The Legacy Builder- the Chronicles of Lincoln Hart

by Ember Lane

  Congratulations! You have completed the quest; Save the One Tree. You are granted dominion over this valley, but must unlock its secrets in the correct order.

  “Eh?” Lincoln thought, and dismissed it from his mind. He was too tired for riddles, and decided to come back to it later. It was then that he realized that night had fallen, and though he was satisfied the task was done, he took no pleasure in it, and just walked away. Crags was on one side, Aezal on the other, and they left the valley and made their way home.

  “He got what he wanted,” Crags said, and they were the only words spoken until they were back in Joan’s Creek.

  19

  The Stone Cutting Dwarves

  Glenwyth was watching over him when he woke. She looked concerned.

  “You can’t worry about everyone.”

  Lincoln didn’t answer at first. His mind was foggy. Light spilled in from under his cottage door. “Where’s Aezal?”

  “I sent him away. You need to rest, to have some time to yourself.”

  “But I haven’t assigned tasks to Bethe, nor Echo.”

  “I’ll allow you that, but that alone, and then you’re taking the day off.”

  “No,” Lincoln said, sitting up, but Glenwyth just pushed him back down.

  “You’ll be no good to any of them if you’re dead. You like brewing; I’ll let you brew. Your tavern is built, I’ll let you set that up, but no more.”

  Lincoln looked into her eyes, tried to see behind, to eke out her damaged mind, but realized his was just as fractured. He’d forged ahead, suddenly released to fulfill Joan’s dream, and yes, Glenwyth was right, he’d gone at it without stopping. It’d do good to take stock.

  “If you’ll talk to me,” he finally said. “Do you know how the tree is doing?”

  “Elleren has messaged me. It lives, but is still sick. She sent this.”

  Glenwyth held up a small pot, a tiny twig with two little leaves growing on it poking out of rich, black soil.

  “A cutting,” he whispered.

  “She said to say Edward got his way, said you’d understand. It’s from Forgarth, his way of saying thanks.”

  Lincoln swung his feet off the bed and ruffled his scruffy hair. “Agreed,” he said. “Day off.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he felt the relief run through his veins.

  “Bethe?”

  Bethe appeared in the cottage.

  “Yes, Lincoln.”

  Lincoln pulled up his menus and analyzed them. “Recourses,” he muttered.

  “Tell Echo that I want him to upgrade four cottages to level 2, three sawmills to level 2, build two level 1 quarries and three level 1 mines. Tell him that’s all he can afford today. We’ll get going soon. If Forgarth wants to move anyone into the cottages, that’s fine, but it’ll cost the settlement food, so I’d prefer if he left it a day or two.”

  “I have relayed that.”

  “Joan’s Creek,” Lincoln said, under his breath. “Five mines to level 2, two quarries to level 2, one to 3, and build two more to level 1.” He stood up. “There, that should keep you occupied along with the ridge. Need to increase that production.”

  “You have an academy now,” Bethe pointed out. “Though it is only level 1, you could research Lumbering, that would give you ten percent extra production. and you could research Farming. Farming would give the same, but it would cost you two thousand two hundred gold, and some food and lumber.”

  “But I don’t have anywhere near that amount of gold.”

  “You do. You have your town hall, and that has five thousand gold, a deposit marked Alliance Formation Rewards. You can access it now that you have a town hall.”

  “But I’ll need to trade to get more gold to research higher levels.”

  “You will. You will need a marketplace.”

  “I’ll need spare resources, and I can increase—”

  “Enough!” Glenwyth said. “It’s your day off. You may go to the academy to study those two things—I take it at level 1 it’s quick—and then that’s definitely it.”

  Lincoln looked sheepishly back at her. “Swim first,” he said. Glenwyth nodded, and Bethe vanished.

