Heavy Is the Crown- Chapter Twenty

He'd never thought it would go as far as it did, but when Prince Renoit considered Bowser's background, he realized he should have given the mutant koopa an instruction or two about restraint. Mason had been reduced to a pile of scorched, torn and shredded meat, his shell cracked in half and tossed to one side of the workshop. Bowser stood panting over the remains, holding a vicious stab wound on his right side, just above his hip. The antidote Renoit gave him was already causing the poison to stream out of the injury.

"How do you feel," the Prince asked.

"Like shit," Bowser replied, making his way to the first aid cabinet. "That was awful, you know."

"You didn't seem to mind in the moment."

"In the moment is always different than the minutes after battle," Bowser said. He opened the cabinet, taking out a small blue box and setting it on the counter nearby. He pried it open, pulled out a small white packet, and tore it, sprinkling a coarse white powder on the wound. He grunted, face pinched as the medicine began knitting his flesh. "I never, gah, would have thought, I'd be the one to have to kill him."

"Did you know he was an agent?"

"Truthfully? No, though I had my suspicions," Bowser said, coming back toward Prince Renoit. "I always assumed he used to be a soldier."

"He had been. I saw potential in him, though, despite his years. I don't usually accept acolytes over thirty, but his style of fighting was lethally efficient, wasting very little motion. But time slowed him down, else I'm not entirely sure you would have survived."

"You took a risk you felt confident in," said Bowser, his hand covering the healing wound again as he lowered himself onto a stool. "I can't blame you for that." He looked over at the remains. "I suppose I could have refrained from killing him."

"I was just thinking that, but no," Renoit said. "He would have kept coming if he were allowed to recover." He went over to Bowser's desk, pulled out a steno pad, and jotted down a quick note, pressing his thumb in an open grease jar before rolling it on the paper. "An impromptu writ, explaining the body and authorizing you to dispose of it without question. I have some things to tend to in light of this."

"A new chief of staff?"

"Yes. I will also have to figure out who to name my new Second, which I will do when the issue of the Throne has been cleared up. Speak not a word of rebellion unless we receive news of it first, Bowser. Such a movement must be born from the people, not the royal family."

"Understood." Bowser flinched as the last bit of his wound closed. "But Prince, I'm not part of the royal family. As Mason pointed out, I am of the lowest caste of all. I am just a peasant."

"Like hell you are," Renoit replied with a gentle grin. "Bowser, my brother Nurik saw something in you, something special. He vouched for your mechanical genius, and I've seen you fight with the power and glory of a berserker. A man's worth is in his deeds, not his bloodline."

Renoit handed Bowser the writ and departed, leaving Bowser with the shimmer of tears in his eyes.

**

Edward Meechum stood on the gazebo stage, his soldiers and the townspeople of Barris ringing the structure in the middle of town. Hundreds of koopas, scores of goombas, and even a few dozen humans waited for him to speak. A purple shell koopa stood behind him, ready to cast a spell which would amplify his voice far better than any machine could.

Meechum turned to the mage, a local man, and asked, "Does this look like everyone?"

"As close as we're likely going to get, sir," the mage replied. "The school would not let out for this, but your message will be delivered, rest assured."

"So long as they are not coerced. No threats against those who do not wish to join our cause, understood?"

"Aye, sir. Shall we begin?" Meechum nodded, and soon the mage waved his hands over him, curling white-blue light around his throat. Meechum turned toward the crowd and raised his hands to quiet what little noise there was.

"My friends, I give you greetings," he began, his voice ringing out true. "I am Edward Meechum, formerly a major of the Impirial Army of Gora. You probably do not know of me, and that is fine. Our army has, for decades, followed the principles of warfare as written by the great sage and philosopher, Arnold Douard." There were ripples of approval from the gathering, short-lived and respectful. "Many of our nation's customs have come, in the last twenty years, from his philosophical writings. Most of you gathered here no doubt have incorporated his 'Code of a Life Well-Lived' into your daily lives." He paused once more, and his timing was perfect. Everyone here seemed well-versed in Douard, as most of the Empire was. "Then I must share with you now terrible news, the news that has made my company turn into a rebel force against the Throne."

