It took no time for company to appear once Arn's imposter had been disposed of.
"If you're looking for Captain Arn, he's not here." He told the guards and the knights. They stood near his door before looking at one another before turning back to him. "You'll find the corpse of a Yiga clansman in the back."
One of the knights almost seemed to gain a queasy feeling. "A… a corpse?" He repeated back with disgust and fear in his eyes. The poor knight seemed to be regretting tagging along with the three others.
"Yes, a corpse. Immobile. Dead." Fredrick stated, bored. He eyed the three horses and looked back at the two guards and two knights. The knights had their hands on the pommels of their swords but one royal guard had a claymore on his back and the other on his hip.
He'd already grabbed some rope from the shed but he didn't think the stick of a rake was going to do much if he was going to the castle.
Sensing no more real danger, he smiled and watched as the birds and falling leaves slowed down to a near halt, the guards' steps pausing until they were almost stuck in mid-air, frozen like a painting.
Fredrick approached the royal guard whose mouth opened as though he was about to say something. It wasn't like he was going to hear anything, when everything was like this, he barely registered sound when it was so slow. It would likely take a whole minute just to get a full word out of the guard's mouth at this rate, so instead, Fredrick reached above the young boy's shoulder and pulled the claymore free and untied the sheath from its owner before slipping it onto himself.
He had far more use for the thing anyway.
Shoulda known I could never really retire. Dammit, Link, what kind of mess have you gotten yourself into now?
He sheathed the sword onto his back and approached the grey gelding, tied off to his neighbour's garden post.
As he approached to mount, he noticed something moving near the flowers—a hummingbird, suspended in mid-air yet its wings continued to beat. They were far from the usual blur of flaps he was used to, but at that moment, he could see each individual flap, two to three per second.
No time to loiter here.
He eyed the castle where one of its large bells was mid-toll. He could still catch the Yiga if they were still actively fleeing. He stepped close to the horse and slowly touched the grey coat before pulling his hand back and expanding the range of his time dilation.
The reaction was instantaneous; the horse reared onto its hind legs, a loud whiny rang out as Fredrick hurried to grab the reins and control the horse.
Nothing ever reacted well to being pulled into a separate time-space, and why would he ever get a good reaction to that? It was a shocking experience for animals and humans alike.
The horse seemed to calm at the sight of him–relaxed and unbothered. He had the reins tucked in his thumb, but he showed his hands open and free from weapons in an effort to calm the horse down.
Most of the royal horses had been trained in a similar way, and most reacted to the same deliberate motion.
It took almost a full minute before Fredrick could mount the gelding properly and by then, he'd noticed the hummingbird was halfway to another flower barely a metre away and the guards had taken almost a full extra step.
As much as he would have liked to have them completely halted, it wasn't in his abilities to do so.
"Back to the castle?" He made sure to emphasise the word 'castle'. With that word leaving his lips, the horse seemed to have a renewed interest in him despite the overall state of the environment around them.
He looked back once more at the guards. One seemed in the middle of realising the claymore was missing and one of the knights' arms was a quarterway up, pointed at the guard's back, hand still raising.
Oh well.
The ride through the city was entirely uneventful. It was quick, few true obstacles blocked his way, the problem was mostly dodging immobile crowds. He didn't want to hit an unsuspecting citizen and have them worried and wondering what horse-sized object had invisibly smashed into them by the time he'd been long gone from the area.
He passed the fountain in the town square and looked up at the emblem of the royal family, crafted in stone. It stood pristine in its typical white-grey colour as water flowed and reflected the light back. As he drew near, time slowed to a crawl for everything except him and the horse.
Then the bridge came into view. Everything was in lockdown. The number of guards were doubled, the gates were closed and he couldn't see anything, but he could smell it.
Blood. A lot of blood was wafting through the air.
He dismounted from the horse and pushed on the gate once before taking a step back. The gate was locked. There was no way anyone could get out unless they took to scaling the wall. Lockdown meant no one entered or left.
He looked up at the tall gate.
He could scale it or he could sit and wait.
