by Ember Lane
They arrived at the tunnel’s exit and stood on the ledge. “Might explain that then.” Lincoln pointed to the ivy-clad, stone buttress opposite.
“The elves call it Rhangnarg,” Lincoln said.
“Aye,” Grimble replied, darkly. “That they do.”
“You know of this place?”
Grimble shuffled from foot to foot, Ozmic looked a mix of overawed and terrified. “Aye, the dwarves named it Ragnorkgh, and the elves can’t get their tongue around that word. It’s a harsh name for a harsh place that I thought was lost forever.”
“Lost forever?”
“Aye. It is where Darwainic fell, where man’s reign on this earth ended for a while and was plunged into a black age. It is where the night won.”
“When Mandrake scorched the earth?” Lincoln asked.
“No, after that. As the land emerged from that, and order was just beginning to fall into place, Darwainic fell, and he fell there.” Grimble stabbed a stumpy finger at the monolith. “That place was called by another name, one humans used. That place was named Starellion. It was the last refuge of a great king. So legend has it,” he then whispered.
“It seems that you and coincidence go hand in hand,” Ozmic muttered. “Had you not obtained that map from Spillwhistle, we could be quite content in Thickwick by now.”
“Aye,” muttered Grimble. “With ready-brewed ale to boot.”
Lincoln let out a chuckle, but his gut just wanted to be sick. Was that enormous rectangle of rock really a castle? Surely not. It was the size of a city and the height of a skyscraper—and he couldn’t even see how far back it went. “Aw come on,” he finally managed. “It wouldn’t be as much fun in Thickwick.” But he was beginning to wonder if he was telling the truth. He was beginning to wonder what he’d gotten himself into.
“Ho! Lincoln’s coming!” Ozmic shouted at the top of his voice, and it echoed around the valley.
“Ho Crags!” Lincoln shouted. “The morn is upon us!” and his words reverberated around the gorge.
By midmorning they stood in the middle of the clearing. Sudden realization that everything hinged on the next few moments filled Lincoln’s nervous belly. That feeling they were being watched had been constant since they’d descended the steps and plunged into the dense woods, now even more so. Just as he took out Alexa’s city token, he spotted Glynweth standing atop the same bough as before.
“You returned to us, Lincoln the Builder; that is unexpected. Humans have a tendency to run away from problems they can’t kill with a sword or ax. Does the gnome mean that much to you?”
“How is he?” Lincoln spat, his nerves drowned in a rising tide of anger. Just the mention of Crags brought visions of his cage, of his suffering.
Glenwyth shrugged. “He is with Forgarth. They appear to…have found common ground.”
Lincoln let out a sigh of relief, his sudden anger drifting away. Though he doubted that her words would be so comforting if the token merely flopped to the ground: dull, useless, and lifeless.
Ozmic shifted uneasily, and Grimble grunted and muttered some inaudible words. Lincoln flipped the token up and it spun majestically, cresting a few feet above his head, there it hung, growing and spraying a coppery light around the clearing.
Lincoln’s eyes were drawn to Glenwyth who had jumped down from the bough and was staring up in awe at the token, at its radiant light. More elves crept from the forest, lurking at the clearing’s edge, and muttering unheard words of amazement.
Then he felt that glowing feeling in his stomach. He took a breath as copper light burst from it, spreading in a circle around him, soon encompassing him in a euphoric, glowing ball. He was lifted from the ground and hung in the air while his mind cycled notifications one after the other.
Congratulations! You have founded your settlement. Barakdor favors those who build. You are awarded 1000 experience points.
Congratulations! You now have two settlements. You have progressed your title to Lord.
Congratulations! You have increased in rank. The land favors those who command positions of responsibility. You are awarded 1500 XP.
Congratulations! You have been awarded a guide. The guide will help you carry out the tasks associated with building a great and powerful city.
