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Tribe Master A Fantasy Harem Adventure 1st Edition Noah

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Tribe Master A Fantasy Harem Adventure 1st Edition Noah

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Tribe Master 3 A Fantasy Harem Adventure 1st Edition

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Tribe Master 6 A Fantasy Harem Advenure 1st Edition

Noah Layton
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Tribe Master 5
A Fantasy Harem Adventure
Noah Layton
Copyright 2021 Noah Layton
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents

either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used
fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including
photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods,
without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the
case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain
other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Epilogue
Chapter One
I pushed myself up against the headboard, yawning as I stretched

my arms over my head.
Things were becoming a little cramped in my bed, but that was
a natural product of sharing it with so many beautiful women.
Lara, my bow-wielding huntress, was always a welcome
presence at my side; her purple hair was her second-most striking
feature, right after her buxom chest that stood proudly on her tight
frame.
Santana, laid by her side. She was a flawlessly pale-skinned
beauty with luscious red hair that swept behind her in the breeze
when she was tending to our horses along the edges of our land.
She had been through a lot, but I had made it my job to keep her
safe from harm.
To my right resided the beautiful and exotic Talia. She had
seemed conniving when we had first met, and I had been right;
when I had come into possession of a merchant ship as a gift from
the tribe master of the sun-elves, I didn’t expect there to be a
stowaway lurking aboard.
She had caused me more trouble than I cared to admit, but in
defending our land she had not only held her own but fearlessly
defended my people with her ferocious fighting skills.
That ferocity had only been matched by her feverish appetites
in the bedroom, or the guard tower on the western side of our land
for that matter. The pleasure and love that I had felt was still
ingrained into my mind from the first time we had been together.
My blue-skinned nymph, Elera, resided right beside her,
sandwiched between Talia and Ariadne.
‘I don’t have a problem with our sleeping arrangement,’ Elera
opined. ‘More people to share means more heat. It’s freezing in
here.’
Even if social customs in Agraria were a lot more relaxed than
they been back on Earth, Elera’s previous life as a nymph in the
forest had left her even more oblivious than I was used to.
Last but not least was Ariadne. Ever since I had rescued her
from a slaver at the local trading post and provided her with
freedom, she had been one of my most faithful companions. She
had taught me how to wield a melee weapon and helped me survive
my first few days in this strange land.
Sure, things were a little crowded, but there was no way I was
complaining – waking up every morning surrounded by five beautiful
women was a lifestyle most men could only dream of.
Every one of them had taught me something about the world
of Agraria.
Sometimes I had to pinch myself to believe it was true, not
just because of the comfort and companionship that I awoke to
every morning, but because of all that had happened since my
arrival.
I had taken on the role of tribe master after being summoned
to a strange land,
built my tribal numbers to over 50 citizens, built houses, constructed
defenses, gathered wealth, and set up food and supply chains that
kept my people fed and safe from harm.
But that was just what took place on the land, the day-to-day
activities that kept our community running.
Beyond our borders in the wilds of Agraria, things were much
less peaceful and much more violent.
My first and primary objective was to take care of my people,
and to do that I often had to do things that most people wouldn’t
dream of.
War was a reality in Agraria, and I had to adjust fast. It came
in many forms, whether it be in gangs of raiders, legendary beasts,
sirens living beneath swamps, feral wood-elves who had kidnapped
one of my wives, mercenary gangs, or even enemy tribes.
And from each of my adventures so far I had taken a souvenir
to remind me every morning of just how lucky I was to be alive.
From the mother wolf that had attacked our land, I had taken
a large fang.
From Werger, the psychotic trader who I had rescued
Ariadne’s kin, the fox-people, from, a Brutal Limb Breaker that he
had used to almost strangle me to death.
From the land of the wood-elves, a feather from the attire of
their tribe master.
And from the mercenaries that had attacked our land, a
dagger with an imperfect ruby embedded into its handle.
Every one of my souvenirs had been taken from the enemies
that I had vanquished. They were trophies; reminders both of my
victory over my foes, and the constant threat that lurked out there in
the wilds of Agraria.
I was open to negotiations. I preferred to use words to settle
disputes and to make arrangements.
And when that didn’t work, I didn’t hesitate to put the blade
of my sword to the throats of my enemies in a swift, relentless
swipe.
But there was one thing that I had realized about myself ever
since arriving in Agraria; I wasn’t just a warrior, but a leader. I had
to balance both duties in my place as a tribe master.
Being a leader meant making decisions that others didn’t want
to, ones that were often difficult, and which sometimes had very
dangerous consequences.
But I wasn’t in this alone; not only did I have my faithful
women at my side, ready to support me and help me in managing
the tribe’s endeavors, but I had a whole group of other companions
within my tribe.
Of course, there was one other companion of mine that had
been by my side this whole time and had taught me more than
anybody.
‘Master Jack, Master Jack!’
But he certainly didn’t belong in my bed.
A sudden banging on the door to my treehouse home sounded.
I pushed from my bed, much to the dismay of my wives, and
crossed to the door in my underwear.
The bite of the cold struck my lean and muscular body
immediately. I had been used to Agraria as a tropical land with
luscious heat since I had first awoken in the forest, but a few days
ago things had become colder.
Much colder.
I opened the door to a blustering gale of wind that swept in.
Elera shrieked and pulled the covers over herself, not at the sight of
our guest but at the chilling cold that presented itself.
‘Master Jack, there you are!’
‘Where else would I be at this time in the morning, Alorion?’
Alorion, my faithful imp companion, had been my guide ever
since I had arrived in Agraria. He took the form of a green monkey
that stood no more than two feet tall, but looks were deceiving; if it
wasn’t for his knowledge about the workings of this land, I would
probably be dead already.
I had also discovered that he had a certain way with the ladies
– for an imp, anyway.
‘You’re letting all the heat out buddy,’ I continued. ‘Well,
whatever heat we have. Get in here.’
‘Thank you, Master Jack.’
Alorion rushed in and I closed the door, barring it quickly
against the wind.
‘Oh!’ Alorion continued, seeing my wives in bed and averting
his gaze. ‘I didn’t know whether you were out of bed yet. Apologies,
ladies…’
‘You don’t need to be shy, Alorion,’ Ariadne smiled. ‘We’re all
friends here.’
‘Indeed,’ Alorion replied awkwardly, turning to me. ‘Forgive the
intrusion, Master Jack, but Captain Archibald has returned from his
trading voyage aboard our vessel.’
‘Already?’ I exclaimed. ‘Wow. He might be a drunk, but at least
he’s a hard worker.’
‘I believe you told us a name for that in your world, husband,’
Santana spoke from the bed. ‘What was it? Functioning alcoholic?’
‘Let’s go help him,’ I smiled to Alorion, finding my clothes
quickly before turning to my women. ‘I’m going to need you to go
and wake everybody. The sooner we get around to getting these
resources onto the land, the sooner we can be warm again.’
Not one of my women hesitated, no matter how comfortable
and warm it was beneath the sheets. They all climbed from our bed
in their nakedness, pulling their clothes from their inventories and
catching them as they appeared, as if from thin air.
‘Uhh…’ Alorion stuttered, turning sharply away. ‘I shall wait
outside, Master Jack. See you there.’
Before I could even say goodbye, Alorion scuttled up the walls
of my treehouse and disappeared over the precipice of the hollowed
trunk, returning to the land.
My home was built into the center of a huge tree that sat at
the center of my land, the front door being the only way in or out.
Well, that and the upper reaches of the tree four yards over
our heads where the canopy began.
Alorion was the only one who could enter that way, and he
never did anymore. Talia was the other, who had made it up there to
spy on me after following us back to our land in secret.
I had already noticed her impressive stealth and climbing skills,
not to mention her ferocious fighting abilities. But that was just
Talia; each of them possessed remarkable and individual skills that
made them fierce and invaluable.
I dressed quickly, pulling on my heavy boots, my leather pants
and a vest, over which I wore an overshirt and a jacket.
We were not yet outfitted properly for the cold, but we were
about to change that for everyone.
Before stepping out of the door of my home, I took one final
thing – my sword.
I hadn’t been precious over my weapons since I had arrived in
Agraria. A long blade had been my tool of choice for fighting my
enemies since the beginning. I had taken quickly to the brutality of
combat, the strength that it required, and the combination of
bravery and intellect that I had to muster in commanding it.
Occasionally I had resorted to wielding its power in a single
hand alongside my power stones, and while it required sharpness of
mind, commanding that combination had turned me into a
formidable fighting force alongside my people.
I had swapped it out on certain occasions for a new blade, but
my style remained the same.
Straightening my clothes and tightening my belt at my waist, I
opened the door onto my tribal land.
The landscape had changed completely in a matter of days.
What had once been luscious fields of crops dotted with workshops
and houses in the northern parts of my land, and a flawless pasture
in the southern parts with even more domains for my citizens, was
now almost unrecognizable.
The land was blanketed with crisp, thick snow. The crop fields
were buried beneath it, and the roofs of houses were stacked with
sheets of whiteness that needed to be constantly shifted to deter the
prospect of any roofs collapsing into homes, or any flooding that
might occur.
Ever since it had begun a few days ago my citizens had been
tireless in keeping things moving. Not only had we worked double-
time to harvest the crops in their entirety, amassing more than
enough food to see our 50-strong tribe through a winter spell, but
we had kept the network of homes scattered about the land safe
from the cold and properly networked; we had been systematic
about keeping a series of paths open and clear of snow, allowing
free movement from building to building so that we could keep
everything moving as smoothly as possible.
Those weren’t the only plans that we had made, though.
‘How long does winter last again?’ I asked Alorion.
‘Seasons in Agraria are unpredictable,’ he replied. ‘Perhaps a
week or two? Maybe more, maybe less. Winters do not often tend to
last long.’
‘Two weeks at most? That’s not the worst.’
‘No… Although it could extend for longer. And, of course, the
snowfall could become heavier.’
‘Worse than this?’
‘Perhaps,’ Alorion nodded thoughtfully. ‘Master Marlo used to
speak of a great winter centuries ago, when the snow fell so hard
that it buried the tops of the trees.’
I gulped.
‘Well, let’s hope we don’t see that again this time. Come on.’
Master Marlo, I thought. The tribe master that had commanded
this land before I got here. A fat lot of good that jerk had done for
me. First he goes crazy, then he burns his land to the ground.
But if it wasn’t for him summoning me through a portal, I
never would have ended up in this amazing place at all.
I rounded to the southern area of our land, passing my totems
with Alorion at my side. We made our way quickly to the southern
gates. They were standing open in the cold, snowy light of the
morning, watched dutifully by the attendant at the southern
watchtower.
‘Good morning, Master Jack,’ the fox-man on duty in the
watchtower called down to me. ‘I hope you do not think me
overstepping the line for bringing the horses around. I was not
abandoning my post, only-’
‘You don’t need to apologize for anything,’ I cut in. ‘Thanks for
taking the initiative. My first priority right now is to get our supplies
back to the land so we can get warm. You did the right thing.’
