Haralt I

The bricks that make up the wall around the city of Stonewall are black and grey, as firm as they ground it sits upon. With winter on its way, the air was cold and the occasional fall of snow hit’s the ground.

As Haralt looked out, away from the city, there was a mist filling the air, if it were not for his thick, white wolf fur covering him then Haralt would feel the bite of the cold.

“Someone is approaching!” A soldier shouted from outside of the gate.

Looking out, Haralt could just make out the silhouette of two men on horseback slowly riding towards the city.

This time of year, most people are in their homes preparing their rations for when winter truly hits so the arrival was unexpected. When they finally got to the front gate, the wall was blocking Haralt from being able to see them. Although he could hear muffled voices.

Haralt could hear footsteps growing closer to him, up the stairs of the wall. When a soldier, dressed in brown fur and steel armour he said.

“Haralt, it is two southern men. They want to speak to Adaram.”

What are southerners doing here? Their second check is not due for two more months. Haralt thought.

Nodding back at the soldier, Haralt followed him down the stairs. When he reached the hard ground, the gates were pulled open and stood there were two soldiers, one in regular empire, iron armour and the other was in noble attire, he wore a red tunic and black trousers, on top he had a large coat.

“My name is Tatton Clayston.” The noble man said, “King Leo has sent me to speak to Jarl Adaram Taylor.”

Looking at the man, his hair was long, brown and straight, his face was thin and chiselled. He looks like most of the women I fuck. Haralt thought with a laugh to himself.

“I am Haralt Taylor, Adaram’s son.” Haralt told the man.

“It is an honour to meet you.” The noble man replied, his brown horse was slightly moving, most likely attempting to stay warm.

“My men will take your horses to the stables. Follow me.” Haralt said and turned his back on the men.

I fucking hate these posh bastards! Haralt thought.

After a few seconds of walking, Haralt turned back and saw the men attempting to catch him up. When the one with the long hair reached him he asked.

“I believe you are the eldest of Adaram’s sons?”

“I am,” Haralt told him, “What are you doing here?” He bluntly asked.

“That is for me and your father to discuss.” The man replied, pissing Haralt off.

Grunting back, Haralt continued his walk to the black castle of Stonewall. It was a few minutes’ walk through the city of Stonewall, the ground was getting frozen solid and the streets were empty.

Reaching the castle, there were four soldiers stood, each holding a body sized axe made out of iron in their hands.

“You two stay here, I will get Adaram.” Haralt said turning back to the two southerners.

The southerners were always smaller people, standing next to the soldiers, this Tatton man and his companion are at least a foot smaller and thinner.

Going inside the black castle, the halls were dimly lit with candle light and the floors were harsh, solid stone that made each footstep echo through the halls. Knowing his father, Haralt walked into the dining hall and saw him sat in front of the fire drinking out of a goblet.

“Father?” Haralt said walking into the room.

“What is it?” He shouted back, standing from his seat and looking to his son.

As usual, Adaram’s long, wiry black hair was wild and below his shoulders, weaving into his thick black beard that made it hard to know where the hair ended and the beard began.

“Two men from the capital are here to see you, from orders of the King.” Haralt told his father.

“Fucking southerners.” Adaram moaned, “What do they want?”

“They wouldn’t tell me, said they needed to speak to you.” Haralt told him.

“Fuck sake.” Adaram shouted and rose from his chair. Adaram was a beast of a man. His black hair and huge size were one of the reasons he was nicknamed the Black Bear, that and the giant black bear fur he wears to honour when he hunted and killed the beast with his bare hands.

Although Haralt was one of the tallest people in the Northern Kingdoms, Adaram still stood nearly a foot taller and when he barged past his son, Haralt had to creak his neck up to see his father.

Following behind, Adaram threw his black bear coat over his back and stormed down the halls towards the entrance of the castle.

“How can I help you men?” Adaram said leaving the castle, turning on his polite side.