Do I really want to climb that? Climbing the stones was shit enough, and falling into the moat meant almost certain-death for him.
Waiting sounds like a good idea. He walked around the gate, looking at the ground until he noticed the faint scribble in the stone.
He sighed and took a seat against the edge of the bridge. That was the edge of the wards. If the Yiga were still there, they'd need to step over that line if they wanted to vanish.
He deactivated his time dilation and took a breather, relaxing against the stone.
He heard the horse whine loudly. He didn't bother trying to soothe the horse, it'd be fine in a second.
While he waited, he formulated his plan: get in, find Arn and Link, then get out. Simple enough in theory, but difficult in practice.
Getting in and finding them would probably be the easiest part of that plan. He had no idea where their hideout was, and he was putting most of his eggs in that particular basket. Maybe they kept prisoners elsewhere. There was even a slim chance whoever had taken Arn and Link weren't even Yiga and the cowards had simply taken advantage of the situation, but he didn't put much stock in that theory.
All the Yiga scouts he'd ever encountered seemed to carry a dusty air to them, regardless of their personal scent and the strange underlying smell of bananas. He could bet his savings that he was going to be going somewhere incredibly dry, dusty and acrid-the desert or the Gerudo Highlands. Anywhere else would surprise him unless there was a remote area in the country that fit that description.
"Stop them!"
Fredrick looked up at the gate. He could hear the guards shouting and some metal clashing against metal.
He stood up from the ground and got the rope ready in his hands to throw.
Reactivating his time dilation, he slowed it down ever so slightly for himself. He'd have a flash of a moment and only that.
He waited, ready for that red glow in the air.
Then he saw it. It appeared, surrounded by smoke just before the barrier. A scout whose arm was covered in blood. His face uncovered and deathly pale.
That one. He watched him bounce off the ground, light on his feet.
Fredrick focused and readied the rope. The moment the scout had crossed the line, he began to glow once more, and he threw the rope.
He felt a strong, incredibly warm pull from his stomach and his vision darkened.
From a dark vision to the bright fire lit sandy ground, Fredrick made sure to keep a handle on his ability as he hit the gritty dirt with a thud. He retracted the rope before the other Yiga footman could even land on the ground.
An exit. I need an exit. He jumped to his feet and held the claymore tightly in his free hand. Everywhere he looked, it was a footman, an archer, or a blademaster, all frozen in the moment just before they'd see their comrade appear. Well, not frozen, but moving so minutely it barely mattered.
The desert. He was right. Too much sand to be anywhere else and it was far from humid to be some random cave.
Twenty-six footmen, he easily counted from his position, six archers and six blademasters.
The faster I get out of here, the better. He couldn't hold his time dilation forever—he'd give it ten more minutes on his end before it began to waver.
"Well well, someone's decided to breach my domain, I suppose it could only be you."
He could feel his grip on his abilities wavering as though he wasn't even using them. His surroundings were becoming more active, and noise began to fill the room. Creeping dread crawled up his spine. No, it can't be, Fredrick thought, clenching his jaw.
In a moment's notice, everyone would see him and there was nothing he could do to escape his fate. He would have to fight his way out or die trying and he didn't like his odds.
He tried to take a deep breath to calm his drumming heart, but he could only look up to the masked clansman sitting on one of the upper rafters. The man atop the ceiling was swinging his legs like an excited child, but there was no mistake, he was looking straight at him. Though he was inside the range of time-dilation, it didn't seem to affect him at all.
"To think you evaded death this whole time and went into hiding, how could you do that to me?" There was a fake sort of hurt in the man's voice.
He's one to talk–no don't answer back. It'll only provoke him, I need to leave. He could see some of the clansmen around him beginning to turn in his direction. Shit shit shit. He was supposed to be dead, the bastard!
"Did you do this to my poor little spy?" Fredrick heard a thud behind him, a pair of feet that landed in the sand. "No… You've more manners than to maul someone half to death."
His only focus was on the exit. Hopefully both Arn and Link were here and close by… It'd make getting out much easier.
