Harlan II

The wind blew softly as Fergus and Harlan’s cart finally crossed the last hill, revealing the majesty of Roystone. What had started as a mere smudge on the horizon now rose before them as an imposing fortified city. Tall gray stone walls surrounded it—massive and unyielding—reinforced by watchtowers that reached toward the sky like silent sentinels. Between them, purple banners fluttered, their folds rippling in the wind. Each one bore a diagonal black stripe across the field of color, and at its center gleamed a silver squid, almost mystical in appearance—like an emblem of ancient protection or a symbol of power.

At the heart of Roystone, upon a natural rise, stood the Great Castle of Roy—a colossal fortress of white stone and alabaster that shimmered under the sun’s fading light. Its towers, tall and broad, were crowned with ornate battlements, and from its balconies hung banners waving proudly. In the middle rose an enormous keep, the symbol of the city’s authority, watching over all the surrounding lands.

“There it is, lad—Roystone. Never fails to impress, does it?” said Fergus, nodding toward the castle, his eyes glinting with admiration.

As they approached, the enormous walls grew even more imposing. Passing through the grand gate—flanked by two massive towers with iron grilles—the hum of the city engulfed them.

“It’s… huge,” whispered Harlan, his eyes roaming everywhere—from the intricately carved stone buildings to the fountains adorning the squares.

“That’s Roystone for you, always moving. You’ll find everything here—but keep your eyes open,” replied Fergus, pulling on the reins to guide the cart through the bustling streets.

As they moved forward, Harlan couldn’t help feeling small before the city’s magnitude, yet closer than ever to his goal, his gaze fixed on the castle towers that seemed to pierce the heavens.

“Welcome to Roystone, boy,” Fergus said with a tired smile as the cart turned down a side street. “This is where stories begin—or end.”

The cart rolled slowly through Roystone’s cobbled streets. The sounds of city life surrounded them—vendors calling, children laughing, horses snorting. On either side, houses of stone and wood stood with slanted roofs; some had hanging flowers on their balconies, others fluttered with tiny flags in the wind. The closer they came to the castle, the grander the homes became—with wide windows and detailed carvings on their frames—but farther downhill, the buildings turned simpler and more practical.

At every corner, merchants shouted out their goods: freshly baked bread, ripe fruit, animal pelts hanging from stalls. The scent of roasted meat and spices filled the air, mingled with the smoke of nearby forges where blacksmiths hammered metal tirelessly.

“Take a look, Harlan—a living city, eh? No rest here, not even when the sun’s down,” said Fergus, steering deftly around a group of children chasing a rolling wooden wheel.

“Never seen anything like this…” murmured Harlan, eyes wide, unsure whether to marvel at the tall buildings or the ceaseless motion of the people.

They passed a tavern with a thick oak door spilling out laughter and music. Two men argued loudly in front of a weapons stand, while a group of women hurried past carrying baskets of fabric toward the main square. Harlan felt overwhelmed by the sheer life of it all, but Fergus, calm as ever, seemed to know exactly how to move within the chaos.

“Is it always this crowded?” Harlan asked, as a spice merchant brushed past shouting prices for his exotic powders.

“Roystone’s the heart of this part of the kingdom, lad. Everyone comes here—merchants, soldiers, even nobles. And don’t forget the scoundrels… In a place like this, you’ll find as many looking to make a quick coin as those trying to live honestly.” Fergus cast a quick glance toward a group of young men watching them too closely from a dark corner.

They passed a workshop with its doors wide open, and from inside came the voice of an impatient craftsman scolding his apprentices.

“Come on, lads! You planning to finish those chairs today or should I leave them here till the sun’s gone?” The rhythmic hammering of tools echoed down the street.

“How can there be so much luxury in one place?” Harlan asked, fascinated, as they passed a noble couple walking confidently, their gold-threaded clothes gleaming even as mud splattered their shoes.

“Because where money flows, vanity follows,” Fergus replied, giving him a light pat on the leg. “But don’t be fooled by appearances. The wealth of some is built on the hunger of others.”

“Do you live here, sir?” Harlan asked suddenly as the cart turned into a narrower lane.

“No, lad. I was born in the countryside, and that’s where I’ll stay. Cities like this—too noisy, too crowded. But sometimes a man’s got to come here to settle business.”

The cart creaked to a halt before a stable. The scent of fresh hay mingled with the familiar smell of horses. The wide dark-wood doors stood open, and from inside came the soft neighs of the animals. Fergus took the reins and climbed down with a sigh, looking up as a figure approached from the shadows within.

“Tom!” Fergus called, smiling as he stretched his arms. “Brought you the usual.”

A medium-sized man with tangled black hair emerged, wiping his hands on a dirty rag.

“Ah, Fergus—about time. Thought you’d gotten lost on the road,” Tom replied with a crooked grin, approaching the cart and eyeing the hay load.

“With all the commotion in Roystone, anyone could get lost,” said Fergus, laughing as Harlan climbed down behind him, wide-eyed with curiosity.

“This your lad?” Tom asked, giving Harlan a quick once-over.

