Bottom of Form

AN: First of all, thanks for coming back (if you were here when I left) and welcome (if you are reading this story for the first time).

There is a map up in my scraps silverwolf05./art/IH-MapZeldaverse-101677424that will be greatly helpful for figuring out where everything is in the world.

Legend of Zelda: The Immortal’s Heart

One

On the northern edges of Hyrule near the Goron border, the remnants of a small town lay quiet beneath the cool, silver starlight. It was not unlike any other Hyrulean town, yet this one was a mere ghost of what it had once been. Over a decade had passed since the clatter of feet had filled the streets or joyful voices had dwelled among the houses, the inhabitants having long since departed to the capital city or to one of the nearby towns where protection was stronger. Most of the rudimentary stone and mud buildings had crumbled down to the foundation and those that still stood were unstable or cracked and had gaping holes in the sides. The crude tree branch roof supports were easily visible for any house that still had one to reveal the inner rooms to the harsh outdoors.

It was therefore odd for there to be any sound beyond the haunting screech of a barn owl or the rustling of grass waving in the wind. But on this night, the rumble of heavy horses galloping across the Hyrulean grasslands rumbled through the village. As the timid creatures of the town fled out of sight, two dozen heavily armed knights stormed into the town boundaries, drawing up their sweaty mounts in the expanse of the town square. Shouting quickly to each other, they split up, proceeding to search the ruined village with fervor.

In one alleyway, a heavily armored knight looked warily around before urging his mount to move forward. Talking could be heard in the distance, and every so often the knight would call out to tell his companions that he too had not see anything suspicious. The blood-red hawk etched on his chest plate glimmered ominously in the pale moonlight, a symbol of his rank as a knight of Hyrule.

His horse snorted and shook its head impatiently. It was obviously uncomfortable in such cramped spaces and made no shortage of objections to its rider’s desires to delve deeper into the forsaken town’s alleys.

Suddenly the horse stopped, snorting loudly in warning at the unseen danger above them. But, the gentle patter of leather boots on the thatched rooftops was too faint for the knight to hear beneath his metal helmet. With hardly so much as a whisper, a dark shadow leapt behind the unsuspecting knight and yanked the armored head backwards. Sharp metal glinted in the moonlight and the knight gasped, reaching for the mortal wound gurgling at his throat. The cloaked assailant forcibly shoved the dying man to the ground and spurred the horse forward.

It took mere seconds for the horse and rider to flee the village, and even less time for other knights to realize that their prey had escaped. Sounding the chase with the blow of a horn, the remaining knights poured from the village and pursued the escapee.

Under the same starry sky only a few miles away, Cliffside Fort was finally winding down from yet another uneventful day. An unremarkably ordinary outpost, Cliffside stood guard over a portion of the Hyrule-Goron border. It produced little activity for the inhabitants of the outpost to act upon as the Gorons held little interest in the affairs of the “reckless Hyruleans”. They stayed deep in their underground mountain kingdoms, far away from the conflicts of the world. As they had told Hyrule’s King many decades ago, as long as everyone stayed out of their lands, they cared little what transgressed with the other races.

To be stationed there was a disappointment for many of the young warriors. Instead of watching the red mountain rocks be worn away by the wind, they had expected to be fighting vicious monsters or winning battles against ruthless savages in splendid acts of glory, warranting songs and tales to be woven about them like one of the brilliant tapestries found in the royal palace.

But for others who had seen the horrors of war first hand, it was a reprieve; here they could act out their last years of service in solitude with little more than a malfunctioning cannon as daily excitement.

Beacons of warm light glistened from the small windows, though for many the lights from the tavern shone brightest. Laugher of youths, tales from the haggard old veterans, and cat-calls from soldiers to the waitresses spilled out into the calm night air as youth and veteran alike told fantastical tales from their adventures or drank their hardships away with mugs of crude rum. The alcohol they drank took away only the bitter cold of the night. On the other hand, the stories they told lifted them from the dredges of hopeless darkness that had overcome many of Hyrule.