This was no longer a calculated risk-it had turned into a suicide mission. There was no way he could fight him and so many other scouts at once.
"Since you want to leave so badly, allow me the honour of welcoming you properly, Shield of the Crown." He hadn't heard that moniker in forever, not in nearly twenty years. There was no doubt anymore, but Fredrick couldn't bring himself to admit it.
The exit was close. Only a few more seconds.
Ice filled his veins as he pushed harder for exit. The opposing will of magic pushed against him, hauling the flow of time back toward normal.
He's supposed to be dead. He can't still be alive. No, that's wrong, Sheikah live far beyond Hylian ages. Fredrick had never been told this man had died. He had never seen him die. It had been hope. Stupid, naive hope that had deluded him into underestimating the man again. A comforting lie he had told himself when the grief became too much to bear. It's completely reasonable for him to still be kicking.
Whistles blew, chains released and audible gasps and pops of smoke filled the air.
Son of a bitch.
The first blade scratched his cheek as it flew by, sticking into the wall.
He has my son.
Fear snapped and ignited into rage, kindled by three decades of bottled rage, grief and guilt. He'd lost too many people because of these traitors—because of him. He couldn't lose Link or Arn.
He turned. He was faced with every Yiga clansmen in the room, with more appearing out of thin air. He backed against the wall and pulled the claymore.
In his line of sight, he could see three archers aiming already, one blademaster leveling his sword and a few footmen getting small throwing knives ready.
The first arrow released marked the start of a flurry of projectiles.
He swung the claymore in an arc, spinning it between his hands to deflect many of the first projectiles.
While still incredibly fast, he could still see the arrows fly through the air. They weren't as fast as they should have been. He knew how fast those arrows should have been going, but he could track them through the air.
He's not cancelling it out. He's extending it.
It didn't stop the barrage of arrows and knives coming his way. Some snuck past the claymore's arcs, coming too close to his face and sticking into the wall.
He saw a sharp metal glint fly by, then a sharp pain shot through the tip of his ear.
He looked up at the ex-sheikah sitting on the beam. He wasn't even paying attention to the fighting. He had to be about 30—no, 40 feet away.
Sensing a moment of delay, Fredrick grabbed the knife lodged next to his head and threw it as hard as he could.
"You son of a whore!"
The handle smacked him in the head, causing his attention to waver elsewhere. There was a strange sort of satisfaction in watching the blade hit the guy's head, even if it wasn't the sharp end.
Everything slowed briefly around the room, allowing him time to breathe.
However, Fredrick did not take a breather. He knew it would only take a few seconds before the battle would resume again. He flung the claymore as hard as he could towards the slowed-down clansmen and grabbed two of the nearest sickles.
He went for the blademasters first, slicing at their necks while he could.
By the time he'd gotten the six blademasters taken care of and began his assault on the footmen, he could feel his grasp on time slowly slipping away.
If he couldn't kill them methodically, he'd get them faster then.
He used the extra momentum of his swings and tried to injure as many as he could while not wildly swinging haphazardly either. Every swing caught more than one person, sometimes two or three, but he didn't care. They were regaining motion and he needed as many dead as possible.
The archers, he could take care of with little problem. The footmen were the tricky ones, and they made up the force with sheer numbers rather than skill.
He felt one of the sickles shatter upon coming into contact with a demon carver.
"You haven't lost your touch! Colour me impressed!" He heard the ex-sheikah shout back.
Fredrick's other sickle missed his target and he narrowly avoided getting a carver to the face.
Still a coward. He couldn't help but think as he started taking steps back, curving away from the sudden swings his way. He discarded the sickles and picked up a long sword from a slain blademaster.
Fredrick swung the eightfold longsword, creating a long gust of wind by accident. It blew three footmen back quite a bit, flinging them into wooden boxes.
What the fuck? He turned the blade in his hand. This isn't an eightfold. He shrugged. He thought it was neat that the Yiga had designed a blade to create wind currents. It was a tad bit heavier than the typical eightfold, but it seemed to have a lower centre of gravity. Might take one of these back with me.