“Adaram Taylor?” The long haired man said, “I am Tatton Clayston, this is Philip, King Leo has sent us.”

Adaram and Tatton shook each other’s hands, Adaram’s being huge and clearly hurting Tatton, although he did his best to hide it.

“How is the King?” Adaram said, still holding onto Tatton’s hand.

“He is well.” Tatton replied, prying his hand free.

“So, what is it you want?” Adaram asked.

“Maybe we could discuss this inside? Out of the cold.” Tatton replied.

Southerners, they are used to hot days and nights. Too womanly to handle our weather. Haralt thought.

“Yes of course, come in. You will have to leave your weapons.” Adaram told the men.

“Of course,” Tatton replied, unbuckling his sword from his belt and handing it to one of the soldiers, “Please be careful, it is a family heirloom.” He said to the soldier.

Walking back through the corridors, no one spoke until they reached the warmth of the fire in the dining room.

Adaram, Tatton and Philip all sat down, Haralt remaining standing.

“So, what can I do for you?” Adaram asked again, running his thick hand through his beard.

Haralt knew that Adaram chose to give off the impression that he was an unruly fool. However he was smarter than that, he chose to grow his hair and beard wild, making sure his foe’s underestimated him.

“The King has requested that you accompany me back to the capital for a meeting.” Tatton said sitting back on his wooden chair.

“What is the meeting for?” Adaram questioned.

“I am not privy to that information unfortunately. Simply that it is a matter of great urgency.” Tatton explained.

“So you arrive at my home, unexpected, and then tell me that I must travel for weeks to meet the King and you cannot tell me the reason why?” Adaram scoffed back at the absurd request.

Tatton’s face was unflinching, leaning forward he looked at Adaram in the eyes and said, “You are expected to do as your King requests.”

Brave bastard. Haralt thought to himself. Adaram could rip Tatton’s head clean off of his shoulders, and yet he seems to have no fear for the man.

Staring at his father, Haralt waits for the response. His father’s face remaining unwavering and straight .

Until a large smile appeared on his face and his body began to shake with laughter.

“You are correct of course. If King Leo calls me for a meeting of course I will go.” Adaram said in his laughter.

“I am glad that you agree.” Tatton said, his look was clearly confused over Adaram’s mixed reactions.

“We will need to be leaving straight away, tomorrow ideally.” Tatton said.

“That won’t be possible.” Haralt finally joined in the conversation, “Winter is nearly here and we are preparing the food to ration for when the crops stop growing. We can leave in a few weeks’ time.”

Tatton stared at the younger Taylor for just a moment before retuning his gaze to Adaram and speaking directly to him.

“With all due respect Adaram, the King has requested you return immediately.”

Haralt argued back, “I just told you that we cannot leave immediately.” getting more pissed off by this posh southerner.

“Quiet boy!” Adaram shouted, shocking Haralt. “If the King requests to see me immediately then who are we to argue.”

He must be fucking joking! Haralt thought.

“But Tatton, you must understand that we cannot prepare for the long journey over night.” Adaram said.

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“That is fair enough,” Tatton said leaning back on his chair, “How long do you need?”

Adaram raised his goblet to his mouth only to remember it was empty when no ale came out, putting it back down her said.

“Three days, we will leave then.” And then he turned back to his son, “Haralt, go get us some ale. It has been a long time since we had a guest from the capital here, it’s a cause for celebration.”

“Yes father.” Haralt replied, showing his clear annoyance. Having one last look at Tatton who was smiling back at him with a smug grin, Haralt turned around and headed for the door.

“And get your brothers!” Adaram shouted.

Not stopping to respond, Haralt left the room and saw two guards standing outside of the door. Staring at the soldiers Haralt ordered.

“One of you get a casket of ale, the other find my brother Zakaria.”

“Yes my Lord.” They both replied.

Haralt then set to find his Erik, the third youngest of the four Taylor brothers. Knowing Erik, Haralt assumed he would be in the training courtyard.

