Chapter 6 - The Flames Upon Distant Sands

  It was on the morning after the strikes that Rubius the Brownie understood the true meaning of the phrase "the storm never stops coming."

  The arrows had come, certainly—but not from the Warlocks of the Pheasant Throne. These arrows had flown in the opposite direction, launched by Lord Donaldo himself, and they had landed with a force that shook the entire republic.

  Rubius sat in his alcove, the Glimmering Slate balanced on his knees, his tea forgotten and cold beside him. The images on the slate were terrible and magnificent in equal measure—towers crumbling in the Palace of Seven Courtyards, smoke rising over the Sultanate of the Shimmering Dunes, and at the center of it all, the face of Lord Donaldo the Tremendous, captured in a moment of solemn proclamation.

  The Dragon-King had addressed the republic through the Network of Shimmering Mirrors just hours earlier, his brassy orange scales gleaming under the light of the great hall, smoke curling dramatically from his nostrils as he spoke.

  "My fellow citizens," he had declared, "I have authorized the armed forces of the republic, in partnership with our allies in the Grand Emirate of the Olive Groves, to conduct massive and ongoing operations against the Warlocks of the Pheasant Throne. Their regime of terror has threatened our national security for too long. Their nuclear ambitions cannot be tolerated. Their support for those who would do us harm ends now."

  He had paused then, letting the weight of his words settle over the watching millions.

  "This operation will continue until the threat is eliminated. We have unlimited munitions. We have unlimited resolve. The Warlocks have learned—as all who oppose us learn—that Lord Donaldo the Tremendous does not bluff."

  Rubius had watched the proclamation from his alcove, his slate forgotten in his lap. He had noted, with the practiced eye of one who has observed his master for twenty years, that the timing of this address was peculiar. Just days earlier, the Dragon-King had declared the Warlocks already defeated. Now he was launching a war against them.

  Something had changed.

  Rubius's slate told him what that something was.

  In the days before the strikes, the Shadowy Brotherhood scandal had reached a fever pitch. The Seven had testified. The Hidden Witness's allegations had been reported and re-reported across every Shimmering Mirror in the republic. The Loyal Opposition had called for the Dragon-King to answer questions about his own appearances in the Ledgers of the Silver Wings.

  And then, suddenly, there was war.

  Rubius scrolled through the reactions, his heart growing heavier with each headline.

  "AOC Suggests Trump Is Risking World War III to Cover Up Epstein Files Revelations"

  The councilwoman from the City of Northern Ambition had been characteristically direct. "Every time he's done that," she told the press, "it has been consistent with a spike or a revelation in what is happening with the Epstein files. I think that he feels existentially tied to them."

  He continued scrolling.

  "GOP Congressman Says Iran War Won't 'Make the Epstein Files Go Away'"

  Lord Thomas of the Eastern Marches had been characteristically unsparing. "PSA: Bombing a country on the other side of the globe won't make the Epstein files go away, any more than the Dow going above 50,000 will."

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  The phrase struck Rubius with the force of recognition. It was the same truth-teller who had spoken of flames and scrolls. Now he had sharpened his message to a point.

  "US to Release 48,000 Withheld Epstein Files as Pressure Mounts on Trump"

  This headline made Rubius sit up straighter. According to the scrolls, the Castle of Records was preparing to release approximately forty-eight thousand files that had previously been pulled offline for "further review." The timing was exquisite. Just as the war consumed the attention of the republic, the very files that had been at the center of the controversy were scheduled to re-emerge—files that included material connected to unverified allegations against Lord Donaldo himself.

  Rubius could almost admire the cynicism of it. Release the files when no one is looking. Let them drown in the noise of war.

  When Rubius finally made his way to Lord Donaldo's chambers, he found the Dragon-King in a state of high energy. Maps were spread across every surface. Advisors came and went with reports. The smoke from his master's nostrils was thick and constant, but it was the smoke of excitement, not anger.

  "Rubius!" Lord Donaldo called out as the brownie entered. "Have you seen the latest scrying pools? My approval numbers are surging! The people rally behind their Dragon-King in times of crisis. It is always thus."

  "Your magnificence," Rubius said carefully, "I have been reading the scrolls. There is concern in some quarters about the timing of the strikes."

  Lord Donaldo waved a clawed hand dismissively. "Concern! There is always concern. The Deep Realm concerns itself. The Loyal Opposition concerns itself. Meanwhile, I am winning a war."

  "The Hidden Witness—"

  "Will be forgotten."

  "The forty-eight thousand files—"

  "Will be released when no one is watching."

  "Lord Thomas of the Eastern Marches says—"

  "Lord Thomas is a fool and a traitor who will lose his seat in the next election!" Smoke billowed from the Dragon-King's nostrils. "I have already endorsed his opponent. A fine young man. Very loyal. Very supportive of the war."

  Rubius fell silent. He had learned long ago that there were moments when speaking was useless. This was one of them.

  Lord Donaldo returned to his maps, tracing lines of attack with one claw. "The warlocks are finished, Rubius. This time, truly finished. Their leader is gone. Their military is in ruins. Their people will thank us. You will see."

  "Your magnificence, the scrolls say that many civilians have been killed. At a school. Young ones."

  Lord Donaldo's claw paused for just a moment. Then he continued tracing. "War is terrible, Rubius. Terrible but necessary. The warlocks should not have placed military assets near schools. That is on them. That is always on them."

  He looked up, his golden eyes gleaming.

  "Now, about the camels. I am thinking of adding a new detail to the proclamation—that the warlocks' camels have switched sides and are now fighting for us. The people will love it. Camels are very popular."

  That evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and stained the clouds the color of bruised fruit, Rubius sat alone in his alcove with his Glimmering Slate. The headlines had shifted, as headlines do. The war dominated everything. The forty-eight thousand files had been released, as promised, but they appeared far down in the scrolling feed, beneath updates on troop movements and diplomatic cables.

  Rubius opened one of the files and read. It was dense, redacted, difficult to follow. The average citizen, scrolling quickly between updates on the war, would never make it through.

  He closed the file and set down the slate.

  The kitchen sprites had prepared the evening meal, but Rubius had no appetite. He thought about the school in the Sultanate of the Shimmering Dunes, about the children who would never grow up, about the mothers and fathers who would spend the rest of their lives wondering why.

  He thought about Lord Thomas's words, which had been captured and circulated across every Glimmering Slate in the republic:

  "Bombs falling on distant cities cannot incinerate the records that wait in Washington's vaults."

  The phrase was elegant in its simplicity. It said everything that needed to be said. No matter how bright the fire, no matter how distant the sands, the scrolls remained. They waited. They endured.

  Rubius glanced once more at his slate. A new headline had appeared, buried beneath updates from the front:

  "House Committee Votes to Subpoena Attorney General Over Epstein File Delays"

  The investigation continued. The pressure persisted. The scrolls, despite everything, were not burning.

  He rose from his alcove, his furry feet making their familiar soft scuffing sounds against the marble floor. The kitchen sprites would need comforting. The morning would bring more news, more proclamations, more of whatever the Age of Confusion chose to deliver.

  As he walked, he muttered under his breath—so quietly that even he barely heard it:

  "Another storm on the horizon. They never stop coming."

  But this time, he was not sure which storm he meant.