  Bethe had built the academy away from the settlement just on the edge of a small wood. It suited the natural flavor of the building well. Its walls were made out of a wood that reminded Lincoln of bamboo and had leaves sprouting along their length. The roof appeared to still be living—tangles of tightly knotted foliage and thick moss covering its pitch. As he looked around it became apparent that the whole structure was alive—a living, breathing entity. It was a partly open plan, a view of the woods filling up the entire back half, thicker trunks holding up the natural roof. Lincoln immediately felt peace there, and Glenwyth skipped around the place as though she was truly content to be inside. A low, rectangular table sat in the center of its reed-strewn floor. Lincoln saw two folded sheets of paper there.

  Sitting by the table, he picked up the first. It was a diagram of a hand plough. “Got it,” Lincoln said and then the paper disintegrated.

  Congratulations! You have researched Agriculture level 1. Your farm output is now boosted by ten percent. You have been awarded two thousand gold as a progress bonus.

  “We appear to have more gold,” he told Glenwyth, and then he picked up the other sheet.

  It showed a simple two-man saw, and Lincoln studied it, memorizing its every detail.

  Congratulations! You have researched Lumbering level 1. Your sawmill output is now boosted by ten percent. You have been awarded two thousand four hundred gold as a progress bonus.

  “More gold,” Lincoln said, smiling, but looking more than a little bemused. “And my day’s work is done. To the tavern.”

  Bethe appeared. “Tavern?”

  “The tavern,” Lincoln said. “And now for my day off. I take there’s something preventing me from researching more, Bethe?”

  “A number of things,” she replied.

  “Thought there would be,” he said, taking Glenwyth’s hand, and they walked out of the building.

  They strolled toward the lake and along its bulrush-lined shore. It was a cool morning, clouds drifting lazily across the sky, a flurry of ripples disturbing the lake’s surface as a bird of some sort took flight. He felt his stomach rumble and realized it was a fair while since he’d eaten.

  “You know, we’ve both got to start looking after ourselves,” he said, but she gave him no answer. “Me? You’re right, I have to get into some kind of regimented timetable. I have to work when I’m supposed to and relax when I’m done. We all do. The night should be filled with laughter, not the groans of the sore or the snores of the exhausted.”

  “It is early days,” Glenwyth finally said.

  “What better days to set the rules? How fortunate are we that we have all those workers—the bots? In theory we could just build cottages and create the workers and do nothing, but what kind of life is a life without honest work?”

  “So, the day for toil, the night for laughter. That sounds nice.”

  “What about you?” Lincoln asked.

  “Me?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Elleren thinks you should go and see Forgarth’s brother.”

  “The dark elf? Maybe. What do you think?”

  Lincoln scoffed. “What do I think? I think I know nothing of dark elves, but he said you felt a certain kind of power, and that now you hanker for it. I say dark elf, light elf, any shade of elf, so what? We all hanker for a little power.”

  “It is not the way of elves.”

  “Meh.” Lincoln shrugged. “So, don’t hang around with elves when you feel like that.” He grinned and pulled her closer, putting his arm around her, and they walked by the first of their cottages. Aezal, Grimble, Crags, and Ozmic were huddled around the fire pit deep in conversation. Standing about twenty feet away from them was a stocky-looking dwarf with a shock of ginger hair and a beard to match, that nearly came down to his knees. Though Lincoln had nev
er seen a dwarf in full battledress, this one appeared to be. He had his arms crossed, and a vast hammer stood on the ground by his side. Lincoln shivered as he remembered the troll hammer.

  “He doesn’t look happy,” Lincoln whispered.

  “Stone dwarf, they’re rarely happy. More so with what’s going on here,” Glenwyth told him.

  “Why?”

  “They quarry for a living. You’ve got quarries, and you aren’t using them. I’d imagine they aren’t too taken with your bots.”

  “Ooh…” Lincoln muttered, trying to use his perception, but failing to get anything back. “This could be tricky. Do you know his name?”

  “I can see his proper name, but have no chance of pronouncing it.”

  Lincoln grunted, and then walked right up to the dwarf. “Lincoln,” he said, offering his hand.

  “You can call me Dunaric.”

  “Well, Dunaric, have you come far?”

  “Mountain. Other side.” He shifted on his great big feet.

  “You thirsty?” Lincoln asked.

  “For what?”

