Aftermath of a storm

The King's Reckoning

IC time is: < morning >
IC date is: Spring
IC year is: 3185 S.A.

The Summer Palaces; an area of beauty and grandeur, home to some of the finest examples of Numenorean architecture. Usually the area is filled with folk taking a stroll and admiring some of the stately buildings. Not today, however. Puddles lie along the wide pavements, and road and gardens alike are littered with fallen branches. The sky overhead is a leaden grey, and the stiff westerly breeze brings with it smurrs of rain. Those few who have ventured out look about them in dismay at the devastation wrecked by last night's spring gales.

In one place, the straight line of trees by the roadside is marred by a ragged gap, where one mighty specimen has toppled sideways, its broad trunk falling across the columned porch of one house. A team of labourers is already at work removing the fallen tree, whilst others have begun to clear the fallen stonework. Ureziran, the master mason, is inspecting the damage to the building, rain dripping from his iron-grey hair and beard – he has obviously been here a while. Beside him stands another man, dark-haired and hawk-faced, his fine garments barely touched by the rain as yet. He frowns in worry – likely he is the owner of the property.

"...need to have those columns replaced," Ureziran is saying.

The other inclines his head in reply. "Of course – and who better than yourself to oversee such a task, my friend? I'll pay well for your trouble. And while you're at it, there is another small job..." He lowers his voice, glancing at the passers by, and his next words do not carry more than a few yards.

Ureziran shakes his head, seeming doubtful about the mysterious proposition. "I don't know that I have the men to spare, Yozimru," he says curtly. "Oh, the damage will be repaired – providing you can afford it, that is – but don’t expect anything more. You’re not the only one to suffer from the storm’s ravages." He turns his head westwards, to where glimpses of a golden roof, its gleam dulled by the weather, can be seen through the battered trees.

"Oh, come now," says Yozimru, leaning closer to the mason. "I am sure you could be persuaded." As if by accident, he moves a hand to brush against the heavy purse hanging by his waist, and there is the chink of coins.

Ureziran hesitates again, clearly in two minds about whatever he has been asked. Then he gives a bark of laughter. "Another small job, you say? I'll lend you him." He jerks his head to where a broad, swarthy figure, shorter than most Numenoreans, is painstakingly stacking the remnants of the broken columns, sorting out the larger pieces that can perhaps be reused. The Hillman – for this labourer is no Adan – does not look round.

Yozimru draws back now, a look of disgust on his face. "A savage? You expect me to accept that?" He glares angrily at Ureziran.

The mason shrugs. "I've already told you – I can spare none of my craftsmen for work that isn’t urgent. That's my offer – take it or leave it. The Hillman may look half-witted – he certainly acts it at times – but he's a good enough shaper of stone. You'll hardly be needing skill for a simple building job. Besides" – his lips curl momentarily in a sneer – "it won't take much to bribe him. Seems to have no interest in money – acts as though it were beneath him." Ureziran's shoulders shake in silent mirth.

 Yozimru frowns, ponders – and then replies. "Very well, then." Turning in the direction of the figure, he shouts, "You!"

There is no response from the one being addressed – though perhaps this is unsurprising, since the merchant has used no name.

Ureziran glances at Yozimru with a hint of amusement. "Barzag," he calls. "I’ve got another task for you."

The Hillman’s shoulders stiffen, and his head jerks round. He straightens up and, raising a hand to brush his wet hair out of his eyes, walks towards the mason and his companion. He halts perhaps a foot away, his stare blank, incurious.

"You'll be working on this building here for the next few weeks," Ureziran tells him. "I'm putting Azranaru in charge."

Barzag inclines his head slightly at this.

Ureziran lowers his voice and continues, "Also, Yozimru here has some other masonry work needing done at the same time. It would be – ah, appreciated, if you could take this on in addition to your usual duties. Nothing difficult. still, I would prefer if it were not discussed openly. There will of course be some recompense …"

Barzag's lip twists slightly as he listens, but he makes no sound.

Yozimru, watching the exchange, finally loses patience. "Why bother?" he bursts out, glancing at the still silent Hillman. "The man's obviously an imbecile – I doubt he can even understand us."

Ureziran frowns, but says nothing, obviously content to stay out of this.

"I understand your words well enough," Barzag replies in heavily accented Adunaic, his malformed lips carefully shaping each word, gazing directly at the merchant. There is a flash of hostility in his amber eyes, quickly concealed. "Why should I do this?" His lip curls in apparent scorn; his face is stone-hard.

Yozimru appears somewhat taken aback. However, his years as a merchant have not been wasted. Recovering quickly, he answers smoothly, "Hard work will be amply rewarded," his features rearranging themselves into an insincere smile, adding more bluntly, "I will pay you good money to do the work and keep your mouth shut."

Barzag stares at him coldly, his eyes narrowing cat-like. "Men of Umbar are slaves to the coin," is his quick response. "I need not your–" He stops abruptly, a slow flush creeping across his skin, barely visible beneath his tan. He lowers his head, and mumbles, "I will do as you wish – and take the money." His shoulders hunch as he stares at the ground, clearly unwilling to meet the eye of either merchant or mason.

Ureziran watches the proceedings with keen interest, his eyebrows lifting as he eyes the Hillman speculatively. He strokes his beard for a few moments, obviously pondering something. However, his response, when it comes, is merely a gruff, "Good." Turning back to Yozimru, he says, "I need to speak Azranaru about costing the repairs – perhaps you wish to be there also?" He begins to stride away.

"Of course, of course," replies Yozimru swiftly. With a dismissive wave of his hand towards Barzag, the merchant turns on his heel to hurry after the mason.

Only after the two have walked away does Barzag raise his head once more. The expression written across his disfigured face looks strangely like one of self-loathing.