And here, as he'd expected might happen, came the looks and cries of alarm, the crowd shying back from soldiers who had, wisely, laid their weapons aside before the crowd even gathered. "Hear me, I beg! My men are unarmed, and mean you no ill will! We have defected, for the Emperor has had the great Douard jailed for speaking out against our war with Mushroom Kingdom!" Stunned silence, wide eyes. That's got them listening, he thought. "The Throne has betrayed its citizens, people!"

"How can you know this is true," called out a green tribe man from near the front of the crowd. "Douard is known to go into hiding when meditating on his writings!" Meechum gnashed his teeth, for he could only offer what he'd heard second-hand from another second-hand source. Yet the fates seemed to be with him, for from the crowd came tromping a huge black shell koopa, a Hammer Brother Meechum had met before. He'd never thought to see this man again, especially given who he'd served for so many years.

The Hammer Brother thrust his way past the soldiers onto the gazebo stage, and flapped a hand at the mage. The magic he'd cast on Meechum now hummed around the Hammer Brother's throat, and he spun to face the man who'd questioned Meechum.

"I am Turiya, formerly Third of the Hammer Brothers," the black shell boomed. "And I too have defected my post. I did so because two months ago, the duty of checking on the Heavenly Palace's secret prisoners fell to me. On that day, when I went into the dungeons to see these men and women, I discovered there a man who should never have been so dishonored. I saw there Arnold Douard."

The quiet that fell once again lasted only moments before erupting into cries of outrage. The Douard Rebellion had begun in earnest.

**

Three days after Bowser had killed Mason in the workshop, he awoke to discover himself wanting more personal combat. He'd been just fine remaining removed from the war before, but felt the rage threatening to resurface and take control of him entirely. "I need an outlet," he grumbled to himself, sitting up in his new bed.

With Renoit spending his time with the Shadow's agents, convincing them all one-by-one to ignore the Throne for the time being, Bowser had nobody to talk to. Ardin hadn't come either, and he suspected the toadstool assassin had taken to hiding until all the dust of the war could settle. He didn't blame him, but it would have been a fine thing to have Ardin around to beat down.

So he nipped down to the castle's kitchen to fetch himself breakfast. He would figure out what to do with himself for the day. If he didn't, he might just have to pick a fight.

**

"This is insane," Godash spat, tossing the missive back at the Eighth Magistrate's official representative, a red tribe koopa wider than he was tall. "Rebellion? Is this why the attacks have not carried forward?"

"That, sire, and the traps Grand Magus Wunderweiss laid were, in part, found out and countered," said the portly official. "I've had two companies of the army defect in my territory. Another company, still loyal to the Emperor, is close by and ready to lead an arrest-by-combat."

"Very well." Godash turned toward the throne, where sat the simulacrum, looking suitably bored and life-like. "My lordship, I believe you should approve this notion." The Emperor nodded dutifully. "Very well. Now, Hoffer, tell me, why do these soldiers and citizens rebel against the Throne?"

"Because of the imprisonment of Arnold Douard, sir," said the official. "They call themselves the Douard Rebellion." Godash scoffed, sneering at Hoffer.

"Thank you for the information, Hoffer. Now, you may use the Warp Zone in the Palace Gardens to head back," Godash said, handing him a black metal token. "Give that to the Hammer Brothers guarding it, and they will let you pass." Hoffer escaped the throne room's hostile aura quickly, leaving Godash to fume by himself.

Douard, even jailed for sedition these people prefer you. But we'll see how their rebellion holds against the power of the Throne. We'll just see.

**

Prince Tangerine saw the dust flying in the distance, and soon an outrider in his company came up alongside his wagon. "My lord Prince, King Toadstool comes!"

"My father? What cause could bring him from the Palace?"

"I know not, but he rides with a company of men. It may be we be pressed to service again against the Empire." His outrider cleared his throat. "Shall I order halt?"