At one table near the center of the bustling tavern, a grizzled old soldier who was missing an eye and had skin so wrinkled it looked as though he had wandered through the Gerudo Desert for years leaned forward intently to the young men sitting around him. A glimmer of excitement twinkled in his one brown eye as he stared at his listeners, though most of them seemed to be doing so politely or with no enthusiasm at all.

“Thousands of years ago,” the soldier began in an experienced tone that revealed it was not the first time he had told the tale, “not long after the goddesses created this world, a powerful sorcerer named Rahmus tried to take the power of this world from the goddesses. But he was easily defeated and the three goddesses banished him to a forsaken island to live out the rest of his days. Hundreds of years passed, and when the people of the world had nearly forgotten about the rebellion, Rahmus broke free from his prison. For in his seclusion he had created an item called an ‘Immortal’s Heart’, an object which allowed him to consume the energy of the earth. It was incomplete, but when it gathered enough energy from the earth, the Heart would give him the power to overthrow even the gods for good. Together with eight great servants called the Den’khaid, he consumed the nations and tribes of those who did not join forces with him. The people shook in fear, but only three warriors held the courage, wisdom, and strength to stand against this evil. They fought bravely, and by the grace of the goddesses, they succeeded in destroying the Immortal’s Heart.”

A few of the listeners sighed loudly, bored at hearing such a fantastic tale, but their lack of enthusiasm seemed to have no effect on the old soldier. Instead he continued weaving tale his with renewed fervor. “But the Den’khaid survived,” the man lowered his voice ominously with practiced precision, “and for centuries they tried to recreate the Immortal’s Heart in hopes of reviving their old master. But ever have the warriors of the goddesses stood to fight against them.”

“Are you getting into that story again?” one of the soldiers at a nearby table sniggered before the veteran could continue any further.

The storyteller closed his one good eye, tensing his jaw in frustration at the interruption. “Telling history isn’t a bad thing, Brom.”

“History?” Brom scoffed. “Ha! No one’s seen these ‘Den’khaid’ in over 400 years, if they ever existed at all. Show me proof that they’re real beyond your fairytales and maybe I’ll listen to you.”

The storyteller crossed his arms indignantly. “Just because you don’t believe it don’t make it not true.”

Brom laughed and shrugged hopelessly, but when the veteran turned back, he was disappointed to find that his audience had taken the momentary distraction to move away and begin their own conversations. The old veteran grumbled bitterly about the obstinate nature of youth, but went back to his drink in silence.

“Well I don’t mind listening to those tales,” a redheaded soldier who looked to be in his late teens at a nearby table said, turning back to the others in his group. “Some days I wish the Den’khaid really were real. I’d teach them a thing or two,” he declared proudly and waved around an imaginary sword, scowling fiercely as he did so.

His companions laughed heartily. “Ha! You a hero, Terran? I think you should work on growing a beard before you think of fighting monsters.”

Terran lowered his hand and slouched dejectedly in his chair. “Can’t help to wish.”

“Wishing for glory isn’t a bad thing,” the soldier next to Terran defended, brushing back a few strands of blond hair falling before his eyes, “so long as you don’t let it control your sense of judgment.”

“I’m just saying he’s a bit young to be playing hero, especially when most of us here can beat him in a fight,” the boy said defensively.

Link chuckled quietly. “The Hero of Time was only 12 when he began his journey and look what he accomplished. And you can’t tell me you’ve never imagined yourself as a great warrior.”

“Okay, sometimes,” the boy grumbled reluctantly. “But the King’s War with the Gerudo is practically over. We didn’t have the chance to be in the war like you. We’re stuck on guard duty on a border that never sees any action.”

“All the more reason to dream,” Link insisted. “The threat of the Gerudo attacking our southern borders might be over, but that doesn’t mean we’re any safer. There’s the Red Dragon Rebellion,”

“Scraps,” one of the boys said, and the others sniggered.

“Okay, Scraps. They’re known to have several hidden bases in the lands beyond the Death Mountain Range. They want to remove the King and have been getting stronger over the past few years. You’ll have to prepare for that.”

