Chapter Five: The Halls of the Pipe King

 

All of Plit now weeps at the coronation of King Morton Koopa, who has claimed for himself the throne of lineage and of absolute autocracy on the dawn of the day following our beloved President Trenton’s demise.  Oh, woe to us, but to your country also, my friend, as every scream from every mouth will soon sound.

 

Letter Addressed from Kooparian

 

Pipe Maze, Kooparian

 

          A thinly cloaked Shaman wrapped in the solemn blackness of an oubliette glanced from his high tower down to the clanking drawbridge below.  He was Prince Ludwig van Koopa’s most trusted advisor and an adept of dark energy, rivaling the skills of even the greatest Magikoopas. With a grating twist, the window clasps before him unhinged, and the two rusted panes creaked outward.  Dense rain angled violently in, and the growling wind ruffled his umbrageous folds while the sharp moonlight reflected eerily off his golden eyes.  With a silent rush of air, he leapt and disappeared down through the night.

 

            Two armored Terrapin equipped with long, silver lances, sheathed swords, and broad shields snapped to attention as a gloomy carriage drawn by two brown Dino Rhinos stomped and clattered across the moist wood of the access bridge.  There was a dim lantern swinging feebly to each side of the compartment, but the cabin seemed to be drowned in an absence of light.  The leftmost of the two guards slapped the mid-section of his spear across the palm of his free hand, and the other stepped forward.

 

            “Halt!” cried the Terrapin, his spiked helmet and breastplate glinting with the glow of the stars and rattling with the damp pounding of the rain.  He opened his mouth to shout again but shut it quickly when a familiar silhouette appeared behind him.  “Master Gremorth!” the Koopa whispered anxiously.  “I did not know you were awake.”

 

            “Stand down, soldier,” replied the Shaman, his voice plunged in some abominable pit.  “The passenger is your ruler.”

 

            Noticeably shaken, the Terrapin moved back to join his partner and formed the traditional reception stance.  The driver of the carriage gave his long whip a mighty crack, bringing the beasts at fore to a halt.  All three waited on the wetness of the stonework as the cart door swung open and a tall, imposing figure vaulted out.  It approached them calmly, waved the guards out of the way, and strode in just as quietly with the Shaman trailing close behind it.

 

            One of the soldiers thought he caught a brief glimpse of something looming across the pale face of the moon, but it vanished into the damp night sky before he could place its shape.  He quickly joined his comrade in closing the entryway and tried to forget it.

 

            When the massive doors were fully shut, the newly arrived figure let off the hood concealing his head.  Two menacing horns curved devilishly out of a forest of gray and blue hair, and the face itself was an embodiment of terror, with gnashing, jutting fangs, soulless eyes, and a scarred, heavily weathered complexion.  The Prince was still covered in his royal armor, and so the careful Shaman admired its intricate portrayals of grisly battles in which the youthful warrior had been victorious.

 

            “Even your haggard countenance comes as a cool relief,” said Ludwig, the flickering torches mounted along the wide vestibule casting their light at intervals across his face.  “The bandit uprising on the borders of Dark Land was successfully defeated, no gratitude to my useless sibling, the illustrious Prince Iggy, of course.  He was away on business with the Supreme Guildmaster Kamek, and a sniveling captain replaced him poorly in battle.”

 

            “If I may add, sir, from my earlier correspondences with Kamek, I perceived a fear in even his formidable frame of your brother’s bio-experiments.  They mock the Creation, he noted, and that can never yield benefits to our kind.”

 

            “Perhaps,” said Ludwig thoughtfully, “though I hold little concern for the Star Spirits when they seem only to aid our enemies.  Why should I gain their favor when they look down with prejudice upon our superior race?  My father was right to scorn them, even in his insanity.”

 

            “The Star Spirits are not the only forces of mysticism that we may turn to.  They alone do not hold sway over all gods in this world.”

 

            “Cease your spiritual ramblings,” snapped Ludwig.  “I hear enough of them in my dealings with the Magikoopas and their dying occult.  We are becoming greater than the heavens, Gremorth, and reason will be the victor of power, which they by their images alone selfishly hide from us.”