"Aye, do," said Tangerine, reining in his horses. Minutes later, he could see an entire regiment, flying his father's personal military flag, coming over the ridge. The sight of those flags gave him great joy. "Father," he breathed with a smile.

Prince Tangerine dismounted and strode to the front of his small company, awaiting the King's approach. As King Toadstool dismounted from his own personal steed, the Prince realized that his father wore a suit of functional combat armor, as opposed to the flashy, gaudy ceremonial suit he normally wore for outings. There were five heavy travel wagons at the rear of the king's company, the sort normally used for medical transport.

As the king reached the halfway point between companies, he waved his son on to meet with him. Tangerine jogged out, and knelt down before him. "Majesty," he said. "I trust you received my letter."

"And sent word among the fronts," King Toadstool replied. "The Gora Empire already trembles with the birthing pains of rebellion. It is well."

"Then the war is over," said Tangerine, standing upright. "For what do you ride out in kit, father? Surely there's no more fighting to be done?"

"There are still Empire troops in our Kingdom, causing trouble. When we come upon them, we will dispose of them, for with me are the finest soldiers we can field." The king surveyed Tangerine's escort company. "I mayhap should have sent more men to retrieve you, my son. So few could easily have been overwhelmed by koopa forces."

"Nay, father, these were enough. So, will we support the rebellion in Gora?"

"We will not," said the king quietly. He stepped close, draping one arm over his son's shoulders and giving him a companionable squeeze. "We will wait until their civil war has torn through their military forces, and then bring our war with them to a complete end."

"Father, what do you intend?"

"I intend to finally expand our Kingdom, my son. There will be no more Gora Empire when we are through. You will inherit a country twice the size I did," he said, laughing and clapping Tangerine on the back. "Isn't this wonderful?"

"Father, no," Tangerine said, stepping away from the king. "Douard is a wise man, and would make a fine ally as ruler of Gora. Ours has never been a nation of conquest."

"All things change, my son," King Toadstool rumbled, his rough, bearded face pinching in a snarl. "You will accept my decision."

"I will not," Tangerine rasped, hands shaking. "This is not who we are, father!"

"I feared you would not understand," said the king, walking away toward his troops. Tangerine looked at his father's men, most of whom had take up bows and throwing lances of koopa design. Now looking at them, he saw troops unloading fresh koopa corpses, a military detachment, from the heavy wagons. "The Kingdom will mourn your loss at the hands of the Empire."

Prince Tangerine could think of nothing to say, paralyzed by the terrified double realization of what was about to happen; this is politics, was the first, and this is where I got it from was second. The arrows struck, and a Prince perished.

**

Bowser tried not to flinch, but he'd never been comfortable with tailors. The red tribe man measuring his inner leg moved to the other side, fingers brushing his ankle, and the big koopa giggled and grunted. "Undignified," he muttered.

"It's a necessary step," said Renoit, sitting off to one side of the tailor's measuring room. "Have you decided on a primary weapon?"

"Yes," said Bowser. "Battle axes, one-handed. Hey, are you measuring me, or is this a date," he snapped at the tailor, who shied away momentarily.

"Your shell and hide are impressively thick, Bowser, but both can be broken, cut, breached. You're not an assassin, were never built for speed and slight movements."

"I'm fast enough for most."

"Yes, but if you square off against six or seven veteran soldiers, your moderate speed won't save you. Armor, and your offensive prowess are your graces. Those and your machines." Renoit opened the newest copy of the Empire Times sitting on the guest table, and unfolded the front page. Bowser held his right arm out for the tailor, who measured and scribbled his numbers.

"Are you sending anyone with me," Bowser asked.

"Jaime, since he was the only one willing to volunteer. I can't force the agents to participate. The others have determined to hunker down and assist in their local posts if need arises." He fell quiet, reading an article. Bowser peeked over, saw Renoit's eyes narrow as he flipped inside the paper to continue his story. He waited until Renoit set the paper aside to inquire.

"Trouble?"

"General Faedron is dead," Renoit said gravely. "He tried to convince his battalion to join the rebellion, and they lynched him."

"That does not bode well," Bowser replied. "How close to the front?"