“This is Harlan,” Fergus answered, patting the boy’s shoulder. “He’s tagging along with me today.”

Harlan nodded shyly but kept his gaze fixed on the stable, where sleek horses poked their heads from their stalls—some chewing lazily, others flicking their ears at the newcomers.

“Well, Harlan, if you’re learning from Fergus, you’ll get used to hard work soon enough. No rest here either,” Tom said, turning back to the hay. “Care to help unload?”

“Of course,” Fergus said, already climbing onto the back of the cart to start moving the bales.

Harlan, eager to prove himself, pushed against one—but quickly realized it was heavier than he’d imagined.

“Don’t rush it, lad. Strength comes with time,” Fergus said, effortlessly heaving a bale down onto the ground.

Tom grabbed one himself, carrying it inside and setting it neatly in place.

“The horses will eat well for a while. Thanks, Fergus. You know, some folks in town are talking about a big recruitment at the castle. If that’s true, they’ll be needing more supplies like this soon,” Tom said, pressing down the bale to settle it.

“Ha! We’ll see if those new recruits can even ride a pony,” Fergus joked, brushing the dust from his hands. “Need anything else today, Tom?”

“Not for now. But if I hear of more work, I’ll let you know.” Tom pulled a small leather pouch from his belt and handed it over. “Here—twenty-two silver coins for eleven bales.”

Fergus nodded, checking the weight of the bag and giving it a quick look inside before securing it at his belt. Then he dropped the last bale and stretched his back.

“Well then, lad,” he said to Harlan, “that’s it for today. Let’s find a place to rest before night falls.”

Tom raised a hand in farewell as Fergus and Harlan climbed back onto the cart. The horses in the stable neighed softly, as if in thanks for the fresh hay.

“Appreciate the work, Tom. See you soon,” Fergus said, clapping the man on the shoulder before steering the cart back into the quieter evening streets of Roystone.

***

The tavern “The Sword and the Tankard” was full of life —the murmur of conversations and bursts of laughter echoed throughout the place. The aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, mixing with the scent of frothy beer served in clay mugs. Fergus and Harlan settled at a polished wooden table, the scraping of chairs blending into the lively din.

“Not a bad place, huh?” said Fergus, glancing around as a tavern keeper approached to take their order.

“It’s amazing,” replied Harlan, his eyes shining with excitement. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.”

Fergus smiled, enjoying the awestruck look on his young companion’s face.

“This is where travelers and townsfolk come together. A good place to hear rumors and rest after a long day.” He turned toward the innkeeper. “A beer, please.”

The innkeeper nodded and looked at Harlan.

“And for you, lad?”

Harlan hesitated a moment.

“Do you have cider?” he asked.

“Yes. Bring the boy a cider, and a beer for me,” said Fergus.

While they waited for their drinks, the tavern door swung open with a loud bang. Harlan turned toward the entrance and saw a young man with black hair walking in confidently, wearing a cloak that clearly marked his status. The chatter in the tavern faded for a moment as every eye turned toward him.

“Who’s that?” Harlan asked, intrigued.

“That’s Lord Raymond,” Fergus replied, nodding toward the nobleman as he approached the counter. “A young man from House Roy. He’s well regarded in the city.”

At nineteen, Raymond carried an air of command that drew everyone’s respect. His features were sharply defined—a strong jaw and dark eyes that seemed to size up the room around him. His thick black hair fell in a tousled style that only made him look more formidable. His square face and chiseled angles gave him a stern appearance, as if every line had been carved to mirror his rigid nature.

He didn’t speak to anyone; he merely observed, his expression a mixture of disdain and curiosity. He moved with a quiet grace, like a predator studying its surroundings before deciding its next move. Every glance, every gesture, was deliberate—enough to keep others at a careful distance, as though warmth and small talk were things entirely foreign to him.

Fergus watched him for a moment before turning back to Harlan, who was still staring, captivated by the young noble.

“Don’t stare too long,” Fergus warned quietly.

Harlan nodded, though his eyes still followed Raymond as the noble joined a group of men by the counter, exchanging a few words. The hum of the tavern picked back up, though the air felt heavier, charged with a subtle tension—as if everyone was waiting to see what Raymond would do next.

Meanwhile, the young lord drank his ale, watching the crowd with casual disinterest. He didn’t seem engaged in the conversation, as if being there was more an obligation than a choice. Fergus and Harlan returned to their own talk, though the figure of the dark-haired noble lingered in Harlan’s mind.

“So, Harlan, what do you feel like eating?” Fergus asked, glancing at the menu nailed to one of the wooden beams. “I’m thinking pork. I’ve always liked it.”

Harlan looked around, watching plates being brought to nearby tables.

“Sounds good to me too!” he said with a smile, though there was a faint weariness in his face. It wasn’t just fatigue from the day —he hadn’t eaten properly in three long days. Finding food during his journey had been hard, and though he’d survived on scraps of bread, hunger still gnawed at him.

“Perfect, let’s get a good piece and some potatoes. Nothing beats simple food after a long day.”