 

            The fool is bordering on atheism, thought the Shaman, sneering under his shadowy veil.  Let your wrath towards what you cannot comprehend consume you, then, if you choose it.

 

            “We shall speak no more of that, then,” said Gremorth, effecting a wry grin.  “Tell me, what have you learned?  Your features are far too grim for one who just conquered another devious enemy of the state.  Something ominous clouds your mind.”

 

            Once they entered the wide expanse of the castle’s foremost hall, Ludwig eased past the massive pillars to either side, shifting through the shadows, and rested heavily on his throne.  “Prince Iggy’s messenger had one interesting bit of information.  Whether it is true or not, I’m not sure.”

 

            Gremorth glided across the marble paneling of the floor and laid a draping black sleeve over one arm of the throne.  “Now, we come to the source of your displeasure.  Out with it, my Prince.  I know you too well!”

 

            “The Royal Koopa Fleet Command Triad is debarking soon, or they may have already done so.  Preparations for the flight were supposedly being made mere moments before Iggy left Vista Hill.  One of the Elite Guard in his confidence overheard the plans and informed him over one of those repulsive devices of his.”

 

            “It’s not an indication of familial war; that much is obvious,” said the Shaman, carefully concealing his shocked nerves.  “Something else must have happened to convince King Bowser to take such measures.  There was no other news?”

 

            “I thought along similar lines and inquired that very thing to the messenger, but he only laughed and answered me in the negative.  My dear brother,” said Ludwig, musing and growling, “I do believe you’re hiding something.”

 

            The Koopaling whirled around.  Gremorth was snarling and backing cautiously up against the back wall.  “An airship, Doom class!  It’s over the castle!”

 

            A great seething roar shattered the solemnity of the hall, and the boom of turbulent engines blasting out their terrifying shrieks rocked the stone walls and ripped the tapestries that hung along the ceiling.  The sound of foot soldiers approached from all the adjoining corridors, and Ludwig vaulted from his seat, his clawed hands already teasing the hilt of his blade.

 

            “I knew Iggy would have to force the hand when I didn’t respond by slaying his messenger.  If he can’t provoke a skirmish,” said Ludwig, his fangs protruding viciously, “then he creates one!”

 

            The captain of the guard walked briskly in and saluted as ten lines of twenty armed Terrapin formed in rank behind him, filling the hallway to its maximum capacity.  “The invasion has come from above, but the tower guards won’t hold out much longer.  There seemed to be too many of Prince Iggy’s horde descending from the Exultant.”

 

            “The attack from above is merely a diversion,” said Ludwig, his strong voice issuing over the sweeping audience before him.  “His goal is to capture the castle, itself, and claim dominance among my father’s brood.  Yes, Lord Bowser is coming, but we shall have to fight for our prominence in the days ahead.”

 

            A wave of murmurings crept over the throng, but Ludwig silenced them with opened claws and continued:  “The majority of his army will land behind the castle and proceed around to the front, breaking in and flooding us from the bottom up.  Instead of waiting to be consumed, we’ll march off a ways into the forest beyond, and when the full strength of his command enters the vestibule, we shall charge them, pushing them back into cramped quarters and slaughtering them at their heels!”

 

            A wash of assurance went out among the soldiers, and they all filed out, Ludwig and Gremorth creeping at the head of the silent host.

 

~*~*~*~

 

            Boisterous clusters of armored Koopas, Goombas, and Bob-ombs parachuted from the Exultant in the stormy skies above and floated down to the dark forest directly behind the castle.  Prince Iggy stood atop one of the high towers, shouting orders to the sparse soldiers who had accompanied him.

 

            “That’s it!  Keep rattling the stone, you scum!  Make as much noise as you can.  We’ll draw them up yet!”

 

            A gray-skinned Spikester wavering beside the Koopaling sighed and rested against one of the solid embankments.  “They should have been up by now.  Are you sure Ludwig won’t anticipate our strategy?”

 

            Iggy glared down at the monster, his dim green cape fluttering furiously behind him and over his spike-blasted shell.  “Of course he anticipated it.  You forget, Oerlikon, that not all of my aims are so straightforward.  Let him confront the main thrust; I have something else in mind.”