It was an arrow slicing through the air and landing right next to his nicked ear that brought him back to reality.
He hoped this thing was more durable than the sickles. Fredrick brought the blade up and around his head, swinging it in a vast circle around him. The wind flung the nearest scouts backwards, creating distance between him and the others. If he wasn't so close to dying, he would've found their expressions funny as the surprise hit them in slow motion.
He looked at the blade once more and smiled. He had found his new favourite sword.
He let the adrenaline flow freely, and he swung the blade with varying strengths and focus. He watched and studied the way the wind currents flew, and hit individuals. It did far more physical damage than a Sheikah eightfold longsword, but the added elemental magic was a nice touch.
"Well, I'll let you appreciate the little welcome, I have things to take care of."
Fredrick felt rage fill his veins. How dare that fucker cause so much havoc and just disappear?! He focused and swung the sword as hard as he could towards the ex-sheikah.
The blade's wind current only made it halfway up before dissipating, and the man vanished into thin air.
He grumbled and let out a heavy breath. It was only when he looked up that he realised everything had frozen to the moment that fucker had vanished.
While it confirmed his thought that his time dilation hadn't been negated, he was far from pleased to see two sickles inches from his head, mid air. The blades were coming down slowly and he stepped out of the way. He had four of the six archers aiming his way, two had released their arrows and had made it halfway to him.
I ought to take care of this before he chooses to come back… This time, he leisurely walked around the room, slicing at necks with an eerie calmness until the entire room reeked of blood.
I need to hide. He released his time dilation and watched the gates reopen before freezing it again. He picked up one of the fresh blades from the ground and approached the last living Yiga. With a quick, brutal movement, he snapped the scout's neck. As the body went limp, Fredrick slung the man over his shoulders. No blood trail for you to follow, you damn pigs.
He'd made it clear that escape had been his goal from the start. No doubt that traitor would soon have the rest of the clan out hunting for him outside. But he wasn't leaving until he found Link and Arn—or he died. Whichever came first.
In a secluded room of the hideout, Fredrick pulled out a small mirror and propped it up against the wall from the ground. He didn't have much time to do this, lest he wanted to deal with another lockdown situation on his hands. He was covered in small cuts and a few larger gashes. He'd patched those up and had then donned the ridiculous red costume that the Yiga wore. The corpse he'd stolen it from was crammed into the nearest toilet. If it started to rot before he could find Link and Arn, the smell could be explained away. The stealth suit was tight and smelled like old bananas and feet, but Fredrick knew he had to deal with it. There was only one more aspect to his disguise.
He opened the small book and placed it next to the mirror and dusted the sand away.
He'd taken a peek into their library and had found bountiful scrolls and books everywhere, all magic or other techniques and he couldn't help himself from grabbing one regarding transformations and disguises.
The instructions were clear, the magical symbols a bit different than the Sheikah ones he was more familiar with, but not all too different.
Step two, visualise and focus. Doesn't seem too hard. He had already taken notice earlier that most of the footmen and blademasters had black or white hair, so now he only needed to pick which he preferred to look at himself in.
Any way to hide himself from him.
The first thing that popped to his mind was disguising himself as the opposite gender. He'd be half his regular size, a completely different build, hair would be longer, he could even change his skin tone. No one would ever guess.
That's far too advanced, especially for me. He had to start small, Fredrick hadn't touched transformation magic in nearly 27 years and all he'd done was make his hair longer.
I should just change my hair and my face, blend in with the crowd. He forced himself to visualise a blue flame and imagined himself reaching and pulling from it. He wove the hand signs associated with the symbols written down one-by-one until he felt the small burst of magic.
When he opened his eyes and looked in the mirror, he fell back in surprise. "Fuck black hair." He muttered. His grey eyes were piercing back at him, and the black hair was only making it so much more noticeable. "White hair it is."
He closed his eyes and visualised the blue flame again, now visibly smaller and pulled from it again with greater force, ignoring the way his hands began to ache and tremble lightly through each weaving symbol.