They leaned back in their chairs, waiting for the innkeeper to take their order.

After their meal, Harlan and Fergus headed upstairs to the small rented room, tired but satisfied. The day had been long, and both were eager for rest.

The hallway on the second floor smelled of old wood and the faint smoke from the hearth below. Fergus pulled a key from his pocket and turned it in the lock. The door creaked open, revealing a modest but cozy room: two wooden beds with straw mattresses near the window, and a small table with a candle flickering gently.

“It’s simple, but it’ll do for the night,” said Fergus, dropping his pack on the floor.

Harlan didn’t answer right away. He’d been so focused on food that he hadn’t realized how exhausted he really was. He let himself fall onto the bed, exhaling in relief as strength slowly returned to his body.

“I don’t think I could take another step today,” he murmured, voice soft and weary, stretching his legs.

Fergus lay down on the other bed, noting how drained Harlan looked. The day’s travel, mixed with his hunger, had clearly taken its toll.

“Get some rest, lad. Tomorrow will be easier,” he said gently, blowing out the candle.

The wind outside and the creaking of the floorboards lulled them into sleep. With his stomach finally full, Harlan drifted deeply, unaware of how far his dreams would take him into Lumar’s embrace that night.

***

Harlan moved quietly through Cauldronport, Roystone’s harbor, as the first rays of dawn reflected on the water. He approached one of the ships, careful not to make a sound. While inspecting the ropes and hull, searching for a way to sneak aboard, a voice stopped him cold.

“What are you doing there?”

Harlan jumped and spun around. A young woman, slightly older than him, stood a few paces away, watching him with a curious gaze. Her skin was fair, her dark hair falling freely from under a black hood. She looked like a hunter, with leather gloves and a confident stance.

“I… nothing,” he said quickly, trying to sound casual, though his voice betrayed him.

She didn’t look convinced.

“You don’t look like you’re doing ‘nothing,’” she said, stepping closer. “Planning to board that ship, or just admiring the ropes?”

Harlan swallowed hard, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected to be discovered so early.

“I was just looking…” he said, hoping she’d drop it.

She studied him for a few seconds, then sighed.

“Look, it’s not my business what you’re up to. But if you get yourself in trouble, don’t expect anyone here to help you out.” Her tone wasn’t harsh, more… pragmatic.

Harlan shifted awkwardly, torn between shame and defiance.

She crossed her arms, eyeing him again. “What’s your name?”

“Harlan.”

“Crystal,” she said, her expression softening slightly. “You’re not from around here, are you? What brings you to the docks so early?”

He hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should lie or tell the truth, but something in her gaze —as if she already knew he was running from something— made him decide.

“I’m looking for my sister,” he said finally, his voice low. “I don’t know where she is, but I have to find her.”

Crystal studied him carefully, her features gentler now.

“And you think she’s on one of these ships?”

“I… I don’t know,” he admitted, lowering his eyes. “I’m not looking for any ship in particular. I just need one that’ll take me wherever she might be.”

Her brows furrowed slightly.

“So you’re not looking for a ship. You’re looking for a chance, huh?” she said with a faint, knowing smile. “You’re lucky —there are captains here who don’t ask too many questions. But if you board one without knowing where it’s headed…” She paused. “You might end up far from your sister. With no way back.”

Harlan’s chest tightened. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

Crystal’s gaze softened as she looked him over —his worn clothes, the dirt on his face, the quiet urgency in his eyes.

“Let me guess,” she said calmly, but with weight behind her words. “You’re from a coastal village… and it was attacked, wasn’t it?”

A chill ran through Harlan. He hadn’t said a word about Ormsport, but somehow she knew. His lips parted, but it took him a few seconds to speak.

“How… how do you know that?”

Crystal tilted her head slightly, a faint, sad smile crossing her face.

“Some coastal villages were raided. People end up here, looking for refuge.” She met his gaze. “I’ve seen others like you. Young, lost… willing to do anything to find what they’ve lost —or to settle the score.”

Harlan clenched his fists, the helplessness he’d been holding back now burning stronger.

“I have to find my sister,” he said quietly, but with conviction.

Crystal watched him for a moment longer, measuring that determination, then nodded slowly.

“I know where you want to go,” she said in a low voice, leaning closer. “I can take you there —or tell you exactly how to get there. But…” she paused, eyes narrowing slightly, “you’ll have to do something for me first.”

Harlan frowned, hope and suspicion warring inside him. He knew nothing came without a price —but if this could lead him closer to his sister, he couldn’t turn away.

“What kind of something?” he asked, his tone firm.

She looked him dead in the eye before answering.

“I need you to do a task for me. Something important. If you do it, I’ll tell you where to go and how to get there. But it won’t be easy. So if you don’t have the guts…” —her gaze sharpened slightly— “you’d better keep searching on your own.”

Harlan’s pulse quickened. He had little to lose —and everything to gain. He nodded, his face set.

“I’ll do it. Whatever it takes.”

Crystal smiled, this time with a glint of approval in her eyes.

“Good. Then get ready —this won’t be just a simple errand.”

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