“Geesh, well they’re such an old threat,” one of the boys sighed. “We all know the story – seventeen years ago, Lord Horos and nearly half of the Hyrulean nobles tried to seize control of the throne and murdered the King and most of the royal family. Elithan, the King’s only surviving heir, got support from the Atreans and retook the throne. Now, all these years later, Horos’ faction is trying to remove the King again.”

“But they don’t do anything exciting,” another boy pouted. “They just assault caravans and nobles – they don’t care about little outposts stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

The first boy nodded and leaned his head heavily on his hand. “Nothing exciting happens here.”

No sooner had he spoken than the door to the tavern slammed open. A short man, only about five feet in height, strode in proudly into the well lit area followed closely by four burley men so large they could have been part Goron. He wore a light suit of armor similar to the rest of the soldiers, but his was more ornate and he had added a red cape to signify his superior status as Captain of Cliffside. Upon his entrance, the formerly pleasant mood chilled to awkward silence.

The boys at Link’s table groaned, but quietly so as not to be heard by Captain. “The great captain Thal Osborn,” one boy grumbled.

“Damn! Why can’t he leave us alone?”

“Sh. He’ll hear you,” one of the boys whispered. “Those thugs will beat you to a pulp.”

“Remember what they did to Laramie?”

The boys shuddered in unison. It had taken poor Laramie nearly a week to recover from the beating he had received for poking fun at Osborn’s pudgy, pig-like shape. And ever since then, he had been assigned to aiding the cook.

But at least it was only until someone else messed up and became Osborn’s scapegoat. While beatings from Osborn’s thugs (labeled as “injuries during training” in his reports to avoid any suspicion from superiors) could be severe, they were nothing compared to the punishments Osborn dreamed up. Life at the fort was excruciatingly boring at times, a fact Thal Osborn was well aware of. All that opposed him were assigned to menial tasks like kitchen aid, cleaning weapons, and the night watch that intensified the boredom a hundred times over.

“Listen up, swine,” Captain Osborn bellowed and held up a parchment between his thick, stubby fingers. “I have here a letter from the King.” He narrowed his eyes and looked around. “Who here will read it?” The tavern was silent under Osborn’s threatening glance, and he peered upon every man and woman present, looking for some sort of weakness to draw upon. Not everyone could read, and making a mistake reading the King’s proclamation would result in a punishment far worse than Laramie.

But before Osborn could pick a victim, the raspy sound of a wooden chair being scooted back echoed from the back of the room.

“I’ll do it, sir,” Link said and made his way up to the front.

Osborn frowned bitterly, but handed the boy the parchment.

“Rise for the reading of the King’s words,” Link said flatly. The unanimous sound of chairs scooting back resounded and the horde of off duty soldiers grumbled angrily at the disturbance to their relaxation.

Clearing his throat, Link began to read from the parchment.

“I, King Elithan, descendent of Zelda the Wise, chosen by the Goddesses to be the defender and ruler of Hyrule, send to the sons and daughters of Hyrule my sovereign greetings.”

“Hm. Chosen by the goddesses,” one of the soldiers scoffed. “More like convenient survivor. If his brother Dyamir had survived, he’d be king.”

“Not that he was any better,” a nearby barmaid spoke quietly. “Out of the two, I don’t know which I’d choose.”

The man nodded. “Elithan the puppet or Dyamir the manipulator. Hard choice.”

“Terrible to see a great man like the late King, rest his soul, have children who are so corrupt.”

The soldiers and barmaids in hearing range gave a unanimous amen to that.

“The Goddesses, who gave us life in the beginning, have seen fit to bless us once again. For twelve years our people have struggled against the treacherous Gerudo who have pushed relentlessly into our southern borders. But at last we have victory! The Gerudo have been cast back to their desert domains and have submitted to our supreme power.”

Link cleared his throat, and the people straightened upon recognizing that the letter was reaching its end.

“A time of peace is coming, sons and daughters of Hyrule. Signed, King Elithan.”

“Very good,” Captain Osborn scowled when Link handed back the letter, evidently upset that Link’s reading had not produced any mistakes to feed upon. “I had my doubts if you could read at all.”