Ariadne’s kin whom I had rescued from the psychotic slaver
Werger several weeks ago were a loyal people. The fox-people had
informed me early on that they naturally stayed warmer than most;
while they still needed fire and shelter, they withstand the cold. With
that in mind, I had quickly resolved to send them on a secret
mission with our resident sea-faring drunk (or functioning alcoholic,
as Santana would say), Captain Archie.
After the first flakes of snow had begun to fall several days
ago, I immediately needed to assess our strengths and weaknesses.
We had enough food and shelter to last a bout of freezing
weather, but there was one other important matter to consider, and
that was warmth.
While the homes built upon the land were stable and could
weather plenty of storms, the falling temperatures were a force to
be reckoned with. Every home would therefore need its own
independent heating system beyond the small stoves that many of
them already had.
I headed through the southern gates to see Captain Archie
approaching.
‘Tribe master!’ Captain Archie called out. ‘Never have I been so
glad to see your face.’
‘You’re not always glad to see my face?’ I joked.
‘I’m just saying…’ He chuckled, ‘Our past voyages have
consisted of traversing the Black Patch and commandeering a
merchant ship that was almost pursued by mercenaries. Still, this
land is a bastion of safety compared to the world out there. Joining
your tribe was the best thing that ever happened to me.’
‘I take it the rivers are choppy?’
‘Not choppy, just freezing. Colder than the heart of the bastard
that took my beloved Coria from me…’
Captain Archie’s past was rooted in a love unrequited. It was
why he had left his tribe of high-elves in the first place, to make
something of himself.
True, our Gatsby-wannabee had taken to drinking his days
away on a fishing boat as opposed to building his fortune, but I
hadn’t forgotten about the tale he had told me.
Deep down, I really wanted him to get the girl.
Everybody loves an underdog, after all.
‘That still on your mind?’
‘It will always be on my mind, tribe master. It is my one drive,
after all.’
‘One day, man, one day. You’ll get her.’
‘Now that I am the captain of a ship belonging to a tribe
master such as yourself, that day has come ever closer.’
‘I’ll bet. Come on, let’s get everything inside.’
With the carts back at the storage structure and the fox-people
returned to their homes for some rest and warmth, I headed to my
Building Totem and brought up the menu.
It had taken few hundred gold pieces of unlocks to finally find
what I was looking for, but in the building interface it finally
appeared, listed amongst a scattering of other items.
Hearth – Iron bar x30
Chimney – Iron bar x60
With tens of citizens now residing upon my land, as well as
more than twenty loyal warriors at the new land to the north-west,
that meant around 1000 iron bars would be needed in order to build
all of the fireplaces to keep all of my citizens warm and safe from
the sudden and vicious snowfall that had come down upon us.
Fortunately I had planned ahead.
The moment the snow had started to fall, I sent Captain Archie
out on a trek to a trading post down river in order to acquire what
we needed before two things happened – a) demand rocketed, and
b) the price quickly drove up.
3000GP sounded like a lot, but we were still sitting on around
20,000 gold pieces to last us the winter, and keeping my tribe warm
was an endeavor where price was immaterial.
To further ensure that warmth, I had also invested in a set of
winter clothes for every one of my tribal members. They consisted of
tough, thick pants, heavy padded coats, thick leather gloves, and
heavy boots to fend off the cold that resided outside of their homes.
My outfit consisted of one similar to theirs; boots and pants,
several thick shirts covering my undershirt, and a heavy brown coat
with a thick collar that covered my neck. I spent more time outside
than many others, and I would need to be well-dressed – as would
my wives. I had also grown out the usual stubble that crowded on
my cheeks, nursing a beard to keep my face warm.
I selected the Hearth option in the menu, and the blue box for
its placement appeared before me on the ground.
I would work clockwise around the land, creating hearths and
chimneys in each and every home until I had completed a full cycle.
From there, all it took was firewood from the forest (plenty of
which we had in storage) and flint and tinder, and the houses would
be filled with warmth.
Order wasn’t my only reason for starting in the north, though –
keeping the newest member of our tribe warm was a top priority.
I knocked on the door of the well-built home that stood among
the crop fields in the north of my land.
A few moments later the door opened, and I was greeted by
one of the very first tribe members that I had brought into our
community.
‘Master Jack,’ Tormus said with quiet excitement, ‘what a
pleasant surprise!’
‘Hi Tormus, mind if I come in?’
‘Not at all, I would only ask that you keep your voice down –
Eri has only just managed to get Oden off to sleep.’
I winced comically and tip-toed into the house. Tormus closed
the door against the cold, but the temperature wasn’t much better
inside.
He was wrapped up in several huge shawls and blankets,
exposing only his face, his skin a shade of blue that was dotted with
white blotches.
He and his wife Eri were the only ones of their kind that I had
met in Agraria.
‘Can I offer you a drink, Master Jack?’ He shivered.
‘You can offer me some stew made from our crop stores once
your new fire is roaring.’
‘New fire?’ He asked. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Quick question – what do you value more: keeping Oden
asleep or being warm? I’m not being sarcastic, by the way. It’s a
genuine question.’
‘Oh, I didn’t think you were being sarcastic in the slightest,’
Tormus replied, considering my question genuinely. ‘I certainly value
heat more. Why do you ask?’
‘That’s a good answer. Now I don’t feel so bad about the
prospect of him waking up while we make a racket…’
I crossed to the wall where the stove resided. The fire was
burning, but it was too small and too weak to sufficiently heat the
house.
The hearth placement square stayed red until I moved before
the stove.
Select replacement: Hearth
A replacement, I thought.
I had never done this before.
I tapped the Hearth option and its setting, and another option
appeared before me.
Replace with Hearth?
I tapped accept, and with a shuddering of the ground the
hearth suddenly fell into place.
Tormus and I both waited in the fading echo of the hearth’s
arrival for sign of Oden crying.
Pleasant, peaceful silence was all that awaited.
Tormus shuffled madly with a sudden series of flustered
movements.
He cast off the blankets and rushed to me in nothing but his
undergarments, wrapping his arms around me in a bear hug and
lifting me off the ground.
‘Bless you, Master Jack!’ He said with hushed excitement. ‘You
are a great man.’
‘It’s no problem at all, man.’
Tormus readjusted me in his bear grip, knocking my head
against the wooden ceiling.
‘Ow,’ I said flatly.
‘Gods, I’m so sorry,’ he said quickly, setting me down.
‘No need to apologize,’ I smiled. ‘Let’s just get this chimney set
up outside and hope that it doesn’t wake Oden.’
‘I am a lucky man,’ Tormus whispered. ‘Evidently my boy needs
his sleep. He is putting all of his energy into growing into the
strongest man he can be!’
‘We’re not out of the woods yet,’ I smiled.
We headed back outside and rounded to the back of the house.
The stoves that the houses currently possessed all filtered their
smoke through a hatch in the walls, but they were way too small for
the size of the hearth’s that we were currently creating.
I tapped the hatch and received a similar message to before.
Select replacement: Chimney
I tapped the Chimney option and its setting, and a similar
option to before materialized.
Replace with Chimney?
Agraria’s building system was generally reliable, but a
construction of this size, especially one that affected the overall
structure of a building, was never something that I had attempted
before.
Back when we had created the spear gun in an effort to kill the
mother wolf, the amount of noise and dust that had been kicked up
in the process had almost brought down one of my buildings.
Here goes nothing.
I tapped accept. The ground immediately began to shudder,
and so did the house.
With a blustering crack the chimney suddenly popped into
place.
The moment the dirt, snow and dust settled there was a brief
moment of silence, until-
‘WAAAHHH!’
‘Sorry about that,’ I shrugged at Tormus. ‘Oden doesn’t sound
very happy.’
‘Good gods, are you trying to bring the house down?’ Eri’s
voice called from within.
Tormus and I shared a fearful smile and returned inside.
Upon closing the door behind us inside we found Eri cradling
Oden, admiring the hearth.
‘Okay,’ she started, turning to us both, ‘on this occasion I will
forgive you both for waking him. Thank you, Master Jack.’
‘No problem at all. Grab some firewood from the stores. We’re
lighting them up shortly.’
‘Gods be with you, Master Jack,’ Tormus said. ‘My son will sleep
warm and safely at night thanks to you.’
‘Just doing my job,’ I nodded with a smile.
I made my way around the rest of the homes on the land – the
fox-people, the five warriors who currently occupied a house, the
satyrs, as well as Cass and her brother Aden on the western side of
the land.
By the time everything was in place, most front doors were
open as my citizens admired the new additions to their homes from
both inside and outside of their dwellings.
I climbed to the top of the storage structure by my home and
got the attention of everyone across the huge space that my land
occupied.
‘Let’s light them up, people!’ I yelled out across the land.
Within minutes the echoes of my voice became reality; smoke
puffed from the chimneys of the houses all across our land, filling
the sky in noble plumes.
Cheers of rebellion against the cold roared out from my people
as they watched the smoke rise.
We were warm, safe, well-fed and protected from harm.
My people retreated into their homes and I climbed down from
the building, crossing to the steps of my treehouse where my wives
were emerging in the doorway.
‘Hopefully the smoke does not bring any unwanted attention
our way,’ Ariadne said. She moved to my side and nuzzled into my
chest, and I wrapped an arm around her firm waist, feeling the
slender curve of her behind.
‘We can’t put the possibility of an attack above the warmth of
our citizens,’ I replied.
‘Very true,’ Santana agreed.
‘Besides, I’m guessing that we’re not the only ones planning to
start burning firewood. Give it a couple of days and we’ll start seeing
plenty more smoke in the sky.’
‘Just one question is begged, though,’ Elera added, emerging
from the treehouse wrapped up in several blankets. ‘How do we heat
the treehouse? I feel that starting a fire next to a tree would not be
the wisest decision… Or in a tree… Or anywhere near a tree.’
‘You have that little faith in me?’ I asked my nymph.
‘Not at all, husband,’ she insisted, rushing up to my other side
and kissing me softly. ‘You saved me from the horrors that lurked
beneath that terrible swamp. I will never forget it, and I will never
stop repaying you dearly…’
‘To answer your question,’ I smiled, enjoying the sensation of
her lips grazing my neck, ‘We’re going to use a stove.’
‘Like the ones already in the houses?’
‘Exactly. We’ve got plenty.’
‘We also had enough iron for one in storage,’ Lara said. ‘How
come we didn’t create one days ago, before the shipment came
back?’
‘Because if I did that, we would be cooped up enjoying the
heat while the rest of my citizens froze inside their homes. I might
have power, abundant companionship, and control of thousands of
gold pieces, but I draw the line at living in warmth while the rest of
my people are out in the cold.’
‘You are truly a generous leader,’ Ariadne smiled.
‘I just don’t want to stand around living in luxury while my
people freeze. It’s not good for morale.’
While my wives returned inside, I headed back to the Building
Totem once more and deconstructed the stoves that I had removed
from my citizens’ houses.
I used the resulting iron to create a Large Iron Stove. With a
few more unlocks I was also provided with the option to extend the
extraction pipe.
I transferred the stove into the treehouse and set it down
atop a stone slab that would protect the wood from the heat of the
metal.
