The Legacy Builder- the Chronicles of Lincoln Hart

by Ember Lane

  “You think the dwarves are in cahoots with Ruse?” Grimble growled.

  “I said talks, not allied, or in league. Only a fool of a leader doesn’t consider all angles. Perhaps he denied them, and they saw the wraith as the only way. Given his age, in spite of his level, his mind might have been fragile, open—even drugged.”

  Grimble and Ozmic looked like they were fit to burst. “No dwarf—” Ozmic made to say, jostling in front of Grimble in a bid to bash Jin first.

  “Look,” said Jin, holding his hands up. “Don’t get your beards in a twist. You agree Aragnoor was possessed?”

  “Yer,” they both growled, begrudgingly.

  “And you agree the wraith spawned in Ruse?”

  “Yer,” they both said, shuffling from foot to foot, eyeing their ales.

  “Then we agree. Ruse was behind the dwarf king’s demise.”

  Dunaric clattered through the door. Behind him, a dozen stone-cutting dwarves waited to barge through. “Aragnoor is without stain,” he said, his tone inviting no argument. “Now, in true tradition, time fer a dozen or more ales.” And they all piled in.

  The dwarves took up a third of the inn, but their voices took it over completely. Lincoln watched them drain one ale after the next, and was glad he’d upped his stocks and pinched a bot so that new ale was constantly being brewed. He wanted to get a word with Dunaric and find out a bit more about the prophecy, but Dunaric was elbow deep in sorrow and ale. Lincoln didn’t want to get dragged into that.

  “Don’t worry about yer quarries an’ yer mines,” Dunaric yelled. “Them copper-bots ‘r taking care of ‘em,” and Lincoln knew the dwarves were camped for the day.

  He wandered outside to see if there was any sign of Glenwyth, but instead saw Elleren riding over the bridge on a piebald horse. It reminded him of Bethe’s warning. Great funnels of smoke plumed out of its nostrils, and Elleren jumped off in mid-gallop. She beckoned him over to her, gasping for breath herself.

  “What?” Lincoln asked, wondering if the day could get any weirder.

  “Sanctuary is being attacked,” she said.

  22

  Mezzerain

  Lincoln’s heart nearly stopped. “Attacked? Who? Where from? How many? Is everyone safe?”

  “Forgarth is countering.” She called the horse back around, jumping on and offering her hand.

  Lincoln dithered for but a second, and then jumped on. Elleren kicked the horse into a gallop, and they flew over the bridge, past the farms, warehouse, empty barracks, and on toward the ridge. Without breaking stride, they shot into the tunnel and then banked sharply—the beast taking the steps easily. Before Lincoln knew it, he was in the forest and then bursting into the clearing. Elleren pulled the mount to a halt and jumped off. Lincoln slid off after, not quite understanding what he was seeing. He’d expected to see something far worse.

  The One Tree looked vibrant, new shoots shooting, buds budding, and bright green leaves unfurling in the midday sun. The cottages were all in one piece too. In fact there was no sign of any attack apart from a single soldier staked to the ground by about thirty pegs and about a dozen ropes crisscrossing his massive body.

  Perhaps single soldier was an understatement. The man was a beast, a brute and a giant. Though not as big as Pete, he wasn’t much shorter. He had trunks for legs, trunks for arms, and a bald head that looked like it could split rocks just by brushing against them. He looked like a warrior and a mercenary, and he was almost certainly a hero.

  “Oooops,” said Lincoln, thinking about the script he’d nailed to the tavern’s wall. Forgarth marched up to him.

  “He charged through the forest like a beast possessed,” Forgarth stated.

  “I did not,” shouted the man.

  “We fought him tooth and nail,” Forgarth cried.

  “You all ran away,” the man growled.

  “And then,” Forgarth continued. “In a titanic battle, we finally felled him.”

  “You shot me with about a dozen poison-tipped arrows, and from up in the trees,” the man muttered.

  Forgarth turned and stared down at the roped beast. “Though he fought bravely, we bested him. We defended our lands.”

  “I wasn’t attacking you! How many times? There is some power at hand that drew me here.”

