Well of the Damned (8 page)

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 years of service. I couldn’t simply put
him out before he could make his arrangements.”

Adro
cringed inside. A man that old would be unable to defend his lord
against a younger battler with ill intentions. There should be an age
limit on guardian positions, making room for men like Adro who were
more capable and more ambitious.

“Give
him leave to retire and promote your strongest fighter,” Gavin
said. “Honor his loyal service with a pension o’half his
wage. I’ll cover the cost.”

Adro’s
admiration for his friend and king soared. A pension. What a fine and
honorable thing to do.

The
old lordover’s eyes widened, and a smile appeared in the beard.
“Thank you, my liege. He will be overjoyed. Thank you.”

“If
you’ve no other plans,” he said, “join my wife and
me for supper tonight.”

“Oh.
Uh, the Lordover Tern has graciously invited me to dine with his
family. I’ll cancel of course, my liege.”

“No,
don’t cancel if you’ve other plans. Another time.”

“Please
make yourself comfortable in His Majesty’s receiving room,”
Edan said, “and enjoy some refreshment before you go back out
into the rain.”

Risley
bowed deeply and shuffled away.

Edan
shot Gavin a disapproving glance. “A pension, Gavin?”

Gavin
grinned like a boy getting away with mischief. “If I hadn’t
claimed the throne, I might’ve found myself in the old
soldier’s position one day, outliving my usefulness and begging
one o’my nephews for a pallet and piece o’bread. We got
to honor our most loyal soldiers, not kick them in the arse as we
shove them out the door.”

Adro’s
heart swelled with pride in the king as he turned to the waiting
crowd, but Gavin called him back.

“I
nearly forgot. Tell my wife there’s a couple orphan boys in the
dining hall waiting to talk to her.”

Adro
nodded. “Right away.”

Chapter 9

When
the clock in the temple tower struck twelve o’clock, the guards
ushered the remaining petitioners out of the grand hall. As usual,
many of them grumbled and complained about how long they’d been
waiting, especially those standing near the front of the line. Gavin
felt bad, but he would be back here again tomorrow. In the meantime,
he had plans to make and problems to ponder, not the least of which
was how to deal with the rain, but knowing why Crigoth Sevae had
summoned Ritol to kill King Arek was the question that kept him awake
well into the mirknight. Maybe one of the books they’d salvaged
in the wrecked palace would give him a clue.

The
last petitioner had come to complain that the Lordover Tern’s
waste collection wagon only visited some areas every other day, and
when the wagon was fully loaded, the driver accepted no more. People
were throwing the contents of their chamber pots into the street.
Even though the rain cleaned it away, the excrement was being washed
into the River Athra. People living upstream were soiling the water
for those downstream. “That’s people’s drinkin’
water,” he said, stabbing the table with his gnarled
forefinger. “It ain’t right.”

“I’ll
look into it,” Gavin said. “Thanks for bringing it to
me.”

Edan
and Daia began to gather up the papers and books and writing
supplies. “It’s been a productive day,” Daia said.
“You heard eighty-seven people today. That’s three more
than yesterday.”

A
blonde-haired woman, comely with large blue eyes, walked slowly
towards the table, her hands on the shoulders of a dark-haired girl
she steered in front of her. The woman held Gavin’s eyes with a
curious expression of recognition mixed with doubt and confusion. One
of the guards tried to get the woman’s attention and direct her
outside with the others, but she seemed not to notice. “
You’re
King Gavin? Gavin Kinshield?”

“I
am,” he answered. Looking at the child, he was struck by her
eyes – dark-brown and deeply set, hooded beneath a prominent
brow. If he didn’t know better, he’d have taken her for a
Kinshield.

“The
king sees no more petitioners after noon,” the guard said as
she approached. She started to take the woman by the arm, but Gavin
stopped her with a raised hand.

“It’s
awright. I’ll see one more.” To the woman, he said, “How
can I help you?”

“I—
I’m confused. My daughter’s father told me his name is
Gavin Kinshield. You look like him, but you aren’t him. He has
no scars on his face, he has all his teeth in front, and I’m
fairly certain he’s older than you. Not by much, I’d
imagine, but a few years. ”

He
looked the child over again more carefully. He guessed her to be
about eight years old. Her eyes looked strikingly similar to his own,
as did the shape of her jaw and the gentle waves in her dark hair,
though he and his brother had both been blond until about ten years
of age. Even her mouth resembled his, but she couldn’t be his
bastard. She was too old to have been conceived in the five years
since Talisha’s death, and from the day he’d met Talisha
until the day she died, he’d been with no one else. Unless this
girl was much older than she looked and small for her age, she simply
couldn’t be his child. “Well, I’m Gavin Kinshield,
but she can’t be my daughter. Besides, I’d remember you.”

“For
eight years, her father’s been giving me a monthly stipend to
feed and clothe my girl. Three months ago, the money stopped, and no
word followed.”

Gavin
broke into a sweat. The man she described, a buck who looked like him
and who had disappeared three months earlier, had to be Rogan.

“I
came here thinkin’ I’d find him. Have you a brother,
perchance?”

Edan
and Daia had stopped what they were doing and were staring at the
girl. Edan cleared his throat. “Perhaps Daia and I should take
these things to your library and meet you there later.”

Gavin
nodded absently, dumbfounded. Rogan had a bastard daughter about the
same age as GJ. Could it be true?

Daia
shot Edan a glance and shook her head desperately, but he gripped her
arm and ushered her away. She whispered fiercely about needing to
stay to hear what this woman had to say, but Edan shushed her and
quickened his pace. Their footsteps faded towards the back of the
room.

When the back door opened and shut
again, Gavin walked around the table and squatted down before the
child. Her eyes were like his own, like Rogan’s. “What’s
your name, sweetheart?”

“Keturah,”
she replied in a soft voice. “Kinshield. Please don’t
hate me.” Keturah started to cry.

Gavin’s
heart sputtered. “Why would I hate you? You’re just a
little girl. You’ve done me no wrong.”

She
bowed her head. “My papa’s ashamed o’me. That’s
why he left.”

Gavin
put his hands on the girl’s shoulders. “It’s hard
sometimes to think there might be other reasons for a man’s
behavior when you feel hurt, but let’s see if we can untie the
mystery o’who he is and what’s happened to him. There’s
probably a good explanation for why he disappeared.” He looked
up at Keturah’s mother as he stood. “What’s your
name, my lady?”

“It’s
Nicholia Sparrohs, my liege,” she said with a curtsy.

Gavin
sat one cheek of his arse on the table. “Nicholia, tell me what
you know about this man. When was the last time you saw him?”

“It
must’ve been the first of Junis, around noon. He was regular,
like the sun rising in the east, always coming the first day of the
month. He would wrap coins and some small gift for Keturah in a piece
of cloth and leave it under a loose rock near my doorstep. Mostly
he’d knock and then leave before I could get to the door, but I
recognized him from behind as he rode away. Now and then he would
wait until I answered and ask how Keturah fared. He always had a kind
word for her, though I could tell it pained him to see her.”

“Where
does he live?”

She
wrung her hands. “I don’t know. He said he’s a
warrant knight and travels all over Thendylath, but I seen him taking
a bunch of arrows into the bowyer’s shop in Saliria once or
twice, so I think he might also be a fletcher. Over the years I grew
to suspect he had another family. A couple of years ago, I asked him,
and he admitted he has a wife and three sons.”

A
fletcher in Saliria who looked like Gavin and had three sons could
only be one man.
Rogan, what the hell did you do?
He rubbed
his temples with the thumb and middle finger of one hand. This girl
was his niece. The question was: what was he going to do about it?
What would a king do?