After adding a few logs and extracting my flint and tinder from
my inventory, I ignited the wood and watched the smoldering
firewood quickly become engulfed with flames.
Warmth swiftly followed, and as it did my women shed their
clothes, letting them slip to the floor around their ankles.
Having them skimping around in their underwear in the
seclusion of the treehouse was the last motivation I had for building
the hearths, chimneys and stoves, but it was definitely a perk that I
appreciated more than words could say.
Chapter Two
It took only another day for the sky around us to light up with
smoke.
Tens of billowing channels filled the sky from all around, rising
up into the heavens like smoky beacons of life from hidden tribes
across the land. Each one said the same thing; life continues
through the cold.
Just like the humans on Earth, the different beings and races of
Agraria would do anything to survive. There were more threats in
this wild world than back there, and as a result people were willing
to fight harder to stay alive.
It was both a comfort and a threat; while the signs of life out
there in the distance were a reminder that Agraria was vibrant and
filled with life, any one of them could pose a danger to my people,
my wives or myself.
But we were well-defended at our borders; four watchtowers
were constantly manned by a rolling schedule of my people. Beyond
the high, well-supported wooden fence that marked our perimeter
were a further range of defenses.
It would take a coordinated attack to bring us down, and in
weather like this the chances of that happening were minimal.
After relaxing with my wives, I checked up on the land and
took a walk around the perimeter before finally stopping in the
frozen crop fields.
I kneeled among the snowy field in the north of my land,
sweeping aside freezing snow with my gloved hands until I reached
the remnants of the crops beneath.
Crops in Agraria weren’t like those on Earth. In fact, most
things in Agraria weren’t like those on Earth.
Crops in this case grew quickly in a matter of days, and could
also be harvested with relative ease.
As a result food was in abundance, but when you were
providing for an increasing number of people the need for food
expanded rapidly.
Thankfully I had kept plentiful stores in advance of our current
circumstances.
I heard footsteps behind me as I kneeled, and a moment later
a comforting voice spoke.
‘There is no need to fret, husband,’ Santana smiled, placing a
comforting hand on my shoulder. ‘We have enough food to last for
weeks, and not just the crops we harvested, but the spoils from the
homestead too. We have milk, eggs, and plenty of meat. The pigs
will be growing fast, too. We could last for months if need be.’
‘I know,’ I nodded, standing and wiping my hands off. ‘But a
man always has something on his mind.’
‘You worry too much,’ she teased, taking the collar of my coat
and pulling me towards her before kissing me gently. She teased my
lips with her gentle tongue.
‘I prefer being called ambitious,’ I replied, lost in her
shimmering eyes.
But these moments of peace never lasted for long in a land like
this.
‘Jack?!’
The unmistakable call of Lara’s voice rang out from behind me.
She stood at the top of the winding steps of my treehouse, her bow
in her hand but no arrow at the ready; instead she was pointing out
into the distance, over the tops of the trees to the north-east.
At that very moment, a sound I hadn’t heard in some time
buzzed across the land.
It was an unmistakably high bird call, specifically those of the
xevea. On the advice of my learned citizens, we had been using their
beaks as alarms to be called by those on the watchtowers in the
event that an outsider was approaching.
It was coming from the south – the opposite direction that Lara
was pointing.
Santana followed me at a quick pace as I hurried to my home
base, moving past my totems and their respective buildings and
grinding to a halt at the foot of the steps.
‘What is it?’ I asked frantically.
I followed Lara’s line of sight, but still saw nothing.
Only after climbing onto the steps alongside her did I see it.
There, above the trees many miles to the north-east, I saw it.
Blackness was filling the sky, peeking over the treetops.
This wasn’t just a pluming tube of smoke emanating from a log
burner, either. It was thick and heavy, blanketing the white sky.
The bellowing of the bird’s alarm call sounded again from the
south.
I sprinted down the steps, my hand gripping the handle of my
sword in an unconscious reaction to this threat. My citizens were
emerging from their homes already, and the squad of five warriors
stationed upon my land were emerging from their homes.
‘Orders, Master Jack?’ One called across to me.
‘Follow me!’ I shouted back. The warriors sprinted after me to
the southern gates.
The fox-man stationed on the southern watchtower was
pointing to the north-east, indicating the exact same angle as Lara
had been.
I rushed to the steps and climbed them two at a time, finally
pushing onto the platform and looking out to the north-east.
‘What the…?’
Now I realized why he had been the one giving the signal; he
had the best view of all from this angle.
I surveyed the skies.
The initial line of smoke that I had seen from the steps of my
treehouse was just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
The smoke pushed further back, much further than I had
previously thought.
Even from this distance, it took up its own puzzling chunk of
the sky.
Already my people were flocking in our direction, congregating
in small groups and pointing up at the sky where the smoke began.
Elera and Ariadne quickly joined me, hurrying up the steps in
their wrappings and joining me at my side.
‘By the gods…’ Ariadne muttered. ‘What is that?’
‘I have no idea,’ I replied. ‘But it doesn’t look good.’
***
‘It’s huge! It must be at least a large section of land that’s gone up

in flames!’
‘Anything else?’ I called up into the reaches of the tree.
‘The wind seems to be moving it further north, which is good
for us… I suppose.’
Talia quickly descended from the tips of the tree at the center
of our land. She reached the lowest branch, dropped to it by her
hands, then landed deftly on the damp grass before my totems.
We both headed to the Map Room, where key members of my
tribe were waiting; Alorion, my wives, Tormus and Eri, one of my
warriors, Cass, and her brother Aden.
I placed my hand on the slab and activated the map. Its
holographic blue images sprang to life, spreading a grid out that was
scattered with three-dimensional images of the surrounding lands
that we had already trekked and discovered.
Directly to the north was the trading post; beyond that the
road that led to The Market where I had freed the satyrs from
slavery and first met the warriors before breaking them from their
cages shortly after.
To the north-west was an old bandit’s camp that I had attacked
shortly after arriving in Agraria, and beyond it the Rourke
Homestead where we raised the tribe’s livestock; further west
resided the mining town of Grayholde, and north of there the land of
the vanquished tribe that had been led by the evil Werger.
South-west was the tribe of the sun-elves of Morelia, whose
master Mariana was a strong ally to myself, and whom I had rescued
alongside Santana from the wood-elves that lived further to the
southwest.
In the south was Ichabod’s Cove, a common stopping point for
ships and traders, and beyond it the Black Patch.
But further east? That part of Agraria was foreign and unknown
to me.
To the north-east, where the smoke was rising, I knew of a
waterfall where I had first taken Elera on a dangerous midnight
journey to get her fresh water. Its current led to an underground
river where a power well resided, and further along it led to the
caves just off to the south-east border of my land where I
sometimes went to relax with my wives.
But that was all.
Anything could have been out there.
‘Has anybody ever travelled east?’ I asked my tribe members.
‘Our map only updates your voyages from after you became tribe
members, not before that point. I’m clutching at straws here.’
‘Clutching at what?’ Talia asked.
‘Straws – I’m clueless, basically.’
As a leader you were never meant to admit when you didn’t
know what you were doing, but right now I needed the help of my
people.
‘Uncharted forest,’ Tormus said. ‘At least that’s what I’ve heard.
I’ve never been out that way myself. A lot of exotic things, creatures
and fruits and mysterious places.’
‘Interesting…’ I mused, tapping my chin. ‘And north-east?’
My people looked amongst themselves, searching for answers,
but found none. Not until-
‘I would perhaps know,’ the warrior present said, stepping
forward. She was a hardened woman in her late 30s, with rough
features and her dark hair tied back tightly. Her eyelids blinked in
their usual fashion, quickly flitting horizontally as she found my gaze.
‘You’ve been that way?’ I asked.
‘I have not,’ she replied, looking deeply into the map before
returning to me. ‘But my people heard things after we were captured
by… Him.’
Him was Silas Garrison. He was a dark-elf that had been
present at The Market where slaves were traded. Not only had I
undercut him for the satyrs whom I had given freedom to, but I had
raided one of his caravans with my companions along the northern
road, killed members of a mercenary gang transporting them, and
stolen his so-called produce from right under his nose, leaving
behind nothing but corpses, emptied cages and missing horses.
He was a dangerously calm and psychotic tribe master who
possessed plenty of resources, and was obsessed with acquiring
more.
‘Garrison,’ I confirmed. ‘He said something? Is that where his
tribe is located?’
‘I cannot say, but I would wager that they are somewhere out
there in the north. It is more remote than other areas, a secluded
section of land. That is why he likes it – he is far from his
surroundings, but close enough to other tribes that he can carry out
attacks in the event that he wishes to… And after he took our land,
we know that he wishes to.
‘Unfortunately I cannot inform you of the specifics. We were
blindfolded for much of our journey after his people captured us.’
I looked at the blank section of the map to the north-east,
pushing my hands through the blue hologram and resting on the
stone slab.
‘That bastard is out there somewhere,’ I said. ‘Could he really
be responsible for something like this?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ Ariadne said. ‘Not only did we raid a
caravan of his and steal thousands of gold pieces in ‘produce’ from
him-’ Ariadne gave the warrior present a nod, which she formally
returned, ‘-but we also killed a lot of the mercenaries that he hired.
At the very least he’s going to be pissed off. If I were a greedy tribe
master like him, I would be laying waste to everything in my path to
regain what I had lost.’
‘That’s a good point. We know he’s capable, and after having
met him myself, I know that he’s the type to do something like this.
He doesn’t like people touching his things, after all.’
‘If that’s the case I wonder if he’s even married,’ Lara frowned.
‘Or sexually frustrated? Maybe he’s just taking it out on the land
around him.’
‘He’s a top contender for the role of attacker, that’s what we
know. That being said, there could be plenty of other tribes east of
here that would want to try their hand at moving west and taking
over other tri-’
I didn’t get a chance to finish.
Another xevea alarm suddenly sounded.
My head spun like a top towards the door the moment it rang
out.
Again?
I bounded out of the Map Room and looked instinctively to the
south.
It wasn’t coming from there.
‘Jack!’
I turned at Santana’s command. Her red hair spun in the cold
air as she pointed to the north.
A satyr on watch was waving his arms in our direction
frantically, emptying his lungs into the beak.
‘Look after Oden,’ I called to Tormus and Eri as I rushed north.
‘Girls, get back to the treehouse.’
‘We’re not leaving you, husband,’ Lara said firmly, retrieving her
bow. ‘This is our land. Let’s get moving.’
Not a single one of them faltered, even Santana who rarely
fought anymore.
I had to give it to them – they were killers on the battlefield
and always working together.
We and the single warrior present sprinted through the snowy
crop fields to the north, and found ourselves quickly joined by the
rest of the warriors.
‘What is it?’ I called up to him.
‘Visitors,’ he called down frantically.
‘The sun-elves?’
‘No… I do not recognize these people.’
‘Are they a threat?’
‘I cannot say, Master Jack… But they do not look it.’
I signaled Ariadne and Lara to join the satyr in the watchtower.
They were my ranged attackers, and they could strike down any
threat from above without hesitation with the use of their respective
bow and throwing knives.
Talia and Elera, remained with myself and the warriors.
