Chapter 1 — The Age of Confusion

  In Which the Chronicler Explains the Troubled Age and the Rise of Lord Donaldo the Tremendous

  In the latter years of the Republica Magnifica—an immense and restless realm stretching from the icy northern forests to the warm coasts of the Southern Seas—there arose a period of such confusion that even the most diligent scholars could scarcely keep track of it.

  The people of the republic, who had once been known for their sturdy optimism and fondness for arguing loudly in public squares, now found themselves living in an age of endless proclamations, rival truths, and strange spectacles carried daily across the land by enchanted mirrors and glowing tablets. Through these magical devices the citizens of the republic could witness every quarrel, accusation, triumph, and scandal occurring anywhere in the kingdom, often before the events themselves had properly finished happening.

  It was an age in which merchants of opinion spoke louder than priests, scholars, or judges, and in which every village inn contained at least three men certain that they alone understood what was truly happening in the capital.

  Amid this noisy and bewildering atmosphere lived a most unusual nobleman known throughout the realm as Lord Donaldo the Tremendous.

  Lord Donaldo resided in a magnificent seaside fortress of shining towers and lavish halls, where banners of gold fluttered proudly in the ocean winds. For many years he had been known as a builder of grand structures and a master of public persuasion. He possessed the rare ability to speak before a crowd and convince them, within moments, that the world’s problems were both obvious and easily solved—provided that someone sufficiently confident were placed in charge.

  Now confidence was a quality Lord Donaldo possessed in great abundance.

  In the years leading to the present chronicle, the republic had endured a succession of peculiar trials: bitter elections, endless investigations conducted by the Castle of Records, quarrels among the guilds of commerce, disputes with distant kingdoms, and a constant storm of accusations exchanged between rival factions of the court.

  Yet what troubled Lord Donaldo most was the growing suspicion that the republic was no longer governed by those whom the people had chosen.

  For everywhere he looked he saw the same strange pattern: decrees issued by obscure councils, judgments handed down by distant tribunals, and investigations launched by shadowy officials whose authority seemed both vast and difficult to trace.

  The more Lord Donaldo studied these matters, the more convinced he became that the true rulers of the republic were not visible at all.

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  Instead, he declared, the kingdom had fallen under the influence of a hidden order known as the Deep Realm.

  This mysterious brotherhood—so Lord Donaldo explained to his followers—consisted of powerful administrators, investigators, scribes, and advisors who quietly guided the machinery of the state while pretending merely to serve it. They wrote the rules, interpreted the laws, whispered counsel into the ears of rulers, and maintained a vast archive of secrets in the endless chambers of the capital.

  Worst of all, they appeared to possess allies within the Guild of Endless Scrolls, whose scribes produced daily accounts of the kingdom’s affairs and distributed them to every corner of the land. Through these scrolls the people learned what to celebrate, whom to distrust, and which disasters were most deserving of outrage.

  Lord Donaldo found these scrolls particularly suspicious.

  For although they frequently mentioned his name, they did not always describe him in terms he considered entirely fair.

  Thus it happened that Lord Donaldo began to study the affairs of the republic with increasing determination. Each new controversy seemed to confirm his growing belief that the kingdom had drifted far from its rightful course.

  The republic, he concluded, required a champion.

  Not a timid administrator.

  Not a cautious scholar.

  But a bold knight willing to confront the hidden powers directly and restore the realm to what he frequently described as its former greatness.

  Having considered the matter carefully for nearly an entire afternoon, Lord Donaldo reached the only conclusion that seemed reasonable.

  The champion must be himself.

  It was during this period of awakening that he encountered Rubius of the Senate Plains, a younger nobleman known for his polished speeches and careful attention to the customs of governance. Rubius possessed the rare talent of sounding thoughtful even when confronted with the most bewildering declarations.

  Upon hearing Lord Donaldo’s theories about the Deep Realm, Rubius nodded politely and suggested that, should such a hidden order truly exist, it might require a great deal of negotiation—and perhaps a small army of lawyers—to defeat it.

  Lord Donaldo agreed that negotiations might occasionally prove useful, though he suspected that dramatic speeches would accomplish far more.

  And so the two men formed a partnership.

  Lord Donaldo would serve as the republic’s bold and fearless knight, exposing conspiracies, confronting rivals, and rallying the people with proclamations of tremendous destiny.

  Rubius, meanwhile, would attempt to translate these proclamations into language that the republic’s institutions could reasonably understand.

  Together they prepared to enter the great contest for control of the kingdom—a struggle involving rival houses, powerful guilds, foreign kingdoms, and an electorate whose loyalties shifted as unpredictably as the winds over the Great Plains.

  What followed were events so strange that future historians would debate them for generations.

  Fortunately for the reader, the chronicler has gathered the most remarkable episodes into the present volume.

  Yet it must be admitted at once that the tale of Lord Donaldo cannot be considered finished.

  For the republic remains restless, the Deep Realm remains elusive, and new spectacles arise almost daily across the kingdom.

  Therefore the chapters that follow should be regarded not as a completed history, but as an ongoing chronicle, to which additional adventures may be appended whenever the affairs of the republic produce new absurdities worthy of record.

  And in the present age, the reader may be assured that such material is never in short supply.