  “About that—” Lincoln made to say, but Forgarth interrupted.

  “You attacked one of our sawmills.”

  “I did no such thing. I merely asked for directions. Your little elves ran away like kids caught in a honeypot.”

  “You attacked and then you ran through the forest like a raging boar, until we felled you in a last-ditch stand.”

  “I ran after them to find my way out of this damned forest. It’s the thickest, densest, dankest forest I have ever ventured through,” the warrior said, in a curiously resigned voice.

  “And attacked this village!” Forgarth raged.

  “I was looking for the tavern that was calling me!” the man-mountain said through gritted teeth.

  “Buildings don’t call to anyone!” Forgarth pointed out.

  “Hold on, hold on,” Lincoln shouted. “Echo!”

  Echo appeared by his side. “Yes, Lincoln.”

  “What devilry is that?” the prone soldier asked, looking up at Echo, a revolted grimace etched between the scars on his face.

  “Echo,” said Lincoln, ignoring the man. “Any damage to any mills, quarries, or mines?”

  “No Lincoln, everything is functioning.”

  “Good. Forgarth, if I remove this man from the valley, will you be satisfied with that?”

  “Well, no elf was injured. So, I could let it pass.”

  “Yer little scamps didn’t get close enough to get injured,” the warrior barked.

  “We fought a valiant—”

  “All right, all right,” said Lincoln. “You sir…”

  “Mezzerain.”

  “Mezzerain, if I take you to the tavern, would you forget this little incarceration?”

  “For an ale or two, I could forget their inhospitableness.”

  “Promise?”

  The elves raised their bows and retreated back.

  “They’ll only put me to sleep again,” Mezzerain growled.

  Lincoln bent and cut the man’s ties. He made to pull him up, but decided against it. After the man had finished standing, Lincoln took a step back. “Forgarth, I’d like a couple of horses. I feel I might need to come here every day from now on. Incursions into your forest will come thick and fast. We need to start preparing. We need to get that wall up.”

  “It’s closer than you think,” Mezzerain growled. “But that’s a tale fer an ale or two.”

  Forgarth looked Lincoln up and down. “Has the dark one muddled your mind? The tree is thriving again: peace reigns.”

  Lincoln told Forgarth about the dwarf king. Mezzerain told him of clouds gathering on Irydia’s horizon and beyond. When the warrior was done, Forgarth had visibly paled. Then Mezzerain issued him a dire warning.

  “I come from a land called Valkyrie,” he said. “There are no elves there now—none of your type, anyway. When your slaughter comes, little one, it will be fast and over before your first scream dies. They’ll be no hiding behind poisoned arrows. Only the dark elves will endure.”

  Lincoln remained silent while Mezzerain’s words still rang in Forgarth’s ears. Elleren came with two more horses, which they then mounted and left, Elleren in tow. She said she wanted to see Glenwyth, but Lincoln suspected she was seeing her tribe for what it was. Once through the tunnel, they eased the horses to a walk.

  “Where’s Valkyrie?” Lincoln asked.

  Mezzerain looked him up and down. “New to the land?”

  “A moonful of days,” Lincoln replied.

  “So, you know about a hundred miles worth.”

  “And had quite an adventure on the way.”

  Mezzerain leaned forward, stroking his horse’s mane. “Then I’ll keep it simple. Ruse is bad, every
thing else is just different shades of shit.”

  “So where’s Valkyrie?”

  “Beyond the mists, but then, you probably don’t know about them either. Say, you actually in charge of all this?”

  “Seems that way.”

  Mezzerain looked around. “Not bad for a handful of days. Imagine what you could achieve if you lasted a year.”

  “Gonna build me a wall across the valley.”

  “Make it a tall one,” Mezzerain grunted. “And start it soon. Yeah, make it a tall one.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Then that should tell you just how tall it should be.”

  “Fifty feet?”

  Mezzerain shrugged. “That’d be a good start. You’ve got plenty of stone.” He gazed up at the mountain, and then around the vale. “Any other ways in?”

  “Just one.”