Ariadne and Lara crept into place, staying low and out of sight
on the platform. Lara readied an arrow in her bow, steadied herself,
then stood sharply and aimed at her target.
‘Who goes there?’ She yelled down sternly.
Hell, even I wanted to declare who I was with a commanding
tone like that.
We all listened, only the breeze of the winter air whispering
past our ears.
An inaudible voice sounded alongside it, carried away by the
wind. It was weak.
I looked to Lara. She kept her bow raised, but then her grip
relaxed on the fletching of the arrow.
Not to fire, but to withdraw the shot.
She peaked further over the fence, looking about the forest
for any other figures.
Then, slowly, she lowered her bow.
‘Can you hear anything?’ She asked Ariadne, whose sense of
sound was greater than Lara’s own.
Ariadne closed her eyes and listened for the sounds that only
she could hear.
Finally she shook her head.
‘Open the gates,’ Lara spoke down to me with a nod.
I trusted my huntress’s judgement; she hadn’t remained alive
this long working solo in this world without razor-sharp instincts.
Two of the warriors moved forward to the gate and lifted the
huge wooden bar that blocked it, shifting aside.
I approached the gate myself, taking the brunt of what little
risk was left in this simple but important action, and heaved the
handles, opening the entrance to my land.
Behind me I had heard the sound of Elera’s frost magic
readying in her hands, felt the presence of Talia’s fighting stance,
swords and bows readied in the deadly palms of the warriors.
But none of it was needed.
Huddled together by the crack of the door, as if desperate to
clamber beyond our border more than anything, were five small
figures.
There were many beings in Agraria, some of which I had
never even heard of in fantasy books before I had arrived here, but
the moment I set eyes on our visitors I knew who I was looking at.
They were dwarves, and they were in a bad way.
One led the group, standing ahead of four others. They were
all wrapped up in heavy shawls, their faces the only things that
could be seen beneath them.
Pleading eyes looked back at me from behind layers of winter
clothes and scarves practically frozen solid with frost.
‘Please help us.’
Chapter Three
The primary members of my tribe were my closest advisors, but

beyond them names become blurred – I couldn’t remember every
one of the warriors’ names, or the satyrs or the fox-people.
As a tribe master I addressed the leader of the group that I
was speaking to, and one always stepped forward. The same went
for those who didn’t belong to my tribe.
In this case, it was a female dwarf by the name of Onilsia.
I elected to let her speak, right after she had finished
devouring her fourth bowl of soup in the shack to the east of my
land.
It was the same building I had used to keep the goblin Morok
tied up in after finding him on Werger’s land – thankfully I hadn’t
torn it down before now.
‘Forgive me, lad,’ she finally spoke in an accent somewhat
similar to Scottish. ‘We have not eaten for days.’
Of course, I tried to hide my shock – I only realized that she
was a woman when she began to speak.
Hidden beneath skin stained with cuts, bruises and mud, it was
practically impossible to tell.
‘You don’t need to apologize,’ I replied. ‘I can tell you’ve been
on the road for some time.’
‘On the road? Not at all. We have been trekking through the
wilds since yesterday in search of assistance.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
The dwarf hesitated, setting down her empty bowl.
‘We were attacked,’ she said, almost with a hint of shame in
her voice. ‘They came at night. We hardly knew what was happening
before… Before they had practically overrun us.’
‘Who’s they?’
‘I do not know. They were masked and well-organized. We
figured that they must have set fire to sections of our land after we
had departed. We only managed to get out by sheer luck alone. By
the time we left…’
Onilsia paused for a moment, settling her mind.
Of the few dwarves that I had met in Agraria, all had been
relentlessly hardy people. For them to show weakness was strange,
but in this instance it was completely understandable.
They had lost their home, their people, and worst of all their
freedom. Their way of life had been eviscerated.
‘What happened to your citizens?’ I asked quietly.
‘Those who fought back against them were killed; those who
relented were captured. I fear that our assailants were slavers…
Such a fate may be worse than death.’
Alorion and I shot each other a look.
‘These masked assailants,’ I said, ‘what did they look like
exactly? I mean, I know that they were masked, but you must have
noticed other features about them. Height? Armor? What kind of
weapons were they using?’
‘They were tall, lean men. Some of their skin I caught sight of
beneath their armor; it was a dark grey, and they carried bows and
rapiers.’
I gulped and glanced at Alorion again out of the corner of my
eye.
‘Garrison,’ I said. ‘That son of a bitch…’
‘You know these beings?’
While three of the dwarves were sleeping, a spectacle-clad
male by Onilsia’s side was listening in, and he asked the question
with total bewilderment.
‘I’ve met their leader before,’ I replied. ‘Some of our citizens
were being sold at market by him before we freed them.’
‘Gods,’ Onilsia exclaimed. ‘You have had a conflict with his
tribe?’
‘Technically not a conflict,’ Alorion hastily cut in, forever the
negotiator. ‘Garrison is unaware that we were involved… Yet, at
least.’
‘He’s a cold-blooded bastard if I ever met one,’ I said firmly,
crossing my arms firmly over my chest. ‘I have little doubt he’s
responsible for the invasion of your land. He’s known as The
Collector to some. Treats everything as a possession – including my
wife, who he almost captured.’
‘Then you know what he is capable of,’ Onilsia spoke. Her
expression of worry changed as she looked up at me. There was
more of a confidence in her eyes now, something changing within
her that I couldn’t place.
She was considering something.
‘Any reason why he would want to go to the trouble of
attacking your land?’ I continued. ‘It’s freezing out there. You know
that better than me after the trek that you made to get here. Why
now?’
Onilsia’s eyes searched the empty bowl of soup clasped in her
hands. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but the
spectacled dwarf next to her quickly put his hand on her wrist in a
firm but gentle grasp.
‘Why do any slavers seek to attack free peoples?’ He asked.
‘Any time is a good time, as long as this Garrison character saw an
opportunity.’
‘There’s nothing on your land that he would be particularly
interested in?’ I said. ‘Nothing he would want? No offence, but
you’re dwarves. I’ve only been in this, uhh… Region of Agraria for a
few months, and even I know that your reputation for mining
precedes you. Stones, precious metals, gold? You guys were
probably great targets.’
‘Those are not the only things that we possess,’ Onilsia said
reluctantly, drawing her hand away from the spectacled dwarf. ‘We
possess something that is of a much greater value than those
trinkets that you speak of…’
‘No, Onilsia,’ the spectacled dwarf said. ‘We cannot reveal such
knowledge to an outsider!’
‘We can in circumstances such as this, Thefus,’ she replied with
equal sternness. ‘Who would you rather it fall into the hands of? The
man who seeks to enslave our people, or the man who feeds and
shelters us from the ferocity of the world out there?’
Thefus opened his mouth as if he wished to continue.
All that left his lungs was an eventual sigh. He sat back and
avoided both our gazes.
‘Onilsia,’ I repeated. ‘That’s your name, right?’
‘It is, tribe master.’
‘I’m Jack.’
I shook hands with her. Her palms and fingers were as rough
as rocks, but her voice was true.
‘Pleasure to meet you, Jack.’
‘Tell me, what is it that you’re speaking of? If this is something
that might fall into the hands of Garrison, then I need to know.’
Onilsia went to speak, but still she paused, searching for the
right words before finally continuing.
‘Our tribe, like many dwarven tribes, seeks its wealth in mining,
much as you already surmised. We plumb the depths of this world in
search of precious metals and stones, not just for practical use but
for decorative purpose. The needs of this world are vast, as I am
sure a fellow like you knows.
‘Master Thirbali, our leader, is just one of many to have
overseen our tribe. Like many tribes we have taken on many forms,
but no matter what shape or form our people may twist into, there
are some legacies that are always passed down, ones that are
rumored amongst the people but hidden from sight.
‘We have many items of great value residing upon our land.
Trinkets, jewels, gold coins and artifacts, but these are folly
compared to what I speak of. In our most well-hidden and protected
vault, only a single item of value resides. It does not take the form
of rubies or emeralds. It is a map.’
‘… A map to what?’
‘Many years ago, when my kind lived in the hills and mountains
in the far north, our people delved further below the earth than any
living being had gone – beyond the diamonds and the shimmering
stones. Down there, our ancestors discovered a pocket of agrarium.’
‘Oh, please,’ Alorion suddenly interrupted. I couldn’t help but
glance over at him – it was the first time I had ever heard him take
on a sarcastic tone.
Even he looked shocked at his tone of voice.
‘What’s up?’ I asked him.
He briefly glanced at the ceiling and frowned, then returned to
me with an expression of realization.
‘What she speaks of, agrarium?’ He continued. ‘It is a myth, a
legend – such a thing does not exist.’
‘It does exist,’ Thefus spoke insistently. ‘It is real.’
‘Why do you think it’s fake?’ I asked Alorion.
‘Nobody has ever seen agrarium,’ he replied. ‘It is a tale from
the age of the gods, the metal that their weapons were said to be
crafted from. A substance that was nigh on indestructible, and
possessed powers that mortals could barely comprehend. Now, I am
a believer in the gods just like anybody in this world is, but to say
that your people actually found a pocket of agrarium in the
mountains? This I cannot believe.’
‘Not only did we find it, imp,’ Onilsia spoke confidently, ‘but we
mined it. The substance was returned to our land and given to High
Blacksmith Kalgunri, the most skilled dwarven blacksmith to have
ever graced Agraria.’
‘Oh,’ Alorion cut in, ‘so not only did your ancestors possess a
mythical substance that nobody alive has ever even seen, but the
greatest blacksmith in the history of Agraria just so happened to be
an ancestor of your tribe. Of course he did.’
‘Listen to me, imp-’
‘Stop,’ I interrupted them both, holding my hands up. I pointed
to Onilsia. ‘You are my guest, but please don’t ever talk to my most
trusted advisor like that.’ I turned to Alorion. ‘Let’s let her speak,
huh? Then we can discuss the finer details after.’
Alorion reluctantly agreed.
‘As I was saying…’ Onilsia continued, ‘High Blacksmith Kalgunri
was given the task of examining the substance and its properties. He
was a… divisive figure, as the stories go, but I suppose that all
genius comes with eccentricities. He spent many months observing
and working upon it in seclusion with his most trusted apprentices,
until he announced that his work was complete.’
‘And what did he do with it?’ I asked, practically on the edge of
my seat.
‘No one knows,’ Onilsia sighed. ‘At the unveiling of his creation,
he vanished, along with the agrarium and all of his assistants.’
Alorion and I had spent enough time together for us to
practically be able to speak to each other telepathically, so when I
turned to look at him and read his expression, all I could see was
how fucking convenient stamped all over his face.
‘And let me guess,’ I replied. ‘The map in the vault tells the
location of the agrarium?’
‘Indeed.’
‘So let me get this straight: your tribe has access to a map that
leads to a treasure of proportions so powerful that it’s practically
legend, yet you’ve never bothered to follow the trail yourselves to
acquire it?’
‘There are stories from previous generations of our kind, ones
that the elders have passed on, about members of our tribe who
ventured in search of it. None ever returned. It has long been
understood amongst our people that hiding its location is a more
worthy pursuit than sacrificing any more of our kin in search of it.
