Chapter 22: The Harbor Dream - Part 2
POV: Corwyn Darke
The first Velaryon ships arrived three weeks after the contracts were signed.
I stood on the rocky promontory overlooking Duskhollow Cove, watching the small fleet navigate through the natural channel. Three transport vessels heavy with timber, stone, and the specialized equipment that harbor construction required. A fourth carried workers—experienced men from Driftmark's own facilities, sent to train our laborers and oversee the technical aspects.
[ 🏗️ HARBOR CONSTRUCTION INITIATED ]
[ PHASE 1: FOUNDATION WORK ]
[ WORKERS: 47 VELARYON + 83 LOCAL ]
[ MATERIALS: TIMBER (ADEQUATE), STONE (ADEQUATE) ]
[ TIMELINE: 18 MONTHS ]
Master Yorin came ashore in the first boat, his weathered face showing satisfaction as he surveyed the construction site with fresh eyes. He'd designed the harbor plan; now he would see it built.
"The foundations will take three months," he said, joining me on the promontory. "We'll drive piles into the seabed, establish the primary dock structure, begin the breakwater extension. By summer's end, you'll have something that looks like a harbor."
"And functions like one?"
"Another six months after that for the basic facilities. Warehouses, loading equipment, the infrastructure merchants expect." Yorin pointed toward the shoreline where workers were already unloading timber. "Lord Velaryon doesn't invest in projects that fail. I don't build harbors that collapse. You'll get what you paid for."
"What Velaryon paid for. I'm just providing the land and the vision."
But that wasn't entirely true. The vision was mine, and the management would be mine, and the future—if everything went well—would be mine too.
POV: Edric
The construction site transformed daily.
Edric walked the perimeter each morning, notebook in hand, recording progress as Lord Corwyn had taught him. Worker counts, material usage, safety incidents, schedule adherence. The numbers told a story that the chaos of construction often obscured.
Today's story was optimistic.
"Forty-seven piles driven this week," he reported at the evening meeting. "Twelve ahead of schedule. No serious injuries—two minor ones, both returned to work within days. Material consumption within projections."
Lord Corwyn reviewed the figures, making notes in the margins. The lord had changed over the months Edric had known him—more confident, more comfortable with authority, but still approachable in ways most nobles weren't.
"The workers from Driftmark. How are they integrating with ours?"
"Some friction at first. The Velaryon men think they're better because they've built harbors before. Our men think they're better because they know the local conditions." Edric allowed himself a small smile. "They're both right, in different ways. Master Yorin has them competing in teams—mixed teams—which helps."
"Clever. Competition breeds excellence, cooperation breeds cohesion." Lord Corwyn set down the report. "You're doing well, Edric. This level of detail is exactly what we need."
The praise warmed something in Edric's chest. He'd come so far from the stable boy who'd been surprised when his lord remembered his name.
"My lord... can I ask something?"
"Always."
"The harbor. Once it's finished. What happens then?"
Lord Corwyn leaned back, considering the question. "Then we prove it works. Ships stop, merchants trade, money flows. We demonstrate to Lord Velaryon that his investment was wise, and to everyone else that Duskhollow is a serious player in regional commerce."
"And after that?"
"After that?" A smile crossed the lord's face—tired but genuine. "We build something else. And then something else after that. We never stop building, Edric. The moment you stop building is the moment you start dying."
POV: Corwyn Darke
The first merchant ship arrived in month four.
Not to use the harbor—it wasn't functional yet—but to scout the progress, gauge whether the rumors of Velaryon investment were true. A trading vessel out of Gulltown, its captain a shrewd man named Thoros who dealt in bulk goods and useful intelligence.
I met him on the temporary dock we'd constructed for supply deliveries, Master Yorin at my side.
"Lord Darke." Thoros surveyed the construction with a merchant's calculating eye. "The stories don't do it justice. You're actually building a deep-water port."
"We're building an opportunity," I corrected. "For everyone who uses these waters."
"Opportunity." Thoros tested the word like wine on his tongue. "What kind of opportunity, exactly?"
"Fair prices on docking fees. Quality facilities for ship repair. Warehousing at competitive rates." I gestured toward the rising framework of the main dock. "Two days saved on the northern route. Protection from storms in the outer anchorage. Everything a trader needs to make his journeys more profitable."
"And you'll be taking a cut of those profits."
"A modest cut. Volume over margin." I met his eyes directly. "I'm not interested in squeezing ships for maximum extraction. I'm interested in making this the obvious choice for anyone sailing these waters. Your profit becomes my profit. Your success becomes my success."
[ 💬 MERCHANT NEGOTIATION ]
[ THOROS OF GULLTOWN ]
[ INTEREST LEVEL: HIGH ]
[ POTENTIAL: REGULAR CUSTOMER ]
Thoros was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he nodded slowly.
"When you're operational, I'd like to discuss regular arrangements. Bulk goods for the Crownlands market—grain, timber, iron. I could save significant time routing through here instead of Blackwater Bay."
"When we're operational, my door will be open."
He departed with promises to return and spread word among his trading contacts. The first merchant interest, secured before we'd finished construction.
"Build it and they will come. Or in this case, build it and tell them why they should come."
POV: Ser Gareth Stone
Gareth watched the harbor rise from nothing with the same grudging admiration he'd felt since that first morning when a dying lord had dragged himself to mix an antidote.
"Eight months ago, this was a fishing cove. Now it's becoming something that matters."
The construction site hummed with activity—workers hauling timber, masons shaping stone, the constant rhythm of hammers and saws. A temporary camp had grown up around the project, housing workers and their families, creating a small community dedicated to turning Lord Corwyn's vision into reality.
"You're brooding."
Lord Corwyn appeared beside him, dressed in the practical clothes he wore when inspecting the site. The formal lord's attire stayed in the keep; out here, he looked like any other worker with authority.
"Observing," Gareth corrected. "There's a difference."
"What are you observing?"
"That you're building an economy faster than you're building an army." Gareth gestured toward the construction. "This is impressive. But harbors don't defend themselves. Neither do the profits they generate."
"I'm aware." Lord Corwyn's voice was thoughtful rather than defensive. "Military expansion is next on the list. But soldiers need to be paid, and payment requires income. The harbor generates income. The income funds the army. Sequence matters."
"And if someone attacks before the sequence is complete?"
"Then we defend with what we have and rebuild afterward." Lord Corwyn met his eyes. "I'm not ignoring military needs, Gareth. I'm prioritizing foundation over fortification. Get the economics right, and everything else follows."
Gareth grunted acknowledgment. It wasn't the approach he would have taken—soldiers first, always—but he'd learned to trust his lord's judgment.
"When do we start recruiting?"
"Next month. I have contacts in Crackclaw Point—wild fighters who'd benefit from discipline and pay. Thirty men to start, integrated with our existing forces."
"Crackclaw?" Gareth's eyebrows rose. "They're half-savage. Barely civilized."
"They're fierce, motivated, and available." Lord Corwyn smiled grimly. "Civilization is your job, Captain. I'll bring you the raw material. You make them soldiers."
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