When he stepped outside, Haralt clutched onto his white wolf pelt to warm him from the cold breeze and the snow that was in constant flow. As he walked through the yard in front of the black castle, the leaves on the many bushes around were still green and yet frozen solid.

As he grew closer to the training courtyard, Haralt could hear the sound of metal clashing on metal. As he turned past the wall he could see through the light mist his brother Erik was sparing with his friend Giles.

As he grew closer, he realised that Erik was not wearing a shirt and there was a small cut with blood slowly pouring out of it on his arm.

Erik was holding two axes and blocking Giles’s who was attacking with a sword. Haralt was impressed with the quick movements of his younger brother, he was smaller than both Haralt and Zakaria but Haralt knew he was quicker.

In silence, he witnessed Erik counterattacking until Giles lost his footing and fell to the ground, when Erik held one of the axes to Giles’s throat.

“Not bad.” Haralt shouted.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Erik shouted back, pulling his axe away from his friends throat and helping him to his feet.

“Father wants all of us in the dining hall, we have a guest from the capital.” Haralt called over.

Erik picked up his shirt from the ground and pulled it over his head before pushing his short, spiked brown hair to once side and saying.

“Why the fuck would I want to see a posh bastard from the capital?”

Already losing his patience with his brother, Haralt sighed and said.

“Because father has ordered you to, so you will do as you are told.”

Turning to his friend and laughing, Erik looked back to his brother and said.

“I will do as I wish, brother.”

I swear the gods put him on this earth to annoy me! Haralt thought.

Slowly, Haralt walked over to his younger brother. Once he was within an inch of him, Haralt towered over Erik and looked dead into his eyes as he whispered.

“You will do whatever I tell you. Little brother.”

Haralt knew that even with Erik’s speed that he could best him in a fight without having to put too much effort into it. On top of that, he knew that Erik knew it as well.

His younger brother grinned a wicked smile and said.

“No need to get so angry brother.” Then turning to Giles, “Come on then, let’s see these posh fuckers.”

Erik then pushed past his brother and shoved Haralt’s shoulder as he walked. Watching his brother walk away Haralt thought to himself, Little prick.

When Haralt returned to the dining room, he saw his other brother Zakaria was by one of the kegs of ale talking to Philip, the other southerner that seemed to be quieter than Tatton.

Zakaria was dressed in full black leather clothing and his long brown hair was weaved and down to his lower back. Walking over and grabbing a tankard of ale, Haralt said.

“Nice of you to join us brother, I see you have met one of our guests.”

Zakaria was slightly smaller than Haralt and the two of them towered over the southerner.

“I have, I was just asking him about the women down there. Small little things, easy to throw about I believe.” Zakaria said with a laugh.

“I do not know much about that, I am a happily married man.” Philip said back, although Haralt could tell he was unnerved being around two men that are so much larger than him.

“Shame, I couldn’t imagine holding myself to one woman!” Haralt laughed before drinking from his tankard.

“I understand that you lot in the north have different customs, your father has three wives I believe?” Philip asked.

“That is true, in our culture men are allowed to marry as many women as they wish.” Zakaria told him.

“So, you are not all fully brothers?” Philip asked, his words slurring, clearly not used to the strength of the northern ale.

“I am the only child Adaram had with my mother, Mavena” Haralt informed him, “Then he took on Amel who gave birth to Zakaria here and Erik who will be here shortly.”

“The best looking of the family I should add.” Zakaria said with a laugh.

Haralt shook his head, although he had to admit, even though Zakaria was a large man, he was also the pretty boy of the family.

“You have another brother? And a sister?” Philip asked, clearly knowing about the family.

“Yes, after us, Adaram married Valia and they had our youngest brother Torvold and finally our sisters Poline.” Haralt informed him.

Haralt had a special place in his heart for their sister, she was unlike the rest of the family. Where they were big and brutish, she was kind hearted and innocent. Only being at the age of eight, Haralt did his best to keep her away from their family politics.