But these are… Unprecedented times. A different course of action
must be taken.’
I leaned against the shack wall, watching Onilsia. She gazed at
me with knowing, unblinking eyes.
‘Well…’ I nodded. ‘Either you’re telling the truth or you’re the
most convincing liar I’ve met in a good long time.’
‘I have no need to lie, tribe master,’ she continued. ‘My land
has been taken, and so have my people. I know the kind of man
that did what he did to my tribe – he does not seek to nurture and
use it. He seeks to pillage and gather and hoard everything of value,
and to leave all else in the forest to rot.
‘And looking at you, I know the kind of man that you are:
strong, intelligent, and committed to your people. These are the
qualities required of the one who would command the great treasure
that is hidden from all eyes, and has been for centuries. It is a
power that only one man can possess.
‘Rest assured, Jack, that this man, this wild bastard that has
enslaved my people, he seeks to find that precious thing, and while
it is well-hidden, he will find it eventually. Ask yourself, would you
rather a man like him find it, or would you prefer a man like you to
find it?’
I paused, considering her words.
She had a point; I couldn’t deny it.
‘I need to talk to my companions,’ I said, cutting the
conversation off and moving to go. ‘Rest and eat. I’ll return soon.’
‘Companions are a rare fortune, Jack,’ Onilsia asserted as I
opened the door and left with Alorion, ‘but a true leader must make
his decisions alone.’
‘Sometimes,’ I smiled. ‘Not always.’
***
‘The dwarf is deluded.’

‘Okay, I think that we’ve established Alorion’s view on the
matter,’ I said, failing to mask my sarcasm. ‘Anybody else want to
make a suggestion?’
We sat around in my treehouse domain, discussing the matter
at hand. Santana was lying on the bed with a book in her lap while
Lara ate from a bowl of soup, Santana’s legs resting across her own.
Talia was perched cross-legged upon a chest in the corner, while
Ariadne sat on the edge of the bathtub where Elera was relaxing,
pouring warm water over her skin and enjoying every moment of it.
‘If there is one thing I have learned from this land,’ Ariadne
started, ‘it is that there are many strange things that lurk in the
darker places. We cannot discount it as a rumor.’
‘Stories get twisted, though,’ Santana added, stroking the spine
of the book in her lap. ‘Those that are written down on paper, like
the ones I read, are told in one form, in one way. This is different. It
is a story that has been passed down on the lips of its carriers, and
through every person that it passes it could have changed. This
story could have begun in a completely different way to the one that
we have heard… Ow!’
‘Sorry,’ Lara uttered quickly, sweeping some spilled soup away
from Santana’s feet. ‘There’s still plenty of reason to believe them,
though. It might have been passed down through many people, but
it’s not like they’re strangers. They’re one tribe, where this story has
remained self-contained. Elders will have secured the integrity of it
rather than turning it to hearsay.’
‘I don’t trust these people,’ Talia said. ‘But I will admit that I
trust very few people in these lands. I have run from too many in my
life to open myself up so easily.’
‘So that’s Alorion, Talia and Santana against, and Ariadne and
Lara for. Three to two. That just leaves Elera.’
‘Hm? Was my name spoken?’
Elera lifted her head sharply and looked about.
‘Enjoying yourself there?’ I laughed.
‘After this cold snap? I am never leaving this bathtub.’
‘Very funny,’ Ariadne said.
‘There’s nothing funny about it,’ she said seriously. ‘I’m never
leaving this water. Try to force me and you will find your fingers even
more frozen than they already are.’
‘So what’s your verdict?’ I asked her. ‘Legendary item that may
not even exist, mythical blacksmith takes it and hides it somewhere
that nobody has ever found and disappears alongside it with several
blacksmiths, and allegedly the dwarves are in possession of a map
that leads to it.’
‘Are we weighting everybody’s vote here equally?’ Alorion
asked with peculiar politeness, having returned to his former tone.
‘That we are,’ I smiled.
‘Just checking.’
We all turned to Elera. She looked between us all, suddenly
realizing that the spotlight was upon her.
‘I have seen peculiarities of this world in their abundance;
monsters, sailors and all of their treasures,’ she started. ‘This thing
you speak of, agrarium, is one that I have never witnessed… But just
because we have not seen a thing, does not mean that it does not
exist. Stories begin somewhere. Even if it is not what the dwarves
claim it to be, it may still be something of great value. I think it
would be foolish of us to assume that this is just a figment of the
imagination… So I say yes.’
Santana rolled her eyes and smirked with a headshake, Alorion
clamped his palms to his eyes – but Talia only shrugged and nodded
with an impressed look in Elera’s direction.
Not that my nymph noticed, of course, but it was nice to see
Talia’s admiration for Elera, even if she didn’t agree with her –
conviction to your commitments in the face of rough odds went a
long way with her.
‘Then it’s back to you, Master Jack,’ Alorion said. ‘Three versus
three.’
‘I might as well have not asked at all,’ I chuckled, dwelling on
it.
Truth be told I had been turning over Onilsia’s words in my
head ever since she had spoken them. Every word I had hung upon,
not just because of the power of this substance, but because…
‘We need to investigate this,’ I resolved. ‘If it is real, Garrison
getting his hands on an object this powerful would spell doom for all
of us. We can’t risk that, not even for a second. And even if this is
just some twisted old tale, we need to carry out reconnaissance on
the dwarven land to check his numbers anyway. Knowing what he
has on his side could give us at least a little advantage in case he
decides to make his way in this direction. I’m going to task a crew
and head out today.’
‘Nightfall will be coming around sooner with the winter
weather,’ Alorion advised. ‘We need to plan carefully.’
‘Seasons in this place are totally bizarre,’ I scoffed, shaking my
head. ‘In that case, we had better get ready.’
Before mustering my team, I decided to compose messages to
send to my allies. There were three beyond the borders of our land;
the Rourke Homestead where our livestock supplies resided, the land
of the warriors under my command in the north-west, and the sun-
elves of Morelia to the south-west.
The first two were lands under my control, but the third was
under Mariana’s control. She had hundreds of citizens at her
command, many of which were formidably battle-trained, and she
was undoubtedly the closest ally I had that didn’t belong to my tribe.
The flags of her people still hung alongside my own at the
entrance to our land, a clear statement to outsiders that might dare
approach with nefarious intentions; wrangle with us, and you
wrangle with them too.
I wrote the letters informing my tribal members of the threat,
then moved onto Mariana’s.
Master Mariana,
Smoke is rising from a tribal land to the north- east. The threat
resides in the hands of a tribe master by the name of Garrison. We
have already received a small group of refugees from an overrun
tribe of dwarves, and fear that he may pose a threat to our way of
life in the near future.
I and a small group of companions are heading out to covertly
investigate the forces that he possesses. In the meantime, please
inform me of your commitment to supporting my people in the event
of conflict breaking out between my tribe and an enemy tribe.
I paused, wondering how to finish a letter in this land. What was the
custom? Yours sincerely? Kind regards?
‘Alorion, how do I end a letter to a fellow tribe master?’
‘Are we allies or enemies? Because if it is an enemy, I could
defecate upon it for you?’
I frowned at him, but he looked up at me with earnest eyes.
Another custom that I wouldn’t mind putting to use one day.
‘It’s an ally,’ I said, trying to hold back a smile.
‘Then gods be with you is an appropriate sign-off. Old-
fashioned, maybe, but it is customary and formal.’
I signed the letter off and read it back.
In the event of conflict.
My heart rate picked up at the thought, drumming even harder
as I looked around at the citizens in my land.
I had to admit one thing to myself; Garrison would flatten us if
he mustered his full fighting force. I had yet to see it for myself, but
judging by the abilities, discipline and dedication of his loyal guards,
one of whom I had witnessed cut down a fleeing warrior in cold
blood, I knew we were up against something strong.
I didn’t have a choice.
For the voyage I assigned a small team; Talia, Lara, Ariadne
and three warriors. We equipped several days’ worth of provisions,
our warmest winter gear, and a veritable collection of weapons in
the event that things turned nasty.
No doubt they operated the same system as I did; if we alerted
even one of Garrison’s men to our presence, all of them would come
running.
With our equipment ready and the path to the north-east
beckoning, I brought my team together in the shade of the central
tree.
‘We’re travelling light,’ I said. ‘I know that weapons, provisions
and heavy clothing goes against that – what I mean is we’re going
without the horses. We’ll be travelling through uncharted territory
and likely through sections of forest that are way off the beaten
path. We’re moving on foot, so if you need anything else to keep
warm make sure to get it now.’
My six companions informed me that they were ready.
‘There’s one more passenger,’ I said. ‘Wait here.’
A minute later I opened the door to the small house where the
dwarves were resting.
Onilsia was dozing, but she awoke immediately and reached for
an axe at her side as the door creaked open.
Upon seeing me she relaxed her grip on the axe, but kept her
gaze fixed.
‘Get your things,’ I said. ‘You’re coming with us.’
‘Coming where?’
‘To the land of your people. We’re going to find this map.’
Chapter Four
After saying goodbye to Santana and Elera, I led my group through

the opened northern gates, pausing a moment while they were
closed and barred behind me.
Alorion looked down from the guard tower.
‘I’ll make sure things run smoothly, Master Jack.’
‘Keep an eye out for trouble,’ I replied. ‘And watch out for any
messages from our allies. If worst comes to worst, you know what
to do.’
Alorion gave me a knowing nod.
Knowing what to do was the last resort – activating the bombs
at the edge of our land and blowing the perimeter line, sending the
entire border of our land up in flames.
But if it meant vanquishing our enemies, it was a price that I
was willing to pay.
‘We’re trekking north until we reach the trading post, then
north-east along the trail until it ends. There’s a waterfall out there
and a small cave if we need to take shelter; beyond that it’s all
uncharted.’
My team knew the risks, but they were ready to follow me all
the same.
You couldn’t buy loyalty like this; only earn it by proving
yourself to the people you led.
Even along the path ahead conditions were less than desirable.
The trees that flanked the pathway offered some relief against the
falling snow, but the white world that the land of Agraria had
transformed into was more of a curse than a beauty.
Especially considering the voyage ahead that awaited us.
We made it to the trading post in good time. I was surprised to
find that there were still several vendors with their wares available,
with thick canopies protecting their stalls from the weather.
From the trading post we turned north-east, travelling long it
until the path became obscured, eventually vanishing entirely.
I knew the way through the forest from here, though, and it
wasn’t long before we arrived at the waterfall where I had brought
Elera to save her life.
Onilsia held her own the entire way; she had had only a little
rest after her journey, but she was managing just fine.
‘The waterfall flows from a stream ahead of those rocks.’
With nothing else left to feed on, the smoke that once filled the
sky over the land of the dwarves had all but disappeared
I started first, intent on finding the safest path up based on
how I had traversed it last time I had been here.
Talia had other plans.
‘You’re being far too slow,’ she said with annoyance, slinking
past me and clambering quickly up the snowy rocks.
I couldn’t even begin to understand her path; it seemed to
move around her, as if she could instinctually map every single route
and assess the best without even giving it a second thought.
