The sky was shrouded in black smoke, and the air was choking.
Suleiman reined in his horse. Hubbard, Rosso, and Bryn stopped behind him.
When the people saw Suleiman and his party arrive, they stopped their work.
A noble had come—their lord.
They bowed deeply toward Suleiman. Their movements were awkward, but filled with heartfelt reverence and fear. In Westeros, nobles and commoners were practically different species.
Suleiman dismounted and looked around. A torrent rushed down from the High Mountains, carrying felled tree trunks along with it. Where the banks had once been silent, two small towns had now sprung up.
The charcoal workers had used wood and stone from the Mountains of the Moon to build neat rows of houses. They were plain and unattractive, serving little purpose beyond giving the workers a place to live and shelter from the elements.
Hubbard's little eyes darted about. Unlike Suleiman, he paid little attention to the workers' living conditions. His gaze swept over the piled timber as he estimated the charcoal output.
He surveyed it all greedily, then turned to Suleiman. "Lord Suleiman, it's only been a little over a month, but these farmers have settled into their roles quickly. They're working with plenty of energy."
Suleiman's gaze passed over the people, who lowered their heads in fear. "They get food and wages for working. Of course they're motivated."
"Today, let them see what they've earned after a month of working hard for me."
He gestured to Bryn and Rosso. They exchanged a glance, then turned and gave orders to the mounted retainers who had come with them.
One group of riders rushed into the two towns to gather the people, while another quickly set up a long table outside.
All the workers, young and old, men and women, were brought