 

            “You sent out a double diversion.  Clever, but to what purpose?”

 

            “After my predictably heroic brother sets his base soldiers confidently against my own—that attack most likely coming when ours enter the closed entrance hallway—he and a few others will scale in the reverse direction up here.  Vengeance exists as a fringe in even the noblest of hearts.”

 

            “And he would take the bait so easily?” Oerlikon asked, puzzled.  “We could have accomplished that without the excessive trickery!”

 

            “But not without attracting the rest of Ludwig’s forces, too.  It is imperative that we face him alone.”  A terrible grin sidled across the Prince’s face.  “Or rather, that I isolate his advisor, Gremorth.  You see, I believe the Shaman has something that I need very much.”

 

            “Still on about the Breaking Scrolls?  You can’t be serious!”

 

            “Oh, but I am.  His wizardry sect was the last reported to hold the third scroll, and if it still exists, it will be with the last member of that long dead occult.  The recent flood was one of the unbelievable catastrophes predicted by their ancient script, and, not surprisingly, it was only the first of many.  Even if it’s all a massive coincidence, I would like to gain a handle on the situation before it develops any further.”

 

            “A funny thing to risk your kingdom’s survival on, but I’m with you, sir, if you will it,” grumbled the Spikester.

 

            A clash of metal and screaming erupted beneath them.

 

~*~*~*~

 

            “Pour in!  Run them through and through and leave nothing but the bones and the blood!  Drive them out, men, expel them from the walls of the keep!”

 

            Ludwig and Gremorth watched as the horde of soldiers rammed into the backside of Iggy’s forces, which had just entered the castle and were now being mercilessly chopped at from behind.  The squealing screams of metal slashing metal and sparks flying amid gushing blood and severed limbs exploded from the halls, but Ludwig recognized the war cries of his own troops and knew victory was certain.

 

            “Now, then, to deal with my traitorous brother,” said the Prince, his teeth clinched tight.  “Gremorth, follow me.  We’ll climb up the hidden passage on the west wall and come out on the northeastern tower face.”

 

            As they dashed over and up the muddy trenches around the outer barrier of the fortress, the Shaman shouted back:  “I am not certain of your sibling’s purpose yet, sire.  What if his desire is to have you alone?  Prince Iggy has never allowed himself to appear so obvious before.”

 

            The Koopaling shifted his weight against a false portion of the wall, and it crumbled in, revealing a little used stairway molded with age and unbroken stagnation.  “Whatever he’s planned, I don’t fear it.  I’ve waited long for a reason to slit the throat of that worm.”

 

            “And so you have it,” returned Iggy, waiting for them halfway up the flight of stairs, his appearance maligned by battle scars and recently lit torches further up the ascending path.  He drew his menacing blade and crossed it diagonally before him, tilting it so the glare it cast shone down on his foes.  “How foolish of me to credit you with ingenuity.”

 

            “Master!” shouted the Shaman, as a group of Iggy’s soldiers flanked them, climbing up the stone walkway behind him and jabbing with their razor weapons.

 

            Ludwig spat venomously and leapt about, slashing his sword frenziedly at the upsurging Koopas and shattering broad plates of armor into shards of heated steel.  The younger Prince had already turned and bounded up towards the higher levels.  “Stop him, Gremorth!  I’ll soon rejoin you!”

 

            The Shaman needed no other command.  Without so much as an anxious glance behind him, Gremorth soared over Ludwig, his cloak flapping fiercely, and with a short landing he blew up the stairs as a shadowing leaf in the winter wind.  At the top, he burst through a thin layering of rough cloth embroidered in the likeness of stone and came out into the biting wind and rain, lightning flashing brilliantly all around.

 

            “At last we meet, old man,” said Iggy loudly, standing before his opponent with his glowing hair whipping like the thunder that boomed and shook the sky around them.  “I want the Breaking Scroll you have.  Give it to me, and I shall spare your life!”

 

            Gremorth paused momentarily, thinking quickly and weaving a few strings of loose logic together.  “Was it a flood that compelled Lord Bowser to come here?  Was that it?”

 

            Iggy growled and stepped forward, his blade at the ready.