Within moments she reached the top, looking down at us from
the peak judgmentally with her hands on her hips.
‘I’ll just wait here, shall I?’ She grinned, happy with herself.
I only smiled, not gratifying her with a response.
Lara and Ariadne managed the climb well while the warriors did
the same, matching their brutal fighting skills with their physical
strength.
I could no longer see Talia by the time I reached the peak, only
finding her as I clambered over the top of the overhang.
As my companions arrived at my side, I found Talia looking
down at a foreign object that I had almost forgotten was here.
‘What is this thing?’ She asked inquisitively, not daring to go
near it.
‘It’s called a plane,’ I said, staring down at the remaining parts
of the frozen metal wreckage. ‘It’s like a flying machine. It’s what I
used to get here.’
‘To get here?’ She asked, the rest of my companions reaching
my side and joining us to look at it. ‘From where?’
‘Somewhere a lot different to Agraria,’ I said.
‘Our dear husband fell out of the sky,’ Lara smiled, raising an
eyebrow and folding her arms.
‘Come on,’ I said. ‘The day’s wasting. We need to cross this
stream.’
Further along the stream we found a scattering of rocks that
allowed us to cross without losing our feet to the freezing water.
From there we moved into the wilds.
Things became darker in the forest almost immediately. The
thickness of the intertwining branches above us blocked out the
white sky that towered above.
‘This way,’ Onilsia said. ‘Not much further now.’
But before long it didn’t matter that we couldn’t see the sky.
The heavy scent of smoke on the air was enough of a guiding
force.
We moved like an ambush of stalking tigers until the trees
suddenly began to thin out, the stench of fire clinging to the wind all
around us.
Embers were floating in the air.
We pulled to a halt amongst a thick pocket of shrubbery just
before the forest stopped. Dropping to our knees, we surveyed the
scene ahead.
We were around 50 yards away from the border of the
dwarven tribal land.
There were no living dwarves left. Some of their bodies were
scattered among the decimated land, about which houses had been
ripped apart and pillaged.
The rest had likely already been moved out of the cold.
Garrison couldn’t have his precious produce succumbing to the cold,
after all.
They wouldn’t fetch enough on the slave market if they were
damaged.
I gritted my teeth at the thought of that bastard.
If I ever saw him again, he would wish he had never been
born.
I rid my thoughts of him and turned to Onilsia. It was no
surprise, but it seemed that the dwarves were hardy as hell.
Even at the sight of what had become of her land, Onilsia
remained stone-faced. There was something in her eyes, but it
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engine, so as to get a good view ahead. Paddy sat only a short
distance behind. There was a brakeman farther along, and on one of
the rear cars were a couple of Dutchmen—new hands going forward
to one of the grading gangs.
Down the “Z” plunged the train (old No. 119 carefully holding back)
for the first eight miles, and struck into Echo Canyon at last at the
Castle Rock. The day was fine—sunny and not cold, although snow
lay on the north slopes and in the shaded hollows, and the tips of the
pines had scarcely commenced to green out. But spring was in the
air, for spring came earlier to the west slope of the Rockies than to
the east slope.
The train began to roar between the rocky walls; the engine, running
almost free, whisked to right, to left with the line of heavy cars
whisked after; Fireman Bill repeatedly jerked the whistle cord, and
the wails jangled from wall to wall and crag to crag.
It was a glorious ride—a charge by the U. P. construction force,
bringing reinforcements to the front. The boys’ hats flared back, the
breeze freshly smote their faces, and every minute a new landmark
in shape of pinnacle and sculpture appeared, for an instant, flashed
by and was succeeded by another. Hurrah!
“Great, eh?” gasped George.
“Sure beats staging. Look at the old stage road, yonder. ’Twould take
the stage four hours to make this, and we’ll do it in one.”
“We’re the people, all right,” bragged George. And he burst into
song:
“Oh, it’s work all day
On the old U. Pay.,
And keep a-goin’ to Frisco Bay!”
Terry interrupted:
“What’s the matter. Gee whiz! Look behind! We’re busted!”
The engine also had interrupted with hoarse shriek after shriek;
Paddy was standing upright, waving his arms; the brakeman was
running back—and a quarter of a mile behind, up the grade, was the
tail of the trains: four cars, two loaded with ties, one with rails and
one with fastenings. The train, as Terry had expressed, had “busted.”
“That’s a joke on the Dutchmen,” George cheered. “What we going
to do? Run on and leave ’em?”
“Maybe. Yes. No. I dunno! Jiminy, look at ’em come, though! Hope
they don’t ram us.”
“Your father’s whistling for brakes. Hear him?”
“That’s not to us; it’s to them.”
Terry and George sat straight, in alarm. The train had reached a
short level spot, but the four cars behind were on a steep down
grade and fairly leaping in pursuit. The gap rapidly closed, until, still
shrieking for “Brakes,” and again for “Clear track,” old 119 sprang
forward under open throttle, like a frightened horse under the spur.
Around a curve swept the train; the four cars disappeared, a moment
—but here they came, full tilt, their outside wheels almost leaving the
rails as they fought the tangent. Their speed had scarcely slackened.
Now the train struck into a long down grade; the whistle, like the
throttle, was open—but no use. Those four heavy cars roared after,
unchecked, and with every yard their pace seemed to increase.
Engineer Richards was giving Number 119 all the steam that he
dared, if he would keep the track. The boys’ car bounded and jerked;
the pile of ties quivered; rails jingled; the whole train roared, and all
the canyon was filled with clamor of wheels and whistle.
The anxious, grimy face of Terry’s father or Fireman Bill might be
seen, peering backward from the cab windows, trying to measure the
margin of safety, behind.
“What ails those Dutchmen, d’ you suppose?” shouted George, in
Terry’s ear. “’Fraid to put on their brakes. That’s all they need do: put
on their brakes.”
“Sure thing. Put on their brakes. Why don’t they put on their brakes?”
Terry yelled back. “Do they want to smash us?”
The four cars were gaining; down they came, like a thunderbolt, and
not a sign of their two passengers was visible.
Terry half stood, the better to see—yes, and the quicker to jump
clear, if necessary; George tried to imitate him, but the train hit
another curve and they both were thrown to hands and knees and
barely escaped going overboard before time.
Around this curve also roared the train, throttle opened wider for the
more level stretch, whistle still shrieking wildly; the four cars chased
hotly—across a trestle the train boomed, and the rumble of the four
cars answered instantly.
Old 119 was now barely holding her own, and there were steep
grades ahead. Never had a train gone down this canyon at such a
rate; and those four cars acted like a hungry dragon bent upon
getting a meal.
Pat and the brakeman were clutching to the ties of the rear car of the
train, pitching and swaying as they gazed and waved and
gesticulated, warning the four cars to keep distance.
“What they doing? Look! What they doing?” yelled George, on a
sudden.
“They’re dumping off the ties! Come on. We got to help.”
That was a difficult journey, to rear of train. The curves were
incessant, shooting the train to right and left, and throwing the
passengers with it. Crawl, hang hard, take a run, and crawl and hang
hard again, was the only way to navigate.
Pat did not pause; neither did the brakeman. They already had
cleared one tier of ties from their car.
“Lend a hand here. Pass those ties along,” they only yelped, over
their shoulders.
“But you’ll kill those Dutchmen,” screamed Terry.
“No. They’ve jumped, long ago.”
“Sure,” Paddy added, “either they lave the track or we do; an’ if they
smash into us wance, then we’ll all be gone together.”
This was the plan: to plant a tie on the track, and derail the four cars.
But although everybody worked furiously, heaving the ties over the
end of the car, the ties bounded like Indian rubber—seemed scarcely
to touch the track before they went hurtling and flying far to one side
or the other.
“B’ gorry!” Pat gasped, streaming sweat. And—“If we only can get
into Echo City wid time enough for ’em to shunt wan or the other of
us into a sidin’——!”
Echo City, at the end of the canyon! There were the sidings. Now the
gap narrowed again, the four cars cared nothing for the ties with
which they were being bombarded, but the whistle of 119 was
changed to the signal “Open switches!”
Would the crews at Echo City understand? Would they have time to
work right? Hauling and tugging and dragging, Terry and George had
farther and farther to pass the ties back to the outstretched hands of
Paddy and the brakeman. It certainly was a mad ride, this—a ride for
life, too! Blame those four cars—and blame those two Dutchmen,
who ought to have stayed aboard and set their brakes!
“Will we make it, yuh think?” wheezed George, as he labored.
“Close squeeze,” wheezed Terry. “How far, wonder?”
“Dunno. Can’t read mile-posts. Must be near, though.”
Around still another of those dangerous curves—and they roared
past a little group of graders, repairing the track. They had just a
fleeting glimpse of the staring, startled faces and the red-shirted
forms; and with the four cars thundering after they dashed on.
But Echo City was not far. Then, if the station crews failed to work
mighty fast, there would be a race clear to end o’ track—and, whew!
“Look! Oh, gee!”
FAST TIME DOWN ECHO CANYON
George had yelped excited, and awed. Terry looked. He was only in
time to see the four cars reared high in the air, leaving the track and
with a great jump landing, askew, to plunge end over end down the
side of the gulch, while the ties and rails sailed in all directions.
They evidently had struck a tie, at last. A minute more, and with
whistle open but throttle closed, and the brakeman and Pat
scampering from brake to brake, and the scattered section-men
gaping, the train rolled triumphant and breathless into Echo City.
The crash of the wreck had been heard. Men ran up track at best
speed; down jumped Paddy and the brakeman, and ran, too; with a
“Come on, quick!” George legged to see, and Terry panted after.
The wreck was half a mile back; a crowd had already gathered
around it—were laughing and whooping, and no wonder: for here
were the two Dutchmen, sitting on the bank of the ditch, one of them
smoking his pipe, and both well dazed but unharmed. They had
been aboard, after all!
“An’ for why didn’t yez set the brakes?” Pat was storming. “Did yez
want to kill us all?”
“We knowed noddings,” said the man with the pipe. “Why didn’t you
wake us oop, to tell what the troubles vas?”
“Then why didn’t yez say yez were aslape, so we’d wake yez up
before wastin’ all the steam by whistlin’ to no use?” raged Pat. “Now
look at the ties an’ rails an’ four good cars fed to yez, an’ the Cintral
Paycific tryin’ to bate us into Ogden!”
The two Dutchmen really had been fast asleep on a load of ties; and
as they had said, they “knowed noddings” about any “troubles” until
they found themselves landed with a thump upon this bank!
Not for some days did Pat get done grumbling at the “waste o’ steam
an’ time an’ good cars”; but another event speedily made him
change his tune.
“Th’ C. Pay.” were already coming up “th’ U. Pay.” canyon, out of
Ogden!
CHAPTER XVII
THE LAST STRETCH
“Th’ C. Pay. are this side o’ Ogden an’ a-comin’ up th’ U. Pay.
grade!”
Those were the very words, plainly heard by Terry and George both;
but the startling news seemed unbelievable. Pat straightened and
gaped.
“What? Say that ag’in. Ye don’t mane the tracks!”
