is lost."

He wanted to ask more but he had been here too long already. Sheik touched the king's forehead. "I will find him. Sleep, Your Majesty."

Leaving the memories behind, Link still grasping at the light Zelda carried, Sheik continued after their path.

The stables were busy with the usual daily work. Their trail blurred and faded. Too many people moving across it. Should he try to follow it? He may be able to pick it up outside the city.

But then what? Zelda was without her soldiers. There had been no rumors of her, no talk of a gathering force of loyalists. He couldn't do much for her alone.

Sheik looked back to the palace. The spired reached for the clouds, the windows gleaming as the sun dipped to the horizon. Her tower sat empty still, no doubt ransacked for clues as to her whereabouts, her trinkets stolen for some lord's fly-by-night.

His family's oath rose up furious.

Time to teach them the error of crossing the Sheik.