  “By my reckoning, my first batch of ale should be ready.”

  Dunaric pursed his lips. “Always thirsty for ale.”

  “What are they talking about?” Lincoln asked, pointing at Ozmic and the others.

  “How to get rid of me, but I’m not going until those copper beasts stop mining.”

  “Right and all,” agreed Lincoln. “Mining’s for dwarves and dwarves only.”

  “And quarrying,” Dunaric added, and picked up his hammer. “Stone dwarves mine, quarry, and squash heads. That’s what we do. Never forget the heads.”

  “Never,” Lincoln said sheepishly, and he guided Dunaric to the new tavern.

  Aezal, Ozmic, Crags, and Grimble hadn’t even looked up.

  “Say,” Lincoln said as they reached the tavern’s stoop. “Have you ever heard of scarletite?”

  “Of course. There’s some in that mountain, but it’s near a cursed one.”

  “Yeah, I got that vibe.”

  They entered the tavern, and Lincoln was pleasantly surprised. He’d expected it to be smaller, just because of its level, but it had a reasonably long bar that stretched its entire width, and at least a dozen bench-type tables. It needed a bit of work, a bit of homing up, but was cozy enough with its split-log look that was all the rage in his settlement. A few essentials probably wouldn’t go amiss either, like mugs, ale, and perhaps food. All in good time, Lincoln thought.

  “You got your own mug?” he asked Dunaric, as Glenwyth took a seat at one of the benches.

  “Ne’er go anywhere without,” the dwarf confirmed, as he dumped himself next to Glenwyth and nudged her. “He fer real?”

  “And some, probably too nice,” she replied. “The other dwarves tell me his ale is good.”

  “Meh! Looks like an age or longer since they done some honest toil.” He showed her his palms. “Hard skin. Dwarf’s skin, like the mountain itself.” He grunted and slapped his knee. “Glad I don’t have to wear this clobber too often. Good fer bangin’ sense inta heads though.”

  Lincoln disappeared out back, pulled out one of the barrels and gave it a taster. “Rubbish,” he muttered, and fiddled in his sack, bringing out the last of Pete’s herbs. He sprinkled some in, popped a speed-up in with it for good measure, and sighed. “Not the way to brew a good ale.”

  Congratulations! Practice makes perfect. You now have level 2 brewing. The taste is in the testing.

  Back in the tavern, he set the barrel onto a stillage on the bar, tapped it, and filled Dunaric’s mug.

  “Now,” Lincoln said. “It’s not—”

  Dunaric drained it in one. Held his lips tightly shut, and looked seemingly through Lincoln before appearing to come to a conclusion. “That is some sweet tasting ale,” he said, smacking his lips. “Where did you get it?”

  “Where? I brew it myself. The decent stuff will be ready in a few weeks. Once I’ve got some vines matured I’ll ferment some wine, then whiskey. By summer, I should be fully stocked. Just one problem though…” He refilled Dunaric’s mug.

  “What’s that?” Dunaric asked, taking back his mug.

  “Fledgling village. No gold, no way to employ folks to do stuff like farming, lumbering, that kind of thing. Tell me, Dunaric, you seem a clued-in dwarf, how would you go about paying folks, without any money?”

  Dunaric puffed out his chest. “Same way we did before humans stamped the coin. Food, ale, and a warm hearth were all we needed. Good times them, not like it is now, all rush, rush, rush.”

  “Really?” Lincoln said. “And for that, folks'd mine and quarry? Mind you, when you taste my decent ale, well, I’ve known folks to beg fer it. Did I tell you that the king of Brokenford tried to have me arrested, just so he could make me his brewmaster?”

  “Nope, but if yer real ale is better than this, it’s a mighty fine ale.”

  Lincoln tapped his fingers on the counter, made to go over and sit with Dunaric, but looked straight at Glenwyth instead. “I can’t see folks quarrying and mining just for a warm hearth, good food, and outstanding ale, can you?”

  “I reckon they might,” she said, clearly trying to keep a solemn expression in place.