“No; not yit. But, b’ gorry, th’ C. Pay. ingineers have drove their
stakes, an’ th’ C. Pay. Mongolians have follered in, an’ th’ dirt’ll soon
be flyin’ on two grades instead o’ wan, in the same canyon, jist ahid.”
“An’ where’s their ind o’ track, then? Tell me that,” stammered Pat.
“Wan hunderd an’ fifty mile to th’ west’rd still. Yez’ll bate ’em into
Ogden wid th’ rails, but it’s smart they be. For haven’t they thrown
their men beyant themselves, to grade clane through Ogden an’ into
th’ mountains, so whilst th’ U. Pay. is a-claimin’ to Humboldt Wells,
th’ C. Pay.’ll be filin’ a map wid th’ Prisident at Washington claimin’
their own rights, an’ pay accordin’, t’rough th’ Salt Lake Valley.”
“It’s the rails that’ll count,” Pat retorted. “We’ll be first wid the rails—
wan continuous line, mark ye—an’ whilst they’re a-comin’ we’ll be
still a-goin’.”
“They’re over th’ Humboldt Mountains, an’ they say they’ll be layin’
their six mile a day, on th’ level.”
“If they lay their six mile a day we’ll lay our siven an’ eight,” growled
Pat. “An’ bad luck to their Chinks who get in the way o’ the Irish.”
“Golly! Hope I’ll get in often enough to see the fun,” chuckled
George, to Terry. “You’ll be down in front among the graders—expect
there’ll be some mix-ups when the two gangs meet.”
“There would be if the U. P. graders were Irish; but the gangs
between here and Ogden are Brigham Young’s Mormons. I don’t
believe they’ll fight with the Chinamen. And Pat’s track-layers won’t
stop to fight, yet.”
The wreck was left for the Echo City crews to clean up. Pat forgot it;
his sole thought now was to put the rails into Ogden. Orders reached
him from Superintendent Reed to let the C. P. gangs strictly alone
and attend only to the U. P. business. Out of Echo Canyon shot the
track, and down the marvelous Weber Canyon, with every mile
getting lower and nearer to Ogden.
Yes, the C. P. were in here. First, a few advance stakes were to be
noted, piloting an up grade almost parallel with the U. P. down grade.
Then a bunch of C. P. location surveyors were sighted, camped
across the way. But all eyes were peeled for a sight of the “Chinks”
themselves—those C. P. graders of whom so much had been said.
The end o’ track, pushed forward at top speed as it wound snakelike
through the canyon, passed the Thousand Mile Tree (a lone pine,
beside the grade, on which the location surveyors had hung the sign
“1000 Miles”), and twenty-four miles farther sort of burst into view of
the Great Salt Lake Valley at last.
The Mormon graders were under separate contract and separate
bosses, so that as timekeeper Terry had nothing to do with them.
And he was with the Irish track-construction crew when end o’ track
forged by the C. P. grade.
“Th’ Chinymin! Be them th’ Chinymin? Faith, look at ’em wance! Ain’t
they th’ craturs, to be workin’ alongside white min?”
For there they were, the Central Pacific graders, in Union Pacific
territory—and Chinamen, sure enough!
“The first I ever saw,” quoth Pat, while he and the other men eyed
them askance. “A quare lot, I must say.”
A queer lot indeed, where in noon camp, wearing enormously
brimmed wicker hats like flat over-turned bowls, and quilted blouses
with large sleeves, and flappy blue-cotton trousers, and stubby
shoes, they squatted around huge bowls of steaming rice and fished
out the grains with their chop-sticks.
“I hear tell they work for a dollar a day an’ find themselves wid rice
an’ pork,” pursued Pat. “Well, they look it. Sure ’twould be shame to
insult a shillaly wid breakin’ it on the crown o’ such pore craturs—an’
all I ask is that they kape out o’ me way.”
The Chinamen scarcely tilted their heads, under their bowl-shaped
hats, to gaze at their rivals; and the rails went on.
“’Tis a fairish grade they’re buildin’,” Pat sized up, cocking his eye.
“But who cares? The rails are what’ll count, an’ we’re out o’ the
mountains an’ more’n a few o’ them Chinks are naded to stop a U.
Pay. gang.”
Out of the mountains! Date, last of February. Mileage in the two
months, sixty, not including the sidings: but a tough sixty, battling the
snows and frozen earth and the many curves.
Beautiful lay the Salt Lake Valley, under a bright sun; its thrifty
Mormon ranches showing green, its towns clearly blocked, and the
Great Salt Lake shimmering like silver, in the middle, with the desert
ranges bluish beyond.
“Where’s Ogden, now?”
“How fur to Ogden?”
And——
“Where’s th’ C. Pay. track?”
“Only nine mile north’rd ’round the base o’ the mountains, to Ogden,
lads,” Pat cheered. “Hooray! Lave the dollar-a-day haythen to their
gradin’ an’ their bits o’ rice, for they’ll have mainly their trouble as
their pay. Their rails are a hunderd miles yit out on the desert t’other
side them high ridges. Wan more sprint for us, an’ there we are, wid
’ase.”
This night there was much excitement in the boarding-train and the
camps pitched alongside.
“We’ve bate ’em! We’ve bate ’em! Nigh 500 miles in under tin
months ag’in their 400, an’ the dead o’ winter ketchin’ us in the
mountains, to boot!”
Three days of rush; and the first week of March, this 1869, Paddy
Miles’ track-construction gang entered Ogden. Distance from
Omaha, 1033.4 miles.
In rolled the pay-car, with George aboard, his eyes snapping.
“Did you see those Chinamen?” he demanded. “Did you have any
fight?”
In rolled the freights, and the first passenger train. Already the
Government had accepted the track as far as the Thousand Mile
Tree.
George and Terry climbed to a hill-side high above Ogden. Below,
the track gangs and the tie-layers were celebrating; the Mormon
citizens joined in. Whistles blew—the hoarse siren of old 119 rose
victorious, and the whistle of the boarding-train engine tried to out-
do. It was a great event, but many eyes were peering off into the
northwest, like the eyes of the junior pay department.
“Can you see the C. P. grade?” queried George.
“Reckon I can. Look around the north end of the lake, to that humpy
point that sticks into it. Wish I had a glass.”
“I see! Anyhow, I think I see—looks like there was a gang at work on
top the ridge.”
“Jim Bridger or Sol Judy could tell. That’s Promontory Point, and
both lines cross it.”
“You don’t see any rails, though! That’s only end o’ grade—the real
grade. C. P. end o’ track is clear the other side of Promontory, and
Promontory’s fifty miles.”
“But look at our own grade, boy! It’s almost to Promontory, itself.”
“Hi!” George chuckled. “Reckon we’re bound right through, across
Utah for Humboldt Wells in Nevada. And when those two grades
mix, some day, there’s liable to be tall doings between the Paddies
and the Chinks.”
Excitement continued to reign in Ogden. Matters had taken a
surprising turn. The Union Pacific was here first; nobody could deny
that, and it proceeded to make good its foothold by occupying all the
ground possible, with Pat Miles laying a maze of switches and side-
tracks under the direction of Major Hurd. For Ogden was the key to
the Salt Lake Valley and the vast trade with the Mormon settlers who
would ship out produce and ship in supplies. Salt Lake City was only
thirty-five miles south—a branch road would be built to it, of course.
Then——
But the Central people also were claiming Ogden as a terminal. They
had jumped across 100 miles of country and with Mormon help were
running a roadbed out of Ogden and eastward up Weber Canyon, for
Echo City, forty miles! They had filed a map, at Washington, showing
that their line was being completed into Ogden and beyond—and
almost on the very day that the Union Pacific track had entered
Ogden the Central Pacific vice-president, Mr. C. P. Huntington, had
been given by the Government a portion of the payment due, at
$32,000 a mile, on that new division of the road.
“Now if the Gover’mint’s ag’in us——!” Pat complained. “Sure, have
we got to stop right here, when our eyes are set on Humboldt Wells,
200 mile beyant, an’ the ingineers have marked the way, an’ the
tracks are ready to foller. Not a single rail can the C. Pay. show,
inside a hundred miles. B’ gorry, though, they have smart min, not
countin’ their pig-tailed haythen.”
“We’re going on!” George announced.
Being close to the pay-department quarters, he heard considerable
straight talk; and this time he was not mistaken. Mr. Sidney Dillon, of
the board of directors, had come out from New York. He and General
Dodge and General Casement and other officials had a meeting;
President Oliver Ames and Vice-President Thomas Durant had made
a big protest to Washington and Congress was going to investigate
the claims of the Central Pacific; the word was: “Forward, march, to
Humboldt Wells,” and, as said Pat: “Niver mind the rice-’atin’
Mongolians. We’ll tach ’em how the Irish handle the pick.”
“We’re getting out of money, but don’t you tell,” George confided, to
Terry, on the quiet. “It took over $10,000,000 extra, for the work last
winter. Gosh! I tell you we fellows in the pay-car have to figure
mighty close.”
But the race was on again, just the same—only worse. General
Dodge and General Casement met the Central Pacific deal by
sending a large gang of Paddy’s track-layers ahead 200 miles
across country, to begin a track into Humboldt Wells. And out of
Ogden the main track was shoved toward Promontory Point, with the
graders working ahead, on the U. P. survey.
Track-laying had slackened. It was a long, long haul, now, from
Omaha, more than 1000 miles, across the plains where the Sioux
were still fighting the iron horse, and across the mountains where the
storms of spring raged and the snow-slides ran. And the track-layers
and graders both had threatened to strike, because of lack of pay.
But the Central likewise was having trouble. The Central, too, was
far from its iron—ships bringing the rails and spikes and fastenings
around Cape Horn or up from the Isthmus of Panama were sunk,
becalmed, delayed; the Nevada desert was bare of forage for the
horses; and for days at a time the Central work-gangs sat idle and
discontented.
The two railroads resembled two staggering long-distance runners,
almost exhausted as each struggled on, from opposite directions, to
breast the tape.
The Central grade came eastward by its own survey, which was not
at all the Union Pacific survey; and that was a funny thing—the two
roads working as hard as they could, to meet, and yet not meeting.
The C. P. grade had swung around the north end of the Salt Lake,
and down over Promontory Point—which was the high point that
jutted into the lake. The U. P. grade had been launched northward
from Ogden, along the lake shore, as if to drive the C. P. grade back.
And slow work the grading was, because the country was cut by
streams and rocky ridges, running into the boggy marge of the lake
itself.
On some stretches the surveys were a mile separated—on others
they approached close to each other. The grades would do the
same.
“As long as the two gangs are a mile apart, ’twill be a paceful country
yon,” quoth Pat; “for a high fince makes good neighbors, ye
understand. But,” he added, kindly, to Terry, “when they’re a-workin’
side by side like, I’d advise ye to ride wid an eye open an’ an
umbrelly up. Some o’ them blastin’ crews are liable to lay a ‘grave,’
an’ I wouldn’t want ye hurt.”
Just what Pat meant by a “grave,” Terry did not know, but he was
speedily to find out.
On a morning when he rode out, in advance of U. P. end o’ track, for
his regular “time inspection,” the two grades were passing each
other at last. The C. P. grade was holding to the higher ground, here.
