The reinforced iron strongboxes arrived at the foundry staging yard under the armed escort of Lady Seliza's personal guards.
Marrick broke the lead customs seals with his brass shears, turning the four tumblers until the reinforced lid swung open.
A radiant shimmer of pure minted coinage illuminated the scribe's weary face as he checked the manifest tallies.
"Count it," Hajin said, stepping up beside the wagon.
"Eighty thousand gold coins," Marrick breathed, his hands trembling over the open strongbox. "Our gross remittance from the southern refinery arrived in full."
"Any unexpected deductions?"
"Not a single copper," the scribe answered with palpable awe. "This single shipment represents more wealth than this province collected during twelve years under the warlords."
Beside the wagons, Lady Seliza's chief factor, Master Pell, bowed politely while presenting the certified refinery receipts.