  “They might and they will,” Dunaric declared. “And make a better job of it than those copper-colored things. Wouldn’t want to live down here though. Up in the foothills, near the rock, that’s the place to live.” He gave his now empty mug back to Lincoln. “Why? You reckon you could swing it with them?”

  Dunaric pointed outside.

  “Who, Crags, Aezal, Ozmic, and Grimble…reckon so?” Lincoln leaned in. “Reckon they might even cut you in on traded stone and ore if you’d rouse a bunch of dwarves. Say, twenty max while the ale gets brewing.”

  “Paid as well?”

  “Once the settlement’s trading. No gold till it’s trading.”

  Dunaric thought about it, then nodded. “Reckon so.”

  Lincoln handed him a small block of leaf. “Grow this out back too.”

  Dunaric straightened. “Then I reckon we’ve definitely got a deal. Twenty folks starting tomorrow, cottage up in the hills, and ale and food with tobacco thrown in. I’ll drink n’more of your ale till I’ve earned it.” He stood, shook Lincoln’s hand and marched out.

  Congratulations! You have proved a shrewd trader and struck a bargain where none was easily available. You have leveled the skill commerce. You are now level 3.

  “Now I can have the day off,” Lincoln grinned.

  “I think I’ll try me some of that ale,” Glenwyth said, a smile finally gracing her lips. “Oh, and if that’s the going deal, there’s a small tribe of wood elves in the eastern forest. They’d take on your sawmills for a few decent tree houses.”

  Lincoln poured her a mug of ale. “Do you know, that might just make it worth taking the day off. Bethe?”

  Bethe floated through the front door. “Yes, Lincoln.”

  “Add two level 1 cottages to today’s build, by a stream, up in the foothills near the quarries. Once the bots come into being from the new cottages get them to upgrade them both to level 2—it’ll give the dwarves a nice hearth. They’re taking over our mining and quarrying activities.”

  “Very good. It’ll have to be later when you have iron reserves.”

  “Good enough. Now, let’s brew some more ale.”

  Aezal burst into the inn. The big warrior looked confused. “What the heck did you say to the dwarf?”

  Ozmic pushed Aezal out of the way.

  “Don’t you tell me you’re paying that lowlife, stone-eating, ginger-bearded growler. You don’t want his lot. They won’t lift a chisel t’help anyone. Trouble, I’ll tell yer.”

  Grimble spilled in and pushed Ozmic out of the way. Ozmic barged Aezal farther into the room.

  “Stone dwarves, bah! Greedy ‘tards, you’ll get nothing for free from them.”

  Crags burst into the inn and barged Grimble, but Grimble didn’t b
udge.

  “So, yer gettin’ the dwarves to cut and mine fer free. Nice going, Lincoln. Can I have some ale?”

  “Eh?” said Aezal.

  “Eh?” said Ozmic.

  “Eh?” said Grimble.

  “Guess what?” Lincoln shouted. “No adventures today, no trees to move. We’re just sticking here. Who wants ale?”

  Grimble and Ozmic muttered some unheard words. Crags muttered, “Someone needs to say it.” Aezal took a seat close by. He sat like he had something important on his mind.

  “And about time, we need to have a chat,” he eventually said.

  Lincoln lofted his eyebrows. Aezal appeared a little grim for someone who’d just been given the day off. Lincoln poured ale in each of their offered mugs and then sat with them. Aezal looked like he was trying to come up with a tactful way of saying something bad. He cleared his throat.

  “You’re too nice,” he said, as if the words had been stored in a dark place and could now finally burst free.

  “Too nice?”

  “Yes.” Aezal nodded his head. “This land will butcher you and hang out your entrails ready for any to pick at.”

  “Really?” Lincoln’s eyebrows arched even higher.

  “They’ll come,” said Crags, “and they’ll take everything from you. They’ll slaughter the men, rape the women, and press all the children into slavery.”

  Lincoln leaned in.

  Opposite, Aezal, Crags, and Ozmic leaned in.

  Next to him, Glenwyth and Grimble leaned in.

  “Who will?” Lincoln finally asked.