The long line of busy Chinamen (“Crocker’s pets,” they were called,
Mr. Charles Crocker being the C. P. superintendent of construction)
were toiling away, with pick and spade and wheel-barrow, right
above the long line of flannel-shirted Irishmen building the U. P.
grade.
The Chinamen were saying scarcely a word, and casting scarcely a
glance. They trotted with their barrows, and pecked with short little
stabs, but they swarmed like rats. The Irish laughed among
themselves, making remarks not at all complimentary to their rivals.
As Terry approached a cut, he suddenly ran into a blast. That is,
before ever he saw the red flag of danger, cautious voices in low
tone, and sly gestures warned him.
“Whisht, now! Look out. Stand where ye be.”
There was no red flag, and no shout; but heads were being turned,
along the grade—in the cut the men were pausing, poised, ready to
jump—everybody seemed aware, except the Chinamen above the
cut; and amidst a sudden scattering for cover by the cut men, up
burst the blast itself.
The rocks soared high, specking the air, and rained down, volleying
among the Chinamen. The Chinamen squeaked with fright, and
ducked and scurried, but several were bowled over.
This appeared to tickle the Irish graders immensely. They pretended
to pay no attention; only grinned broadly, as they resumed work,
while the Chinamen yelped protests, and shook helpless fists.
“But maybe you killed some of ’em, Mike,” Terry gasped,
considerably flustered, himself.
“Them Chinks?” rasped Big Mike, the grade boss here. “Aw, now,
don’t ye worry. Let ’em look out for themselves. Our orders be, to
pay no attintion to the C. Pay. grade; we’ve our own work. What are
they doin’ here, anyhow, right ferninst the blastin’? They ought to
know enough to kape away. An’ a ‘grave’ is a blessin’ to a Chinyman
—for as soon as he’s dead, ain’t he sint back to the ould country?”
So that was a “grave,” was it? Huh! After that Terry moved
cautiously, when taking time; for other “graves” were “opened” by the
cunning U. P. graders. They willingly enough dodged the rocks,
themselves, in the hopes of “burying” some of the timid “Crocker’s
pets.”
Superintendent Crocker made complaint straight to General
Casement and General Dodge; and General Casement and
Superintendent Reed ordered Big Mike to stop that nonsense among
his men. Big Mike only promised—and that day another “grave” was
laid.
Then the Chinamen took matters into their own hands. They also
“opened” a “grave,” smack above a bevy of the Irish. It was a large
one; it buried three Irishmen completely—killed two of them and
wounded half a dozen others.
Big Mike was reported to have at first roared like a bull, for revenge,
and to have finished by scratching his thatch ruefully.
“B’ gorry,” he said, “if it’s a game two can play at, they have the
advantage o’ position. Before me min get nervous mebbe we’d better
call it quits.”
And back at end o’ track Pat remarked:
“’Tis a wonder them haythens didn’t have the same sinse before.
Now I guess there’ll be no more ‘graves,’ yon, o’ that kind.”
U. P. end o’ track was twenty miles out of Ogden, and half way to
Promontory Point. C. P. end o’ track was eighty miles out, or thirty
miles the other side of Promontory Point. One end o’ track was going
one way, the other end o’ track was coming the other way; but they
were not aimed to meet!
“On to Humboldt Wells,” was the slogan of the Union Pacific.
“On to Ogden,” was the slogan of the Central Pacific.
Not until the U. P. grade had climbed Promontory, to join with its
grade in the desert beyond, and the C. P. grade was touching
Ogden, did the fresh news break.
Pat received a telegram, read it, and burst into a flurry.
“It’s all off! The orders be for us to join ind o’ track wid the Cintral ind
atop o’ Promontory Summit—an’ shame on us if we let ’em bate us
there. A holiday in Salt Lake City wid full pay for iv’ry man o’ yez if
yez’ll step on the tails of the tie-layers wid your rails.”
So it was to be a race for the meeting at Promontory Summit!
Distance to go: Union Pacific, twenty-eight miles; Central Pacific,
thirty miles. The telegraph was already in operation, waiting to
announce the victor, to the world.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE U. P. BREASTS THE TAPE
“The C. P. say they can lay ten miles of track in one day and Mr.
Durant has telegraphed $10,000 to say they can’t do it!”
This was the excited greeting by George Stanton, when Terry met
the pay-car in the latest “roaring” town of Blue Creek, at the base of
Promontory Point on the U. P. side.
Blue Creek station was not really a town; it was more of a higglety-
pigglety railroad camp, but it seemed to know no law. The Home
Cooking restaurant appeared to be about the only decent place
there. Nevertheless, there it was, just the same, arrived in its last
move on the long journey from Cheyenne, more than 500 miles. The
“Heroines of the U. P.” had set out to keep near their “men folks,”
and bring “home” to them whenever possible. Old 119, with Engineer
Richards in the cab, was still plying back and forth, in the fore; and
George’s father was expected any day, called in from the Nevada
surveys.
As soon as the two companies, directed by Congress, had decided
to join ends o’ tracks upon Promontory Point, all advance grading
and surveying had ceased. The C. P. had graded eighty miles east
from Promontory Point, or almost to Echo City; the U. P. had graded
220 miles west from Ogden, or to Humboldt Wells, and had laid
eighty miles of track this way from Humboldt Wells; but there was
nothing doing now. The work had all been wasted.
So the majority of the graders had been discharged. A number of
them still hung around, though, waiting for the tracks to join. They
helped to form the U. P. camp of Blue Creek; and on the desert over
beyond the Summit they helped to form the on-coming C. P. camp.
Everybody was keen to hear if the Central had anything yet to say
about the U. P. track-laying record. Time was growing short. But the
Central had said little. It was reported that they had had hard luck.
Iron was scarce, and in order to make up for lost hours they had laid
track at night, by the light of sage-brush bonfires. Now they were out
of rails, again. Their “iron-train,” as they called it, had been ditched,
by a broken trestle.
The Union Pacific crept on, here to the foot of Promontory Point of
the rugged Promontory Range; the meeting-place agreed upon was
only nine miles up and over, and the track-layers might take things a
little easy.
But the Central had braced; they had the spirit, all right, and those
seven and five-eighths miles as a challenge did not bluff them.
George brought the answer.
“We’ll lay ten miles of track in one day’s stint,” was the telegraphed
announcement of Superintendent Crocker.
“Ten thousand dollars that you can’t do it,” was the reply of Mr.
Durant, the U. P. vice-president, from New York. “Choose your time
and place and we’ll have men there to see.”
“Tin miles? Those fellers?” Pat scoffed. “Eight’s the limit o’ any gang.
Haven’t we stumped ’em wid sivin an’ a bit? If they lay tin miles I’ll
crawl over it on me hands an’ knees wid me nose countin’ the ties!”
“When’ll they try? Did you hear?” demanded Terry, of George.
“No. All I saw was in the Ogden paper. Expect they’ll choose the
levelest place they have. You bet I’m going to be there.”
“So am I!”
“We’ll all be there,” Pat proclaimed. “For we’ll have nothin’ else to do.
Wid only nine miles yet to lay we’ll all be on vacation soon; an’ if they
don’t finish their tin miles, the Irish will stand ready to help ’em along
to the meetin’ spot.”
“How far out are they?” asked George.
“Eighteen or twenty miles. That wreck stopped ’em.”
Up Promontory Point the U. P. rails labored, for the finish; with
trestles and curves, and several switchbacks that doubled like the
letter “S”—for there were grades of 110 feet to the mile, and the cuts
and fills were many. Water had to be hauled in tanks, again, for
cooking and drinking. In fact this finish was one of the toughest pulls
in all the 1,080 miles.
On April 27, they topped the last rise. This summit of Promontory
Point was a flattish plateau, dropping off at the other side into the
desert. The grade led almost straight across—a mile and a half or
two miles there was a collection of tents and shacks, and the men
paused to stare.
“The meetin’-place? Is that yon the meetin’-place, ye say?”
“Right, me bullies,” Pat encouraged. “’Tis the ind o’ 550 miles o’ rails
laid in thirteen months, b’ gorry, not countin’ the eighty that’s been
wasted. So we’ll knock off ’arly, an’ tomorrow we’ll make in—an’ be
frish for the nixt mornin’ when the Cintral Chinks start to lay their tin
that they’re braggin’ beforehand about. Sure, that’ll lave ’em four
miles yit. Like as not they’ll nade help wid their finish.”
“It’s a quare meetin’-place, where there’s nothin’ to meet,” some of
the men laughed. “S’pose we tiligraph Congress, just sayin’ that th’
U. Pay.’ll kape a-goin’ an’ save th’ C. Pay. th’ bother.”
“Not much! Tin miles o’ track are they to lay in wan day, remember,
wid us a-lookin’ on.”
Mr. J. H. Strobridge, the C. P. superintendent of track-construction,
finally had sent word to Mr. Reed, the U. P. superintendent, that on
April 29 the Central would lay their ten miles of track, from a point
fourteen miles short of the meeting-place. He invited the U. P. to
send witnesses—President Leland Stanford, of the Central Pacific
(and ex-governor of California), and other C. P. officials would be
there.
“We’ll be there, too,” had wired back Mr. Reed.
“We’ll be there,” had asserted Pat.
Before noon of April 28, the U. P. end o’ track came to a rest near
the idling camp of Promontory, where a lot of ex-graders were
squatted, and gamblers, eating-house keepers, liquor sellers and
real-estate boomers had arrived, to await events.
One rail’s length short of the stake and flag, the track stopped—
obeying orders from Mr. Reed.
Hats were flung into the air, tools went hurtling, cheers rang riotous,
and George, who had hopped a ride up from Blue Creek, so as to be
on hand, danced a war-dance with Terry.
“Done! Hurrah! Done!”
“Why do yez say ‘done,’ when ’tain’t done at all, at all?” reproved
red-headed little Jimmie Muldoon, severely. “Do yez expec’ the
ingines to walk the ties, th’ same as me horse? It won’t be done until
th’ C. Pay. lay their fourteen mile—an’ Pat says that mebbe we’ll
have to fall in an’ help ’em.”
“Well, we’re done, all but twenty-eight feet,” retorted George. “And if
the C. P. lay their ten miles tomorrow, they’ll be about done. Four
miles more is nothing. Not out of nearly 2,000. We all can pitch in
and lay that in an hour. Come on, Terry, let’s figure.”
They sat down, to figure.
Union Pacific: forty miles of track laid in 1865; 260 miles in 1866; 246
miles in 1867; 425 miles in 1868, and now 125, in the four months of
1869—which made, as Pat said, 550 miles in thirteen months, not
counting the sidings and switches, and the eighty miles at Humboldt
Wells.
And look at the grading! From Sherman to Humboldt Wells—725
miles, in the same thirteen months.
“I reckon nobody’s going to beat that, for a while,” vaunted George,
the boss figurer.
“Reckon not, boy. But the C. P. have done pretty well. While we’ve
been building 1,086 miles, and that extra ‘Z’ of near ten miles more,
they’ve been building something like 675, with those fourteen miles

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