by Ember Lane
“I, I saw the copper beast and my rage…” she muttered, 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.
“Can we stay?” he asked.
“Here?” Lincoln said, taken aback by the abruptness of the question.
“Here. My father’s sick, and my grandpa’s sick, but my mom and me can work until they get better.”
“Sick?”
“Mom say’s the damp’s gotten into them. We hadn’t seen the sun for ten days, then we came here.”
Lincoln stared down at the little scamp. When he’d thought about folks coming, he’d imagined strong men and capable women, ready to take on the task of building a settlement, not the weak, diseased, and feeble, not the destitute on the very verge of death.
“Of course,” he replied, biting his lip and immediately accepting that this was probably all his settlement would attract. Those so desperate to flee the land outside that they’d throw their lot in with a dank forest and all its dangers, both seen and unseen. “What’s your name?”
“Robert, but my mom calls me Rob—most of the time—when I’m being good.”
“Well Rob, let’s go meet your parents.”
Rob introduced his mother first. Her name was Gillian, and she held her shoulders like the whole world pushed down on each. Her eyes were drawn, silvery bags telling of many a night’s broken sleep. She clasped an old, brown shawl tight around her neck as if the cold held deep-winter’s bite, and her look was akin to someone who had left despair behind long ago, plunging farther depths. Despite looking middle-aged, Lincoln doubted she was a day over twenty-five.
“We will work our share and more,” she blurted, looking up from her bowl. “And I can cook,” she said, glancing at Aezal as if she expected the warrior to swipe at her for the comment.
Aezal ladled some broth into a bowl and shoved it over to Lincoln. “The dwarf is a better cook than me,” he muttered, as he spooned more into the next. “I see we have the gnome back, so I take it all went well.”
“To plan,” Lincoln said, simply. “Gillian, do you know what ails your husband and father?”
“Rot,” she said. “The trees are thick with fungus, and I fear it is eating them alive. Look how their eyes bulge, their skin bleeds, and scales. They have the haunted look of those whose boats are moored close by. But maybe,” she said, her voice becoming more urgent. “Maybe now that we are out of that dread place, it will retreat—maybe. We have hope here, please don’t turn us away.”
Lincoln nodded. He’d already accepted that this was his fate. These blighted folks were his settlement’s future.
“I can help.” The words floated around him, and he recognized her voice. “I have seen this before.”
Turning, Lincoln saw Glenwyth standing by the bridge. She appeared hesitant, nervous, almost like taking another step would be one too far, one she needed an invite for. Lincoln stared at her, confused at seeing the elf away from her valley, wondering at her motives.
“Glenwyth,” he whispered, and just that word seemed to release her to dash toward him, falling to her knees. “I must make amends. I have asked Forgarth, and he has granted my wish. There are plenty that will now help you in the valley, but few up here. I am to be that bridge.”
Lincoln wanted to tell her that there was no need, but could see that the need was all hers. He’d sensed she’d broken some kind of law, stepped over an unseen line and needed to heal herself.
“Welcome to Joan’s Creek,” he said, and he tucked into his broth. “Aezal, you are a terrible cook.”
“But a great warrior.”
“Who keeps getting knocked out,” Crags pointed out.
Aezal growled at him. “Poisoned, drugged, those were not true battles. Those were the battles of cowards.”
“True,” Lincoln agreed, though he made a note that the warrior was at three loses and zero wins. “You’re just saving your great victories for latter.”
Aezal grunted, but Lincoln could tell he was embarrassed.
Glenwyth waited for the family to finish their food, and then helped them to one of the cottages over the bridge. Rob’s father was called Jack, and his grandfather, Edward, though Lincoln doubted the old man would survive long. His lips were swollen, purple, scabbed, and bleeding. His eyes bulged like onions, and he moved and walked like each of his joints was but a rusted hinge. All their eyes followed the family on their painfully slow way. After they’d disappeared into the hut, Glenwyth emerged, skipping across the night-darkened vale like it was already her home, and returning a little while later.
“What’s her story?” asked Aezal, and Lincoln filled him in on the day’s events.
“Are you truly the only man that can get stabbed and still win?” Aezal asked, when Lincoln had finished, but then he immediately put his hand up to stay Lincoln’s response. “No need to answer, I know. So...” Aezal turned to Crags. “How did you fare?”
“With Forgarth?” Crags replied. “The usual. At first it was all furtive glances and scowls, but my charm, charisma, and wit won the day. After that, we mostly chatted about the land and whatnot.”
“Whatnot?” Aezal asked.
Crags pulled his little legs up, crossing them and resting his bowl on his lap. “War. We all know war is coming, and before he wasn’t particularly worried about it, but with Lincoln coming along, he can see his tribe getting dragged into the killing.”
“Why?” Lincoln asked, suddenly perking.
“Because Sutech Charm knows Irydia well. He’s not like the others who’ve invaded. He knows the true power of Irydia radiates from the north and doesn’t peter out in the mountains. He knows he must conquer Zybond, hold Merrivale, use Thickwick—all of them big and small if he is to sit in the halls of Shyantium, if he is to study in their universities.” Crags took a breath, but his next words were no more comforting. “If he is to march on Kobane and Atremeny.”
“No army has ever conquered Atremeny,” Aezal spat.
“No army has ever been led by Sutech Charm,” Crags countered. “Rumor has it, he has the support of the boy Zender—the one you lot call ShadowDancer. If that is the case, he will sit in the Hall of Reavers before many years have passed.”
Aezal nodded, and the dwarves grunted, but Lincoln said nothing. He didn’t know enough about the land. He couldn’t be sure whose side he should be on. Brokenford hadn’t impressed him at all. Its lies, deceit, and prejudice on show for all to revel in.
His gaze was drawn to the cottage over the river, and his mind lingered on Glenwyth. Why was she so fraught with guilt at trying to protect her people from what she thought was a monster? Or was it that she could, that her anger had been so quick to rise? He jumped up, deciding to do something for himself, to take a look at his own personal hop and barley farm. “Sometimes answers come easier when you don’t chase them,” he muttered to himself.
Before he'd gotten too far, he saw the little farmstead. It had just enough room for the two folks that would be needed to tend the fields. For now, he saw two copper workers toiling away in them, glinting in the moonlight. The familiar subtle scent of the hops came to him first, followed by the bitter tang of the fledgling fruit trees. Each of the farms had been accelerated by the land to begin producing quicker foods straight away, and Bethe had obviously taken great pains to make sure the fruit trees would bloom on time. Lincoln needed their natural yeast to start the brewing process off. He sat on the farmstead’s stoop and looked out over it.
“I took the liberty of planting some smoking leaf for you.” Bethe’s voice made Lincoln jump, but it was a welcome surprise.
“Thank you Bethe. I don’t suppose any is ready?”
“I gave one plant a helping hand. Here,” she said, handing him a pouch. “I have been in contact with Echo, and simplified all your menus to accommodate the extra settlement. You can now instruct me through him, and vice versa.”
