The Legacy Builder- the Chronicles of Lincoln Hart

by Ember Lane

  Aezal tried to pull her off. Lincoln forced himself up and staggered over, wondering what the hell had just happened. Glenwyth was raging now, but Jin just stared up at her, laughing. “Let it out, let it come,” he said, as she pummeled him.

  When Glenwyth’s rage was spent, she pushed herself off Jin and stumbled away. Her tears soon began to fall, turning to sobs of despair. “What kind of monster have I become?” she wailed.

  Jin was a bloody mess on the ground. “What you need to be,” he said.

  Lincoln wanted to go to her, to console her, and to keep her safe. But he knew he couldn’t have what he wanted because it just wasn’t turning out that way. He wanted the vale to be his idyllic vision, but it seemed the land was rebelling against that dream. Jin had told him, Crags, and the dwarves too, that he’d come to this land at a time of upheaval. He also remembered Finequill’s words, and Allaise and Pete getting run out of Brokenford. He understood that he had to be stronger.

  He walked over to Glenwyth but pulled Jin up instead. They walked away, and he left Glenwyth with Aezal. He helped the dark elf to the tavern, and ale provided the elf’s first aid. The sun had only just risen to start the day.

  Bethe came over and Lincoln instructed her on what to build next. He was still hell-bent on upping his resource production, but knew he was through the worst of the pinch points he’d encounter when building a viable settlement. He commissioned a forge, upgraded both the town hall and the warehouse. They decided to build barracks and a training ground on the other side of the warehouse. If the elves came, he wanted to be ready. He held back on everything else and spent the rest of his labor on increasing his resource fields. For the first time, he wasn’t too hindered by a lack of reserves, just lumber running short, but he delayed the start of the warehouse upgrade, and got around that.

  Sanctuary was still the poor relation. He spent every resource he had on upgrading its mills, mines, and quarries, apart from affording a marketplace—he gave himself that luxury. Forgarth had moved seventy-five elves into the cottages, and so he was just about breaking even on food. He needed to build that city quick. He needed the stone for the walls. He needed the elves to start pulling their weight.

  “Second cities,” he muttered to himself. “Always a pain.”

  He left Jin with Crags and ambled off to the academy. Researching quarrying was a priority; every batch of rock would help. The academy was its peaceful self, especially after his morning’s start. The quarrying sheet was on the low table, folded like the others had been. He studied it and smirked at its instruction, no more than a devious way to use wood, leather, and water to split a big rock down. He got his bonus and his gold reward for a first research and smirked at that. The land gave and took away, he was going to just have to get used to it.

  Then he felt her arms around him, and her head against his shoulder blade. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

  “But it worked,” Lincoln said, and spun around to face Glenwyth.

  “When I saw him kick you…my rage…I just don’t understand it, and you’re encouraging it. Why? Isn’t hate bad? Isn’t anger bad?”

  “Have you ever seen where Jin lives? He’s not so apart from you. The difference between light and dark isn’t as big as you think. What if I told you that you could use your anger for good?”

  “For good?”

  “What sparks determination? Everyone needs a bit of anger to forge good. Anger is the seed of resolve; do not mistake it with evil. Power, that is what you need to fear. You yearn for power over your fellow being, and you should ask yourself why. Is it to harm?”

  Glenwyth pushed him away. “It is too early for me to understand.” She turned and walked into the forest. “But I have asked myself this countless times since Jin turned and was shunned, since he killed the ogre; has he done anything evil?”

  “Did he do anything evil when he killed the ogre?” Lincoln called after her, and then followed. “Or, did he just do it with a little more passion than those around him? Did he see a best friend in trouble, about to be slaughtered by the ogre and just let loose?”

  “I don’t…” Glenwyth said, and reached out for his hand. She said nothing more until they were standing on the stone plateau looking at the ogre’s cave. “Maybe I just need to find my ogre?”

  “Maybe.” Lincoln grinned. “Shall we?” He hovered his hand over his sack and called for his staff.