“That is a lot to take in, forgive me if I forget their names.” Philip slurred out.

“Boys!” Suddenly a loud, drunken voice came from behind and then a heavy hand landed onto Haralt’s shoulder. Turning around he saw his uncle Matthai staring at him with a dumb grin on his face, ale dripping down his thick brown beard.

“Uncle.” Haralt half heartedly replied.

“A few nice women in here tonight hey.” He grunted and Haralt looked around and saw that the room was filling up, “Shame about these posh fuckers being here though!” He suddenly shouted.

“Uncle!” Haralt shouted and gestured to Philip who was stood silently.

“N-No offense!” Matthai burped out.

“None taken.” Philip said whilst he was visibly swaying.

“Where’s your brothers?” Matthai shouted.

“Erik is on his way, Torvold isn’t back from his Kolovisi yet.” Haralt told him.

Torvold had recently turned sixteen years of age and as such he embarked on his Kolovisi, a northern tradition when a man goes into the snowy mountains to survive for three months with nothing but the clothes on their back and a single knife. The greatest warriors come back with a pelt of an animal they had slayed, which is where Haralt got his impressive white wolf pelt.

“Ah yes! I remember my Kolovisi! That was a good time!” Matthai shouted.

“Didn’t you end up being found drunk in a whore house and never actually ventured to mountains?” Zakaria said laughing at their drunken uncle.

“Good times indeed!” Matthai shouted before turning around and stumbling away.

“Drunken fool.” Haralt muttered as he watched his uncle falling into another group of guests.

“Tell me Philip,” Zakaria asked, “What is the tattoo on your forearm for?”

Philip lifted his arm and on it was a lion in front of a shield.

“It is to symbol my ranking in the royal army, as a commander.”

“Very nice!” Zakaria said slapping Philip’s chest forcing him to almost fall backwards.

“If you will excuse me,” Philip said, “I think I need to take a seat.” Before himself stumbled away.

Zakaria laughed before saying to Haralt.

“Fucking southerners, can’t handle their drink.”

“Too fucking right!” Erik shouted suddenly appearing out of no where with Giles following him similar to a lap dog.

“It’s about time you arrived.” Haralt said.

“Cheer up brother, it’s a party.” Erik joked, “Even if these posh bastards are here!”

“When was the last time you saw a southerner north of the great bridge?” Zakaria asked Erik.

“Must be at least a year back now, poor bastard.” Erik replied taking a gulp of his ale.

“What do you mean?” Haralt questioned, although knowing his brother he could’ve guessed the answer.

“Nothing,” Erik remarked, “I just gave him a tour of the great bridge, it must’ve been a lovely view of the underneath as he fell.”

You fucking idiot. Haralt thought shaking his head at his impulsive younger brother.

Erik was a nuisance in every sense of the world, although Zakaria wasn’t much smarter, at least he was discreet. Erik would boast about murder and if it weren’t for his second name he would surely have lost his head years ago.

As the night went on, plenty of ale was drank and songs were sang. There were a few friendly fights that started and at one stage the main table in the centre of the hall was flipped on it’s head as two men wrestled on the ground.

“For a posh bastard,” Adaram drunkenly shouted, “You sure can handle your drink!” And the entire room roared in laughter.

The room appeared to be spinning around Haralt, he would seem to talk to different people without moving, laughing with Zakaria, wrestling with his uncle and losing in a drinking game with his father.

Suddenly, it was morning and the birds chirping forced Haralt to sit up. His head pounding like bells of war, squinting his eyes he looked around he realised he was in his bedroom, although his site was fuzzy, he saw the outline of a woman lay next to him.

Lifting up the thin cover, a thin, smooth skinned, brown haired woman lay face down on the bed. The curves of her arse brought a smile to his face as he rose from the bed. Completely naked, only remnants of dry blood were on his chest as he stumbled across the room to grab his cloth trousers and pull them up.