Congratulations. You have exceeded 5000 XP. You have leveled up. You are now level 5. You have 6 unallocated attribute points.
The elves all took a step toward him, and then a look of horror crossed all their faces as one, and they nocked their arrows and all stepped back into the forest. Lincoln floated back down to the grass and turned to see a city guide hovering by him. It was identical to Bethe, and standing, awaiting instructions.
“I am your guide,” it said. “Do you wish to assign me a name?”
“Echo,” Lincoln said, and smiled as he then added. “Echo, I’d like to build a cottage over there.” He pointed to the very edge of the clearing. The lumber, food, and iron appeared close to the spot, and the elves gasped as one. “There you go. Get door building,” he said to Ozmic and Grimble.
“Now, a name for this place?”
Lincoln noticed Glenwyth had ventured back out of the trees and was tiptoeing toward Echo, a knife in her hand. She had murder in her narrow eyes.
“He summons a monster to kill us all!” she cried, and ran at the guide, knife raised, and Lincoln shoved Echo out of the way taking the full force of her lunge. He felt the knife plunge into his shoulder.
Damage! You have received 60 damage points. Your health is now 20/80.
Lincoln stared into Glenwyth’s eyes as they rolled back onto the ground. She crouched over him, her mouth twisted in anger, her breathing hard. Lincoln felt his consciousness slipping but tried to rally. Then looked into Glenwyth’s eyes again and saw doubt, anguish, and concern.
“No!” she screamed, as Lincoln closed his eyes.
“Echo,” he muttered softly. “Build twelve level 1 cottages around the edge of the clearing.” And then he slipped toward death.
Lincoln saw the catacombs, the same slab he’d once lain on with the candle at its end. Down deep below, the same glowing river meandered lazily past, what had one of his companions called it? The Endings River, that was it. He felt his soul, his body behind drawn toward the solace of the stone slab. It was a place to rest, a sanctuary from all the hostility of the land. It offered sleep, rest, peace, and he knew he could sleep, would sleep, longer this time.
This was not how this land was supposed to be. This was not Joan’s dream. Ice ran through his veins, spreading from his mouth. His body became rigid, stiff, and he shivered like he was having a seizure. The slab started retreating, becoming smaller, the river too. The golden rock all fled from his dreams, and he exhaled a lung-emptying breath and opened his eyes, grabbing the first thing he could see and pulling it violently toward him.
“Aaargh!” he shouted, and pulled Elleren ever closer to him, his hands clasped firmly around the elf’s throat. “Joan!” he gasped, and let his grip slip. “Joan,” he whispered and shut his eyes again.
“Sssh…” came the reply.
Lincoln felt his hand grasped, and held up to what he thought was a soft, tear-drenched cheek.
“I’m sorry, so sorry. My rage; it grows,” Glenwyth’s soft voice said.
“I know,” Lincoln groaned. He checked his health, and was relieved to see it was now above thirty. His head was tilted back, his lips parted by soft fingers, and ice-cold liquid was poured down his throat once more. As it froze his veins, the throbbing in his shoulder subsided, the bleeding shut down, and he saw his health bump up by another ten points. Lincoln opened his eyes again.
He was lying on a bed in a small, wooden room. It had a great, warty tree branch growing through it, taking up an entire corner, and its window was filled with filtered green light. Elleren was sitting next to him, her hand cupping his. Glenwyth knelt by the bed’s head; her own dipped to the floor.
“I, I saw the copper beast and my rage…” she m
uttered, but heaves of sorrow took over, and her shoulders shuddered.
“It’s okay,” Lincoln told her, and he felt his health surge.
Elleren has given you an obsidian ring. Obsidian rings are born of Earth Power, one of the primary powers.
You have received an Elven Health Ring - Vitality +8 - Item = Uncommon
“Thank you,” Lincoln muttered, the power of the ring coursing through him.
“The wound is nearly healed,” Elleren told him. “We have used healing potions to bring you back, though your kind are rarely, truly in peril. That, we cannot understand.”