  Glenwyth did the same and squared up to him. She countered his every strike, and he hers, and though they fought for a while, neither struck any real blows, neither advanced their craft. Eventually, Glenwyth threw her staff down. “Now,” she said, “now I understand how pointless some things are without anger.”

  Drawing out his pipe, Lincoln sat and smoked, wincing with every puff. His nose was clearly still sore. Glenwyth was silent, seemingly contemplating her new thoughts, until she eventually pulled him up. “Something is wrong,” she said, and dragged him deeper into the vibrant emerald forest, the morning’s slanting light filling it with wonder.

  As they forged farther in, the trees grew thicker, and the forest’s blanketing canopy began to stifle the sunlight. Looking up, Lincoln saw what he thought was a gigantic bird’s nest, and then another, and another. Gray vines trailed from sturdy branches like discarded ropes, and as he looked farther into the canopy’s gloom, he saw frail-looking bridges sagging between one nest and the next. Lincoln quickly understood what he was looking at; this was the elves’ home. Yet he saw no sign of them, and heard nothing but the chatter of distant birds.

  “They’re gone,” Glenwyth whispered, looking up. “I thought the forest was silent, too silent. The elves have gone.”

  “Where?”

  “What did you say to them yesterday?”

  “That they had to fight or die.”

  “Then they chose another option. They have fled.”

  Sadness filled Lincoln’s veins. The thought his words could cause so much harm was a lot to bear, but Glenwyth pulled on his hand, leading him through the tree village. She began to jog, and then run, ranging brambles biting at his arms and legs, and leaves whipping his face. She scrambled down banks blanketed with brown leaves, leapt across lively brooks, and sprinted along paths trodden into the mud. After a while, they started to climb, and the trees thinned and revealed a giant trunk of a truly magnificent oak that crested the top of the hillock.

  She scrambled up the trunk as if it were a mere slope. Halfway to the start of its crooked branches, she looked down at him and appeared to become confused. “You can’t climb?”

  “I can, just not the impossible.”

  Congratulations! Glenwyth has gifted you the skill Climbing. You have been awarded level 1. Trust in yourself, and you can scale any height!

  “Look at the trunk again,” she called down, and then scurried on up it.

  Lincoln stared at the scaly bark. Slowly, it revealed its secrets. Previously unseen handholds became clearly defined dark lines, knots became footholds, and the crooked branches turned into pathways. Trusting in the land, he started to climb up. Glenwyth had already vanished into the tree’s leafy canopy.

  It took Lincoln a good while to catch up with her, and when he did, he realized he’d reached the tree’s crown. Poking his head out, he looked across the vale and at his settlement, over the lake and at his farms.

  “Look the other way,” Glenwyth said. “Look toward the fissure.”

  When he did, he couldn’t believe his eyes. A trail of black spilled out from it, meandering into the long grass. At first he didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to hope. But then he screamed and yelped and called out, “Gillian!”

  Glenwyth hugged him, a smile gracing her face for the first time that day. She started back down the tree, but Lincoln hesitated as he found out something peculiarly unique about the climbing skill: it was much better on the way up. He tried to edge back down, but could see no handhold, no footholds. Glenwyth’s laughter rang out. “You’re doing it the wro
ng way round. If you want to use the skill, you’ve got to trust the skill” Glenwyth flipped herself around so that she was facing down the trunk. She scampered off like a squirrel.

  Lincoln felt sick just looking at her as she sped down. He took a deep, deep breath. Bit by bit, he turned until he was facing the forest’s floor. He froze, the feeling so, so unnatural. With a shaking hand, he let go of the bark and tried to grab a lower hold, then he moved one of his feet, scraping it along the bark until he found another crevice. Then a hand, then a foot, another hand, another step down. Lincoln grinned and sped up. Hand, foot, hand, foot, but the last time his foot touched only air, and then his other foot broke free. He felt his body slew away from the tree.

  “Hang on, this isn’t right,” he muttered to himself, and he began to fall. He crashed into a broad bough, wrapping his body around it. Scrambling to get a handhold, he screamed. Clawing, he slipped off the bough, falling through the air, bouncing from one branch to the next.