  “Fortified?”

  “Easily.”

  “Then you might hold out, then again, you might not have the time. All depends on the wall. That’s a lot of stone to move.”

  Lincoln laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I cheat a lot.”

  Mezzerain grunted, and they rode along in silence for a while, until Lincoln ventured another question.

  “What’s Ruse like?” Lincoln had only really heard it whispered about, but this man seemed to be happy to talk freely.

  Mezzerain took a deep breath. “Ruse…only been close the once. Had a parlay with the boy, Zender, and his master, a fat, round god called Belved. So, I can’t tell you what it’s like, just what everyone thinks it’s like. But, I saw the coast, and it was like a midnight speckled with a million fires. Zender, ShadowDancer, whatever you want to call him, was as pale as a newborn, with the confidence of a seasoned veteran. Meeting them was like meeting your death.”

  “Grim,” Lincoln muttered.

  “And some. I’ve heard tell that Ruse is the land of lies, and that the value of words is mere dust. But let me tell you, every word the boy, Zender, said to me burrowed into me and etched its meaning on my bones. He will not stop until his god reigns supreme.” Mezzerain paused, smacking his lips in thought. “No, I don’t believe he will stop then. I think he will kill Belved’s brothers and sisters one by one until there is just him and his master, and then, finally, the dog will turn.”

  Mezzerain steered his mount closer to Lincoln.

  “Well,” he said. “You did ask.”

  A shiver ran through Lincoln’s old bones. “So, is there no stopping him?”

  “Isn’t that the question? Will a hero come? You tell me. The land needs one, because in the face of evil, good invariably crumbles. Just look at those crazy elves. Is that the best you’ve got?”

  Lincoln glanced at Elleren, but the elf’s eyes were fixed on her mount’s shoulders.

  “Nah,” Lincoln said. “I’m breeding power elves up here. Just got to get another few to join me.”

  Elleren looked up. “Teach me,” she said, and Lincoln grinned.

  “I think that’s Glenwyth’s job.” Then it dawned on him that he hadn’t asked about the tree elves. “Do you know where they went?”

  “They have left?”

  “Their village is empty. I assumed they’d run to you, to Forgarth.”

  “No, they did not come through the tunnel.”

  “Strange.”

  Elleren sniffed the air. “Are you sure they are missing? I can smell their scent.”

  “You mean they’ve returned?”

  Elleren pointed. “I don’t think they’re all human, do you?”

  They were in sight of the village, just on the edge of the farms. At first, Lincoln assumed that the gathered crowd was the settlers he’d seen coming through the fissure, but there were far too many, and a speckling of green hinted at what Elleren meant.

  “You don’t think?” Lincoln asked.

  “I do,” Elleren said, and galloped off.

  “What?” Mezzerain asked.

  “It seems this tribe of elves might be up for a fight.”

  “You know something, Lincoln?” Mezzerain drew his horse close and leaned across. “If you can get the elves to fight, truly fight, and for themselves, well, you might just have a chance. I’ve seen a whole load of things in my time. I’ve seen the gates of Striker Bay, and sea monsters the size of boats. I’ve seen a dragon circle the old castle at Horn’s Isle—many, many things—but, there is nothing quite like seeing a motivated elf fight hard. It’s both majestic and breathtaking. It’s swift and brutal. Trouble is, it’s always for a cause. They just can’t seem to get worked up enough to fight for themselves. Always gotta be a cause.”

  “What about you?”

  Mezzerain grunted. “I came to this land to fight alongside a legend. My fallen god, Taric, his days are done, and so I fight alongside the Old Ones now, and there is none more so than Sakina, but you’d know that.”

  “Me?”

  “Your alignment, Mandrake. There is none older.”

  “So I’m told. So I’m told,” Lincoln muttered.

  Bethe appeared by his side. “You’re back. We have guests. There are seventy-two new inhabitants, and eighty tree elves have decided they want to train under Jin. We’re going to have to up the levels of the farms, the feasting hall, the—”

  “All in good time,” Lincoln said. “All in good time.” He broke into a smile as he saw Glenwyth running across the bridge. She hesitated briefly when she saw Mezzerain but skipped forward anyway.