Glenwyth finally looked up. “Your forgiveness speaks of your intent. I am at your service. My life is yours.”
Lincoln shuffled up from the bed, wincing as his shoulder jabbed him a little, just to let him know it was still on the mend. Glenwyth reached out to try and help him, but Lincoln just took her hand and pulled her close. “Don’t you see?” he whispered. “Your health, your whole village, it is tied to the tree. As poison fills its veins, so it fills yours. Mine, my own health, my ability to grow is now linked to my villages. We must save your village, and save your tree, else we are both now doomed.”
Elleren, took both their hands. “You founded your city knowing that it would be afflicted by our blight?”
Lincoln grunted. “I founded the city because I needed wood. Allies like you, well, they’re a bonus worth saving.”
Elleren nodded. “You speak the truth when lies would smooth your path better.”
“I speak the truth because it is a better foundation than lies. Are we close to the clearing?”
“Not far.”
“Do you mind if I summon the copper being.”
“What is he?”
“He is Echo. He is someone that will help me build here, but build in balance.”
“Then summon him with our blessing.”
Lincoln thought of Echo, and the guide appeared in the room.
“How are we doing, Echo?”
“Your method for summoning workers is interesting. All cottages will be completed in half the time, however, you will only have 800 food left. I would suggest you build some farms next.”
Out of pure curiosity, Lincoln asked him if there were any suitable areas available for a farm. Echo considered this.
“There are fifteen slots available within the range of influence of the settlement’s center.”
“Fifteen?” Lincoln asked, amazed. “Why haven’t I spotted them? That’s, that’s a fair spread of land.”
“That is because they are on top of the ancient ruin your kind call Starellion.”
“On top?”
“The castle produced its own food.”
Lincoln didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. While he didn’t need space for farms, it would make his life a whole lot easier. He tried to think it through: his mind now totally focused on the problem. He knew each farm could store ten thousand food at level 1, then it should, by all accounts, naturally overflow into a warehouse when it reached that level. Therefore, if he built the farms on top of Starellion, technically, the food should appear in the warehouse eventually, which he could build close by. That was, of course, if everything worked like he thought.
“Echo, is there a sufficient space to build a warehouse close to the cottages?”
Echo closed his eyes, as if he was trying to see the forest in his mind. “There is one place, but it will have a tree growing in the corner.”
“And if we built a sawmill near, could that clear a specific area?”
“Yes.”
“Starting with the tree that’s in the way?”
“Yes.”
“The build, and in this order: one sawmill, located as we discussed, eight farms and then the warehouse. Glenwyth, Elleren, can your people get up to the top of Rhangnarg, as you call it?”
“We can,” Elleren said.
“Can you spare me sixteen folks to work the farms?”
“I will petition Forgarth for you,” Glenwyth muttered.
“Or you could take me there now.”
“You would trust me? After the knife? You would trust me?”
“Aren’t we going to be neighbors?” Lincoln asked.
Glenwyth has altered her status from hostile to friendly.
Elleren has altered her status from hostile to friendly.
You have changed your status to Glenwyth from neutral to friendly.
You have changed your status to Elleren from neutral to friendly.
“There,” he said. “Was that so hard?” And he grinned. “Thank you for the ring.”
Both Elleren and Glynweth were silent. They both stood and backed away from him. “We have shamed our race,” Elleren said.
“Stained it,” Glynweth confessed.
“It will be fine, once the tree thrives,” Lincoln assured them, but something told him that it would be far from fine. Something told him the Glenwyth had crossed some kind of line he couldn’t understand.
“Let’s go see how Crags is getting on,” Lincoln said, and looked around the little room seeing no door but quickly spotting a square hole in the floor, the top of a ladder poking out.
It took them ten minutes to get back to the clearing, and they found a pair of clearly worried dwarves pacing up and down while the hundred and twenty workers beavered away completing the cottages.