His heart beat furiously in his chest and a thin layer of sweat coated his skin; Sheikah magic had never been a forte, by far he would have classified a small child more skilled than him.
White hair suited him more, by far. But the one problem was that now, every time he looked at his reflection, he felt anger surge in his veins because he was looking at the mirror image of his own shitty father who, unfortunately, was also still breathing.
It's fine, I don't need to look in the mirror… He could just avoid his own reflection like the plague, that was easy.
He continued reading the page for any further notes or tips.
Caution, avoid drastic disguises. May become semi-permanent and difficult to undo. See your instructor for assistance.
He sighed and closed the book. He supposed that was his fault, he just hoped a hair colour change wasn't deemed too drastic of a change… At least I didn't change myself into a woman. He couldn't imagine having to explain that to people… And he could at least dye his hair if it was stuck like this.
Everywhere he went, he felt as though he was being watched constantly.
Not by footmen, but the small statues. All of them, so many of them, had the inverted eye painted over them. There were few places they weren't facing to begin with.
He recognised the frogs from prominent places in Kakariko, often with a small offering bowl beneath them, but these ones had fabrics and pages slapped over the faces and the bowls absent. Were they used for spy purposes? Was there a secret behind why there were so many of them? He quickly noticed that no matter where one person stood, there was almost always a statue facing that general direction.
Their use had to be surveillance. It couldn't be anything else. White hair had been the right choice. At least a third of the remaining clan members had white hair. He blended in, and he was sure it was his saving grace.
The remaining Yiga thought that he had escaped into the desert. While sharpening his blades, Fredrick quietly asked the scout next to him if they should relocate the hideout.
"Nah," the woman replied, surveying her demon carver and then continuing to file the points to razor sharpness. "The higher-ups aren't worried about it. They say it's only a matter of time before we catch him. He managed to get past our guys in the canyon but we have patrols further out in the desert." She huffed a laugh. "Escapees think they're safe just 'cause they're on open sand. Losers."
Fredrick joined her in a laugh and kept on honing his borrowed blades.
The shit I get myself into for you two dumbasses.
The layout of most rooms seemed identical. Either weapons, bananas, or a strange mix of both. He wasn't sure what he was expecting with the bananas, but the Colossal Banana Mountain on a pedestal somehow did not surprise him.
There were a number of chests doting around the hideout in obvious locations but he didn't bother touching them. An odd and obvious placement yelled trap to him, regardless of what they held.
He'd also found the cells fairly quickly. Arn's voice carried through the halls, and Link's was fairly quiet, but he'd heard them.
He had to give it to the Yiga. They'd been smart. They had tied Link's hands above his head with very little space to move.
But they hadn't been cautious enough. He wouldn't have let Arn sit free of restrictions if his goal was to keep him incarcerated. Arn was a sneaky bastard who enjoyed using underhanded methods.
Fredrick vividly remembered that First-Blood duel they'd had years ago where he had discovered Arn had been hiding a razor blade in his sleeve and had consequently won said-duel. He hadn't noticed until his palm was wet with his own blood that he'd been cut. Of course, that underhanded trick had been allowed because their personal rules had consisted of 'first blood, no restrictions'.
No one ever got far in their line of work using purely honourable tactics.
Arn and Link seemed to entertain one another with casual conversation, but there was an evident thinness to the two of them.
He easily attributed that to the singular black banana peel on the cell floor.
There was little that Fredrick could do to alert them of his presence though. He tried to use his time dilation sparingly in fear of being discovered once more, but he'd done it briefly enough that Arn had looked right at him and seemed to acknowledge it quietly. He'd come back.
But Link hadn't noticed it. Not a suspicion, not anything.
The exit to the desert was found quickly enough. Turning down the hallway had led him straight outside to the canyon.
The sky was turning dark already and he could feel the desert's night chill settling in.
Fantastic. He shivered and re-entered the hideout through the pathway he'd originally taken in the circular room.
He had to pass by the cells, it seemed. There were no other ways into the hideout and that seemed like a clear escape plan… apart from all the frog statues. If they were where he thought they were, it'd take hours before they reached the open desert, and that was only if.