  “They want to fight! They want to fight!” She ran up and jumped on his horse, settling behind him, her arms around his waist.

  “So, how come?” but Lincoln didn’t finish. As soon as he made the bridge, his horse was mobbed with folks reaching up and thanking him. He shook their outstretched hands and looked into their pleading eyes. A safe haven, that was what they wanted, and come what may, he was going to give it to them. That was Joan’s legacy.

  Then he saw Gillian, standing on the pub’s stoop. She raised a mug of ale and smiled at him with her arm around her husband, and Robert, just in front, looking up at the village’s tree. It had grown and twisted around the inn. Lincoln doubted it would be getting planted anywhere else.

  The stone dwarves were first to call it a day; their wake had drowned them in ale. Then, family by family, the settlers began to wilt, now eager for beds, the exhilaration of finding safety finally waning and full bellies settling. Grimble and Ozmic had cooked pot after pot of broth for them, and Aezal and Crags had manned the tavern’s counter, keeping everyone in ale. It had been a good night, but they all now drifted into the empty cottages.

  Late on, Lincoln finally got to speak to the leader of the tree elves, Ardreth. His expression was already haunted, a sign that his alignment leaned to the dark. “Your words didn’t go amiss,” Ardreth told him. “And then we sensed trouble out in the forest beyond the ridge.”

  “The settlers?”

  Ardreth nodded. “Slavers, and a grim bunch, no doubt pressing folks into Muscat’s swelling army. I lost some good elves. We’ll be better prepared with Jin’s help.”

  Lincoln offered him little more than his thanks. The elf was already converted to his cause.

  “Would you be happy to range the forest outside looking for more?”

  Ardeth nodded. “With Jin’s help we will become invisible and deadly.”

  “Now that’s my kind of elf,” Mezzerain grunted.

  The moon was high in the sky when Lincoln finally got to sit on his stoop with Glenwyth, Elleren, and Mezzerain. Aezal had called it a day. Crags was out back brewing up some more ale. Both Ozmic and Grimble were sleeping by the fire pit, their cottage lent to some settlers.

  “So it works,” Lincoln said, pointing up at the script pinned to the tavern’s wall.

  “So that was what it was,” Mezzerain said. “A damn Hero Hunting script. I wondered why I couldn’t resist its pull.”

  “You want the position?”

 
; “Be nice,” Mezzerain said. “Who wouldn’t. The ale’s the best I’ve tasted. This place will be near invincible if you get it right. Cushy number.”

  “So…”

  “So it pains me that I must decline. Like I said, I am destined to fight alongside another.”

  Lincoln shrugged. “Not the first time I’ve heard that today.” And he pulled Glenwyth close.

  He got up, poured another four drinks and sat back down. “You should stay a few days. Recharge those… Have a rest.” Pulling out his pipe, he primed its pot.

  “Do you think you’ll get one?” Mezzerain asked.

  “One what?”

  “A hero.”

  Lincoln grunted.

  “With my luck, two will come along.”

  The end

  Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed Lincoln’s tale, please leave a review, they really help with visibility. Here’s the link

  Did you enjoy that? The next book in the series; Alexa Drey and The Veils Of Lamerrel is ready for you right now- you can pick it up here.

  Lincoln is back in the 3rd Barakdor book; Alexa Drey - Hero Hunting (just like a TV crossover) and ready for you as soon as you’ve read book 2. Lincoln’s tale picks up in the fourth book “The Secrets of Starellion - The Court of Lincoln Hart”.

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  About Barakdor

  The Land of Barakdor was conceived over ten years ago as homage to a few MMORPGs namely Evony, Lords of Ultima, Dragons of Atlantis and the like. ZyBandian played a number of NA worlds, and a few Ultima servers. Alexa Drey was known to ride the odd dragon. Barakdor is an on going series, with six books currently written and the seventh in the mill. It will conclude with the eighth book. I hope you enjoy them, and thank you for reading,

  Ember

  LitRPG Links

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