  “Shiiiiiiiii…” he cried, and grabbed a thin branch. He swung from it, but lost his grip, his hand stripping the ever-thinning branch of its leaves as his momentum tossed him out of the tree. “…iiiiit! He was flying through the air, the peculiar thought that he didn’t have the skill occurred to him. Down and down he plummeted. He thumped into a leafy bank, and grunted as the wind was knocked out of him. Bouncing up, he saw he was flying over the top of the hillock. Landing on the other side, he skidded down its bank, carving an earthy scar in the mud and mulch. With a splash, his momentum deposited him in an ice-cold stream.

  Congratulations! You have achieved level 2 climbing. You scrambled up that tree like a natural. For tips and tricks on getting down, please consult Wiki. Note there is no Wiki!

  He squirmed around in the stream like a wounded animal.

  Damage! You have received 40 damage. To prevent damage, open Flying skill. Note: there is no flying skill.

  When Glenwyth’s laughter filled the vale, his humiliation was complete.

  Glenwyth cleared a circle on the forest floor and placed some stones around it, building a stack of twigs in its center. She soon had a fire going and coaxed Lincoln’s clothes off him and hung them in front of its flames. Lincoln washed in the stream, then took his deadman’s coat out of his sack and spread it on the ground.

  It was then she sat next to him, then she kissed him, and it was then the land coursed through his veins. Though he tried, he felt so much for her, and he gave himself to her knowing she needed him as much as he needed her. Once more, he truly felt at one with the land, like it was part of him, like he was living and breathing it. Nothing was more important in those moments, and after, he wondered if his love for Joan had vanished. But this time, knew it was just different now: a memory to be cherished, a memory to be worshiped, but not a memory to bind him, for it was never a chain. He lay on his deadman’s coat, with Glenwyth, and looked up through the forest canopy at the bright blue sky.

  “We should go and welcome Gillian.”

  “If it is her,” Glenwyth said, but Lincoln knew it was, because his every feeling was so acute. He felt it like he could see the rock that laid beneath. It was as though he could sense her very feet treading on his vale.

  Then Bethe appeared, out of the blue.

  “Aaaargh!” Lincoln shouted.

  “Aaaargh!” Glenwyth shouted.

  “There you are,” Bethe said, looking them both up and down. “I could come back.”

  Lincoln pulled the deadman’s coat over them. “No, it’s okay. Something up?”

  “You should get back to the village.”

  “I know.”

  “You know?” Bethe questioned, her little coppery head inclined in confusion.

  “I know a load of folks have spilled through the fissure.”

  “Seventy-two, to be precise. They have brought some goats and horses, and I believe a few crates of birds.”

  “We saw them.”

  “And?” Bethe asked.

  “And what?”

  “What else do you know?”

  “Eh?” Lincoln said, becoming confused.

  “Did you know, for instance, that Grimble just visited the stone dwarves and is now rushing back with news? Or did you know that Forgarth is scrambling to address some problem or the other, and now Elleren has been dispatched to consult with you? If you did, I wouldn't have bothered trying to find you, nor will I, next time.”

  Lincoln and Glenwyth got dressed quickly, put out the fire and started marching back. “Tell me, Bethe, did it take long to find me?”

  “I know where you are all the time as you are in the settlement’s sphere of influence. Even when you are traveling quite fast.”

  “So, it didn’t take you long to find me.” Lincoln grinned.

  “No,” Bethe said. “It just took me a while to interrupt you. Not too long, though.”

  Lincoln blushed. Bethe floated off. Glenwyth pulled him close, and they settled into a walk, soon over the rocky plateau by the ogre’s cave, and soon back in the academy.

  “So tell me,” Lincoln asked Glenwyth, pulling her back, wanting the last hour to linger a little longer. She stared up at him.

  “Yes?”

  “Will you sleep better, now that you understand that you haven’t become suddenly evil?”

  Glenwyth bit her lip. “No,” she said, after a short while. “I will sleep better because I must embrace the change. I will sleep better knowing that I must change, but I will never sleep better rejoicing in my loss of innocence.” She reached up, and kissed him softly on the cheek. “And all the while I am with you, I will sleep because I am content.”