“He can read better than any of us here!” Terran exclaimed loudly from the back, but before he could protest any more, Link shot him a look that said one thing: Drop it.

“Did the runt say anything?”Captain Osborn asked deviously.

“No sir,” Link said quickly.

Captain Osborn frowned, but then with a curt wave to his ruffians, stormed out of the tavern.

“Gods save the King!” he shouted as he left.

“Gods save the King,” the soldiers replied as enthusiastically as they could muster; which wasn’t very much at all. As soon as the door slammed shut, the soldiers and barmaids gave off an exasperated sigh and plopped back down to their seats.

“You know you don’t have to take the brunt every time,” the soldiers said once Link had made his way back to his seat. “He hates you now.”

“You and Terran are on midnight guard duty because he has a vendetta against you, right?” another boy asked.

Link shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. In a few years I’ll finish my service and go back to a normal life.” He gave Terran a quick jab. “You too, little hero.” Terran objected loudly at being called “little,” but Link just laughed heartily and ruffled his hair.

“You’re so lucky you get to end your service at same time. What are you guys going to do?” one of the boys asked.

Link shrugged. “Start a ranch. Don’t know much about it, but we’ll figure it out.”

“Hm. Well, first you have to survive Osborn.”

The boys laughed and Link leaned back into his seat. “Shouldn’t be too hard. And it’s like you said – nothing exciting happens here at Cliffside.”

“We’re gaining! Don’t let him get away!” The lead knight urged his horse faster towards the cloaked man until the thundering pound of the horses’ hooves echoed through the grass plains like an oncoming storm. The cloaked man urged his horse faster as well, but the animal was tired and unwilling to carry an unknown rider on its back. Within minutes of leaving the town, the knights were side by side with the man.

The first knight on the left pulled out his sword and swung down. But, the escapee was prepared for the attack. He whipped out a long knife at his side and deflected the blow deftly before slashing at the knight’s stomach and knocking him off the horse. The knight to the right jabbed while the man was distracted, but he dodged this as well. His hand reached into his cloak, emerging with a pistol. He shot at the knight’s face and the bullet tore past the man’s ornate metal faceplate. Blood spurted down the chinks of armor around the knight’s neck, and the hapless man gripped his hands to his armored face, shrieking as he tumbled backwards off his horse.

The knights pushed in closer, relentless despite their losses. A daring knight to the man’s right swerved close and swiped with his sword, cutting deeply into the unprepared escapee’s right thigh. The man cried out and jabbed quickly with his sword just behind the soldier’s chest plate. With little more than a stunned grunt, the knight slumped down and fell off the horse.

But while the escapee was distracted with the knight, another rushed forward and stabbed the horse in the neck, mortally wounding it. The horse shrieked and tumbled to the ground, throwing its rider several feet before coming to a rolling stop. He rose slowly, obviously wounded badly, though not all from the tumble. The remaining knights came to a stop around him, completely encircling him and cutting off all chances of escape.

The lead knight rode forward and proudly pointed his sword at the man. “Jaydon – you are hereby under arrest by the Hyrulean guard. Have you anything to say before you are executed?”

The man swayed back and forth unsteadily, still dizzy from the fall, but caught himself before falling to his knees. “I thought you said I was being arrested, not executed,” he mumbled in a deep, gravelly voice etched with pain between heavy breathing.

The knight’s dark chuckle sounded tinny behind the metal visor. “There weren’t orders as to whether you should be dead or alive when we arrested you,” he said. Still grinning in triumph, he raised his sword to finish Jaydon off.

But then he stopped – curiosity for the moment had drawn his attention to the strange convulsions suddenly overcoming Jaydon. He was growling, but the sound grew deeper and animalistic; his back contorted and the clothing seemed to melt into his body and then into thick black fur. Jaydon looked up – amber eyes had turned to black and the human teeth bared at the knights lengthened into fangs. The transformation occurred in less than two seconds – so quickly that the knight did not have time to finish his downward swipe before the creature leapt.

Special thanks to Davin Sunrider for agreeing to Beta read. I’m working on the final editing to the next chapter, so it should be up soon.