Daia said. “I’ll ask Jophet to have a few battlers patrol the palace anyway.”
Gavin nodded his agreement. “I’ll look into putting up some kind o’magical barrier or spell at the bridge to detect them if they try to come here again.” He gripped Adro’s shoulder. “Thanks for bringing this to me. Because there’s no immediate danger, let’s get back to the task at hand and talk later about a plan to keep those women from entering without an invitation.”
The king and his two friends returned to the table and took their seats. Adro was sure Gavin’s magic would have revealed the women’s presence if they were still in the palace, but he couldn’t help feeling anxious. He made his way down the line of dripping wet people, checking each of them for weapons, vials of poison, or magic gems hidden in sleeves or pockets. A battler could never be too cautious when it came to the lives of his king and queen.
“I been waitin’ three days,” one woman said to him. “Am I goin’ to get my chance today?”
“That’s not for me to say,” he replied. “If you don’t, then come earlier tomorrow.”
“Been standin’ in the pourin’ rain, waitin’ for the doors to open since the roosters crowed,” she said with a disgusted look. “If they was crowin’. Even the roosters are too savvy to stand about in this weather, but here we are. Could you take me to the front o’the line?”
Adro held up one hand. He wasn’t about to suffer the wrath of those who were closer to their turn. “Wait your turn like everyone else.”
One of the guards escorted an older man past the line of waiting citizens towards Adro. The man wore long silvery robes that, while finely stitched, were dingy from age. A white beard hung to his breastbone, and he wore a satchel with a long strap that hung over his shoulder. Every plodding step taken with the help of a cane prompted a raspy, wheezing breath. With a handkerchief, he dabbled at the few raindrops that had found their way to his face and neck.
“His Excellence, Latif Risley, the Lordover Keyes, is here to see King Gavin,” the guard said.
“Looks like everyone else don’t include nobles,” the woman in line grumbled.
Adro ignored the comment, though he understood her frustration. He nodded at the guard, signaling he would take it from here. “My Lord, please come with me.” He took the aged lordover by the elbow and led him to King Gavin’s table, where he stopped, waiting politely for the king to acknowledge him. When the citizen standing before the table bowed and backed away, Gavin motioned Adro forward.
“Your Majesty, may I present His Lordship, Latif Risley, the Lordover Keyes.” Adro bowed and helped the lordover approach.
The lordover’s bloodshot eyes, yellowed with age, drooped sadly as he shuffled up to the table. He greeted the king with a deep bow and a flurry of pretty words. With shaking hands, he dug into his satchel and pulled out a thick book. It landed with a thud on the table in front of Gavin.
“It’s a long journey from Keyes,” Gavin said. “How were the roads?”
“Passable, my liege. We had no trouble getting here. Creeks and rivers are overflowing, but the rain hasn’t washed out any of the roads or bridges between here and Keyes. We did stop once to remove a fallen tree, but it was a nuisance more than a danger.”
“Good. Have you found suitable accommodations in Tern?”
“Ah, yes, my liege,” Risley said in a warbling voice. “Thank you. I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”
“Have you and the Lordovers Keyes before you collected taxes on behalf of the crown?”
“Yes, my liege, as the law permits.”
“If that money was used to repair roads and bridges, to clear fallen trees, dispose of waste, bury the dead, maintain public wells, and care for orphans, then everything’s in order.”
“It was, my liege. It’s all there in the ledger.”
“Good,” Gavin said. He pushed the tome towards Edan, who began to flip through the pages. “How many guards do you have in your garrison?”
“Twenty-two, my liege, though my captain is aging and has plans to retire and take up residence with his nephew’s family. His eyesight isn’t as sharp as it used to be, nor his sword hand as steady.”
“How old is he?”
Risley stuttered. “Ah, well, he is sixty-eight, my liege. An erstwhile man, yes, but still able to train the young ones. He’s given me and my family fifty-two