 

            “So you believe the Breaking of the World foretold at the Eco Shrine is actually happening?  Well, perhaps it is!  I knew you would have more than a faint reason for trying something so bold,” said Gremorth, dipping his words in hatred.  “No matter!  You will never possess the artifact.  Only take comfort that now Prince Ludwig will unveil its secrets while you pass into history as an insignificant phantom.”

 

            “A phantom, am I?  Then let my reign of infamy begin!” shouted Iggy, shooting through the air with his sword reared back and charged to swing.

 

            Gremorth pulled back his cloak and drew out his own curved saber, imprinted with the marks of the Dark Shamans.  One hand went up, and the two weapons clashed mightily, ringing out and forcing both warriors away from the other.  With fangs bared, the powerful Koopaling charged forward and brought his sword back and forth heavily in a continuous, skillfully executed onslaught.

 

            The Shaman proved more prepared, though, effortlessly throwing his blade from hand to hand, wielding it capably into every defensive position and ending each flurry of movement with a strike forward.

 

            Clash!  Clang!  Strike!

 

            “Blasted Shaman!” yelled Iggy, his arms tiring under the unyielding blows that came from all directions.  “Give in!”

 

            Slash!  Swipe!  Spark!

 

            With one final counter and a violent twist of his arm, the Shaman’s winding saber hooked and wrenched the Koopaling’s weapon from his grasp, sending it to clatter against damp stone and out of reach.  Using his free hand, Gremorth sent an invisible cloud of energy barreling into Iggy’s chest, and it flung the beaten Prince against the solid face of a battlement.

 

            “Now, Prince,” said Gremorth, breathing sharply, “you will tell me of the events at Vista Hill—”

 

            A loud thump sounded behind them, and the Shaman turned to see Ludwig fall with a large spike jutting out of the back of his neck.  Before Gremorth could gain the location of the shooter, though, he felt something sharp and pervasive plow into the base of his back and crumpled lifelessly.

 

            “That was closer than I had reckoned,” said Iggy, lifting himself painfully to his feet.  “Still, you were accurate as always, Oerlikon.”

 

            The Spikester descended from behind a broken chunk of hard stone and began rifling through the Shaman’s cloak.  “Nothing here, sir.  We’ll have to find his room and search it.”

 

            “Let’s get going then.  They’ll awake soon, and Ludwig’s soldiers will not take much longer in finishing off the last of our forces.  Contact the Exultant and have them lower a ladder.  Make haste!”

 

~*~*~*~

 

            Less than an hour later, Prince Iggy and Oerlikon were on the bridge of the Exultant as it sailed through the dawn sky.  A brittle scroll was spread out before them.

 

            “The Dark Lands, then, are our destination,” said the Koopaling, his eyes gleaming with the promise of some ancient power.  “This will be the birth of my legacy, Oerlikon.  I shall be the greatest of all the Koopas, even King Morton.”

 

            “What are we going to do with the prisoners, though?” asked the Spikester, nodding towards the private cell at one end of the room.  Inside and locked behind impenetrable plating were the sedated forms of Ludwig and his advisor.  “His troops will regroup and inform your siblings’ of our treachery.”

 

            “That is nothing to me now, Oerlikon,” snapped Iggy.  “You still don’t understand the magnitude of what this scroll contains.  With the treasure concealed inside this altar, one of the four manifestations of the original Eco Shrine, the entire Koopa Kingdom will be as nothing before us.  Such a power is worthy of the destruction of Plit, itself.  And I, Iggy, will be the sole possessor of all its domain!”

 

            “It will be grand, Master, but I have one more question to ask,” said Oerlikon, not allowing himself to be swept up in the brutal ecstasy of his Prince.  “What of the chemicals you received from the Guildmaster Supreme?  May they still serve us?”

 

            “Always the practical,” said Iggy, slightly sobered.  “Yes, a back-up plan is in order.  Helmsmen!” he cried to the technicians at the forefront of the bridge.  “Set a course for the Dark Lands.  I shall be in my cabin.”

 

            “You have something in mind, then, sire?” asked Oerlikon, waddling quickly behind.

 

            Prince Iggy was beaming, almost radiating malice as he marched through the long hallway that led into the depths of the airship.