"Morrisville, about a hundred and fifty miles from Meechum. That's the 4th Battalion, Wolf Division. The 4th essentially commands the entire Division's loyalties, so we can expect they're all going to be pro-Throne."

"And Meechum's company?"

"7th company of the 3rd Battalion, Bear Division," Renoit said. "He's gathered the 4th, 5th and 6th as well, so the 3rd Battalion may well belong entirely to he rebellion. As for Turtle Division, they'll like as not be entirely rebel forces by now. Every Battalion commander there was a first-hand student of Douard."

"And the last Division, Eagle?"

"Unknown," Renoit said quietly, lost in thought, eyes looking through empty space. "They've remained in the west and south, almost entirely removed from the war since the first months. They're a wild card." Renoit stood up as the tailor scurried off to his work room through a thick blue curtain. "I'm going to go prepare a letter for Mayor Stodgings of Feldin. He'll be able to give me an idea about Eagle Division."

Bowser thanked Renoit for the company, then headed to the library. The Emperor, or rather Godash, had taken up Spicer's tactics before the rebellion began its birthing process. He had some reading to do.

**

The use of a Warp Whistle had brought King Toadstool back to his castle shortly after his son and is escort company had been taken care of, giving him that extra of cover he might need if anyone looked too close at how things had transpired.

Removing his combat armor, which had come in handy when fighting the Empire soldiers his personal attachment had encountered on the border, he sighed wearily. He hadn't taken any joy in killing Tangerine, but he had to do it, for the good of his Kingdom. The boy just didn't seem to understand.

Of course, this left Peach as the heir apparent to his throne, which could be even worse if something should ever befall him. The king shuddered, then changed into more regal attire. Once interred in his private study, he went to a box sitting on the mantle over the fireplace, opened it, revealing a single Coin, and said, "Gannondorf." The king then sauntered over to his liquor shelf, poured himself and his guest a glass of brandy, and took up residence in an enormous red wingback chair.

"Hello again, Mushroom King," said the warlock as he materialized in the other chair before the fireplace. Toadstool offered him the second glass, which Gannon took with a nod of thanks.

"I have killed my only son," the king said evenly. "Did you foresee this when you looked into my future, all those years ago?"

"I did not," said the warlock, propping one foot up on the opposite knee, his manner entirely casual. "Though, it doesn't really surprise me, considering what you did in your rush to take the throne."

"My father was a fool," snarled the king. "His continued leniency with the Empire would have doomed us all." He drank off his glass at a draught. "Besides, you helped, warlock. You are not free of guilt in that."

"I only provided you the venom. You didn't have to put it in his wine," said Gannon with a smile. "Nor did you have to have your wife's horse hexed to throw and trample her after your daughter was born, oh great king," Gannon added, almost as an afterthought.

"Knowing my secrets doesn't mean you can prove them, half breed," King Toadstool sneered, pouring himself another drink. "Nobody trusts you, nor would they believe you. Now, I asked you here for an exchange."

"As one would expect," said Gannon, swigging down his drink.

"Gora Empire has begun a descent into civil war, an unexpected but happy gift of fortune and poor decision-making on the Emperor's part. He jailed a nationally-beloved figure, Arnold Douard."

"Really?" Gannon feigned surprise quite well.

"Truly. I see in this tremendous opportunity, but I needs must insure myself against future ruin. I need you to look into my future, and provide me with a defense against my next great adversary, Gannondorf. Unless, of course, that threat is you," said the king with a wry grin.

"I seek only what is mine, Majesty, the Kingdom of Hyrule," Gannon replied. "And for payment, what would you offer me?" The Mushroom King snickered, reaching up onto one of his shelves and moving several books aside, revealing a hidden alcove, from which he took an ancient-looking tome.

"In this book is said to be a powerful ritual, one which can lend the power over time itself to the skilled practitioner. Take it," he said, tossing the book to Gannon. "It will be long before you can hope to master it, I believe, but if anyone can make it work, it would be you." Gannon tucked the book into his cloak, standing up to take the Mushroom King by the shoulders.

"This will be uncomfortable," he warned.