“Who will live in these?” Elleren asked.
“Your people,” Lincoln told her. “We’ll plant the tree in the center, and the cottages will look out onto it, so that you can care for it all the time.”
“You shame us with your generosity.”
I haven’t moved your tree yet, Lincoln thought. I might just kill the thing.
“Nonsense,” he said. “Ho Grimble! Ho Ozmic!”
Both dwarves looked around.
“I’ll never get used to how you heal yourself,” Grimble said, coming up to him, a big hug following.
Lincoln felt himself pulled into the broad dwarf’s embrace, soon crushed from the other side by Ozmic.
“All goes well here, though they’ll be finished soon. How come you’re friendly with the elves?”
Lincoln shrugged. “What can I say: it was just a nick.”
Grimble shrugged. “Strange bunch, you immortals,” he muttered. “So, what are you going to do with yer copper army?”
“I have given them further instruction, so they’ll be busy until tomorrow. Then we’ll be stuck because of resources, but it can’t be helped. By tomorrow we’ll have farms producing food right here in this valley.”
“Where?” asked Ozmic.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Lincoln replied, and they followed the two elves as they headed for the river.
“Try me.”
“On top of your haunted castle,” Lincoln said, as they arrived at the riverbank.
16
The Dark Of The Night
“So, you came back for me,” Crags said, skipping around Lincoln and the two dwarves as they left the tunnel and entered Joan’s Creek.
It had been another long day, though this time at least, they’d left the valley a little earlier, so they’d get back before the middle of the night. Once Forgarth had heard that Lincoln had established the settlement and heard Glenwyth’s retelling the events of the morning, he’d switched the allegiance of their tribe to allied with Lincoln’s so that it couldn’t happen again. That seemed to pain Glenwyth more, for some unknown reason, and she had retreated into her self, saying little more. It had also meant that Crags could no longer be held hostage, and so when they’d returned, he’d tagged along with them. Lincoln told both Forgarth and Echo that he wouldn’t be back for a day as he needed the new settlement to build up stocks of food so they could feed the workers while they moved the tree. Though he did ask Echo to build two quarries, a mine, and a further two sawmills—those mills as far into the forest as possible—as soon as resources became available.
“A day, and
we will start the work of moving your tree,” Lincoln had announced.
Now, as he ambled along with Crags skipping around his feet, he wondered how the hell he was going to do it.
“So,” said Grimble. “Just how are you going to move that tree?”
“Not a bloody clue,” Lincoln muttered, as they trod the last rise before the farms came into view. Two copper workers toiled away in each, even though the sun had now long set behind the western ridge.
Lincoln marveled at the simplicity of it all. Though technically a game to him, he realized he was fully immersed in it, and realized it was an intricate piece of machinery: each cog needing to be in tune with the next, each belt running at the right speed, and each piston pumping in time. He understood those farms would only truly thrive with a real population, and that he couldn’t increase them in level too much, or all his workers would be swallowed into daily toil and not advancement. They soon walked by the six cottages on that side of the river, and Lincoln had to stop himself from inspecting the warehouse he could now see through the gloom. Bethe had built it a little downstream of the bridge, right by the river. No doubt they could build a mill close by, maybe with a waterwheel. Resist he did though, and he crossed the bridge and there he stopped in his tracks. Aezal was sitting by the fire pit. He was not alone.
Lincoln took a breath: excitement and fear filling his stomach equally. He hesitated, and then marched forward. “Ho Aezal!” he shouted, and noticed that each of the dwarves now flanked him, Crags somewhere behind. “Do we have guests?”
Aezal half stood, half crouched as if undecided whether to get up, but a young boy had already sprung up from his bench and bounded over to Lincoln. He had scruffy, blond hair, rags for a shirt and a pair of pants that he’d grown out of a good while ago, but were cinched with a thin rope. He skidded to a halt a few yards shy of Lincoln.