Last night, what happened? Haralt thought whilst stumbling his way out of his room.

With one arm against the stone wall for balance, Haralt made his way down the corridor until he found his way back to the dining hall. Memories of the night flashed before him as he saw broken chairs, flipped tables and the floor shone with a light of spilled ale.

“Haralt!” Someone called from behind.

Turning around, he laid eyes on a minor lord, unable to remember his name but his face was a clear memory of the night before.

“What?” Haralt whispered, rubbing his head as the light pouring in from the windows burned into him.

“One of the southerners, they are missing.” The man said.

“What do you mean they’re missing?” Haralt asked, confused by the statement of how they could lose one of their guests, they didn’t exactly blend in.

“We went into his room but he is nowhere to be found.” The man continued.

“Fuck.” Haralt said, his head banging, “Go and find my brothers, now!” Haralt ordered.

“Yes sir.” He replied and turned around and rushed off.

When Haralt went to walk he lost his balance and slammed into the wall, Of all days to lose a southerner my head has to feel as though it is being struck with an axe!

Once again, he held onto the wall and walked down the corridor. When he came to the corner, he saw Erik stood on the other side talking to Giles. How does he seem to awake! Haralt thought.

“Have you seen the southerner?” Haralt questioned him.

Erik gave an evil grin and a chuckle before replying.

“Why do you think I have seen him?”

Haralt’s patients was non-existed, gripping onto his little brothers throat he slammed him against the hard wall and leant down so they were face to face.

“Listen here you little shit! If you have done something to him you had best tell me now!” He shouted.

“Done something to who?” Erik asked, yet still with a grin on his face.

“Do not think that your whore mother can protect you from me little brother!” Haralt shouted, balling fist in his hands.

Erik’s smile had disappeared with Haralt’s last statement, as his mouth opened a sudden scream echoed down the halls.

“HELP!!”

Turning their heads, Haralt released his brothers throat and started to stumble down the corridors to the screaming. When he reached one of the side entrances to the castle, there stood a woman covered in blood.

Fuck! Haralt thought.

“Help! Someone is in the cage!!” She screamed again.

Haralt’s shoulder was shoved forward and he saw Erik and Giles run ahead, following slowly behind Haralt found his way to the Daemon Tiger’s cage.

“Is that who you are looking for?” Erik said.

Looking down, the entrance of the cage was covered in thick blood, the only mark of a human was a single arm that looked to have been ripped from it’s body. Upon the arm was a tattoo of a lion in front of a shield.

“Looks like he couldn’t find his room last night.” Erik laughed.

His younger brother was growing tired to Haralt, unable to hold his rage, Haralt balled a fist and plunged it into Erik’s stomach. A gust of air burst from his lungs out of his mouth as he collapsed onto the floor panting for breath.

Erik’s face burned red and just as he went to pick himself up from the muddy floor Haralt shouted.

“Stay down brother!”

Erik was smart enough to remain on the floor, when suddenly Zakaria’s voice called out from a few yards away.

“Have you found the southerner?”

“Some of him anyway.” Giles said with a laugh and pointed at the cage.

Zakaria burst through the two and gasped when he saw the bloodied arm, that gasp turned to a laugh when he looked at Erik on the ground and asked.

“Did you do this?”

“No.” Haralt answered for Erik, not wanting to hear his brothers voice again.

“I guess he really couldn’t handle his drink.” Zakaria mocked as they remained looking at the cage.

Turning back and walking away, Haralt shouted out.

“Get yourselves back inside now, I don’t want the other one to have any thoughts that we had something to do with this! It was a tragic accident, nothing more!”

Walking away, not giving his brothers a chance to reply, Haralt headed back to his room. His head still pounding and his legs feeling weak below him. He didn’t know what had happened last night, but it felt as though someone had crushed his left leg at one point as he couldn’t help but walk with a limp.