But the strangest area he came upon was outside. A hidden door he stumbled upon, something that stuck out to him
It led to a large open space with a couple shelves lining the canyon walls, windows and countless frog statues again. He spotted a path that led into the snowy peaks beyond the hideout, but the thing that stuck out the most was what looked like a bottomless hole.
Wouldn't want to fall down that… he kicked a rock into it and listened as it hit wall after wall, but he never heard it land. The smell was deeply unpleasant, like corpses laid out to rot in the hot sun.
Maybe that's what the rock hit… He didn't think a rock would make an audible sound if it hit a mound of rotting corpses.
That was obviously not the way out.
So the options are freezing to death or boiling in the heat and hallucinations from dehydration. Fredrick would have picked boiling and dehydration over freezing any day of the year. Just the sight of snow made him depressed. He hated the numbness and the near-constant shivering in the cold. He also liked having all his fingers, toes and…other extremities intact and undamaged from frostbite.
At the very least, the hallucinations of dehydration in the desert would keep him entertained and just a tad bit hopeful before dying. There was no hope when one found themselves lost in a blizzard, unable to feel their extremities and unable to walk.
But he could see why the desert was the poorest choice. The Highlands didn't stretch forever. There were many ways to avoid its snowier peaks but there was little chance of leaving the desert once you found yourself lost in its endless dunes, especially with molduga.
He made his way over to the first steps into the Highlands, feeling the chill of the wind passing through. He'd yet to even step foot out of the deep pit before getting wracked with shivers. Then, one step, two steps, and there was already snow.
Fredrick shivered at the thought of the snowy mountains. He hated the cold with a deep burning passion.
The tight uniform did nothing to shield him from the elements. The wind immediately howled and nipped at his ears, despite them being covered.
The Highlands went north straight into the Ridgelands and Southern Hyrule. From there, a few days walk or less than a day's ride by horse to the castle, but say they took the desert… It was unpredictable. Sand storms could direct them elsewhere until they lost sight of their destination in an instant. Luck did not seem to be on their side.
"Oy! What're you doing up there?" He froze at the voice of a Yiga footman sitting casually on one of the shelves. "Fancy a walk in the snow, do you?" The footman laughed.
"Couldn't the infiltrator have gone this way?" Fredrick asked, gesturing at the open pass.
The scout looked at him and snorted. "New eh?"
Fredrick shoved down the fear and nodded. "Joined last month. First escapee."
"Congrats, man, welcome," the scout said cheerfully.
"Thanks," Fredrick managed to say. "It's been a hell of a first month."
"Ha! I bet," the clansman replied.
"So, uh, what's up there?" Fredrick asked, gesturing at the snowy pass. "Lynels or something?"
"Eh, like one or two in the highest areas," the man replied with a shrug. "But the real monster is the cold."
"Yeah?"
The scout snorted. "Brutal. You don't seem like the type to enjoy snow." The man looked him up and down, then shook his head.
"It's always warm and sunny in Akkala." Fredrick lied.
"Oh what I wouldn't give to go enjoy the West Akkalan hills…" the scout sighed. "We don't even chase escapees when they go that way—it's just not worth it." The clansman said nonchalantly. "Look at that blizzard. It's always whipping and howling out there.."
There was a powerful blizzard whipping atop the Gerudo Highlands, but it remained out of the hideout. Just beyond that escape point, he could see the snow.
"Let me guess, find them a week later-"
"-huddled around the saddest excuse for a campfire." The clansmen finished for him. He sighed and stood up and stretched. "Sometimes it's just a limb, wolfos get 'em fast, lizalfos too."
"Has anyone successfully escaped?"
"Two guys before." The guy started walking off. "Later found out they grew up in the Hebra Mountains."
"How'd you know they even survived?" He countered. From every map he'd looked at, it would have been a five hour walk at the minimum, minus the snow. Freezing to death seemed the only likely outcome unless one came properly prepared.
"No corpses where we usually look, so we intercepted near Rutile Lake."
So it's suicide or a chase into the desert then suicide again... How lovely.