  Lincoln nodded. “All the while?”

  “It is a feeling I have. I think my future lies beyond this circle of land and farther than the valley over. A stranger comes. I feel it, and the stranger will need my help.” Tears hatched in the corner of her eyes. “I hope I am wrong, Lincoln the builder. I hope I am wrong, and I can stay with you.”

  Lincoln took her in his arms and hugged her as she sobbed gently. They stayed like that for mere moments.

  Like the faintest whisper, Lincoln thought he could hear his name being called. It grew louder and louder, and he recognized it to be Grimble’s growl. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dwarf running toward the settlement. He gave Glenwyth one last squeeze, and pushed her slightly away. “Well, we can be together until the stranger comes.”

  “That we can,” Glenwyth whispered, and then pulled him toward the edge of the academy, and they dashed after the running Grimble. Running was perhaps a strong word given the dwarf’s shuffle, Lincoln thought, but whatever it was, Grimble was a dwarf on a mission.

  “Lincoln!” Grimble shouted as he went. “Lincoln!”

  “Ho!” Lincoln called from behind, as they darted after him. They clashed midway between the academy and the first of the cottages, and Grimble doubled over in exhaustion.

  “Not cut out fer running. Not at all.”

  “What’s so important?”

  “Stone dwarves,” he said. “I went up to see ‘em, make sure it was all going smooth and that, an’ they were all sobbin’.”

  “Sobbin’?”

  “Death!” the dwarf spat.

  “Death?” both Lincoln and Glenwyth blurted.

  Grimble eyed them up and down, clearly wondering if they were teasing him. “Yeah, death, and no laughing matter. Evil, true evil has graced this land—some say from Ruse itself. A dwarven king has fallen and so has a sorceress from beyond the mists.”

  “And the dwarves are mourning?” Lincoln shrugged, unsure of what it meant for him. “Do I need to divert workers or something?”

  “No, nothing like that. He was old, very old, and deep-down dwarves are distant relations, but the death of a great king deserves at least a pause in the banging and chiseling, and dwarves like to sob. No, it’s not that, you needn’t worry about that.”

  “Well, what is it then?” Lincoln was concerned because the dwarf ha
d worry etched all over his face.

  “The prophecy tells that war follows on the heels of the king’s death.”

  “Too soon.”

  “Aye, too soon. There’s more,” Grimble said.

  “More?”

  “Have you ever heard of a Katrox?”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a wraith, a shadow. Things are afoot outside. The dwarven king was possessed by a wraith and died because of it. The boy, Zender, oversteps.” Lincoln nodded, though Grimble’s words exposed his lack of knowledge of the world he now lived in, and they were said with enough graveness that he knew it was bad, very bad.

  Glenwyth sprinted off to find Jack and Rob, to tell them that Gillian might have returned. Meanwhile, both Lincoln and Grimble hightailed it back to the tavern, where they found Ozmic, Aezal, Jin, and Crags. Jin was nursing a blackened, swollen eye, cut and bruised cheeks and looked like he was holding a cracked rib or two. Looking up and wincing, he tried a half smile.

  “Next time I’ll just get her slightly angry,” he said.

  “Sounds a better plan, though we might just need that temper sooner that we thought.”

  “What?” Jin said. Aezal and Crags stopped their chatter and looked up. Ozmic was already in deep conversation with Grimble.

  He cleared his throat. “The death of Aragnoor is dark news indeed. That a wraith could possess and then suck the health out of such a high-level dwarf makes it darker.”

  Jin took a sup of his ale. “Possession by a wraith shows a measure of complicity.”

  Both Grimble and Ozmic stared at the dark elf. “Be careful what you say, elf,” Ozmic muttered, standing over him.

  Jin appeared confused, as if what he had said could not be argued against. “What part of 'possession' don’t you understand? To be taken by the wraith, you have to be in the same room as its carrier, therefore, Aragnoor must have been in talks, at the very least, with agents of the boy, Zender.”