October 15 / Hagalsan 23

  Okumn was a surprisingly small town given its position at The Bend. Nestled on the shore between the southern bank of the Barugala and a large granite cliff dotted with huge nests, the town served as a tourist destination, as well as a waypoint and horse exchange point on the river. Alboim had to admit that the Gryffon Cliffs were an awe-inspiring sight worth the visit.

  Alboim marveled at the sheer scale of the monolith, more than two miles long and three hundred to over a thousand feet high, rising out of the black loam of the river valley. The pale gray face reflected the evening light as the ships pulled into the harbor for the night. Thank God, the nights were getting cooler and the rains less frequent. “We are making good time.” Alboim commented as he watched the sailors expertly tie onto the docks, while the shore contingent unhitched the horses and led the weary beasts to their well-deserved rest. Their shouts and calls to one another were joined by the cacophony of bird and gryphon calls as they flocked over the river in search of food.

  “So far, Al,” Kalmira replied, “but we have a saying: do not count your hippogriffs before they hatch. Fall and winter storms are less frequent, but more intense. A bad one could realistically ground us for a day or two, even more if we are caught off guard.”

  A man in unfamiliar livery, light gray with a griffin in flight emblazoned on his chest, climbed aboard and made a beeline to Aunt Elspith on the other end of the ship. Alboim watched idly, then resumed the conversation. “Still, we’ve covered almost half the distance in a week, and we have two weeks until the deadline. That has to count for something, Kal.”

  “Until you are docked at Rolnburg before the fifteenth, do not count yourself fortunate. You are strangely optimistic, my friend.”

  “Hah! ‘God has a special providence that protects idiots, drunkards, and Americans.’” he quoted. “Not sure about the idiot part, but I am an American. We’re a hopelessly optimistic bunch.” he grinned.

  Their idle banter was interrupted by a commotion. Looking around, he saw that Aunt Elspith was… not happy, to put it mildly. “Let’s go see what’s up.” Together they headed off to the scene, where the man in livery was bent at a ninety-degree angle, signaling deep regret on behalf of his master.

  Kalmira kept a careful distance from Alboim, keenly aware of the jealous looks other husband-seekers gave her when they believed she would not notice, or they were too unskilled to hide. The eleven-and-twelve-year-olds were cute when they pouted, but the older girls could be nasty if she showed too much affection or closeness to the future Count of Brantle.

  In a way, she was glad for the company of Tanacetia. She was the only other woman not angling for Alboim as the next Count of Brantle. When she was not pestering Moara or Elspith, she made for pleasant conversation, so long as the topic was magic-adjacent. Kalmira stepped next to the blue-haired girl, and asked, “What is going on?”.

  “The replacement horses are nearly all lame.” she replied quietly. “And the Duke of Seabanna came through yesterday, and there are no well-rested teams to be had.”

  Kalmira turned to Alboim. “I told you so. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.” There was no satisfaction in her voice.

  Alboim nodded grimly. “I should not have tempted Demon Murphy.” he said quietly, then approached Lady Elspith and the prostrate messenger. Roscrans, the replacement for Dobsen, greeted him with a small bow as he placed a gentle hand on Lady Elspith’s shoulder. “What happened?”

  She scowled. “Drustan came through yesterday and took all the well-rested horses with him. The teams we reserved were badly shod, and most are lame. Whoever thought it a good idea to skimp on nails for the horseshoes is a fool! I thought we had a comfortable margin, but if this is sabotage…”

  “Forgive my lord,” the messenger pleaded. “Duke Drustan gave us no choice. He is our liege, after all. His disfavor could be the end of House Graywall, and he took the lord’s grandson as squire last year.”

  Elspith relented. “There is nothing we can do, and he could not have defied his liege. I will speak to Drustan firmly when I see him at the Solstice. Does he not know how badly his actions could have harmed the trade of his lands? That young man needs a spanking more than a duchy if this is how he behaves.”

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  “Lord Halric welcomes you to his city, and invites you to rest at his castle. The horses have been re-shod, but, frankly, it would be a week or more before the farriers would trust them to pull any significant weight.” the messenger replied, still bowing to her.

  “Oh, do stand up.” Elspith commanded. “What is done is done, and there is no use in crying over a broken egg. We will accept Count Halric’s hospitality with gratitude. Roscrans, send one of your subordinates up to coordinate. Ask our groomsmen to inspect the lame horses, and our own. I need to know how long it will take both groups to recover.”

  “Are there other options?” Alboim asked. “Just riding, or even carriages, would be significantly faster if all you are concerned about is speed.”

  “It may come to that, for you and me, nephew. But for our guests, there is no deadline, and I would be remiss if I did not see to their travels as well.” She smiled. “We have a week of leeway, but if anything else happens, we could be doomed before we make our appeal before Elaboim, unless drastic measures are taken.”

  Kamira nodded. “What, Duchess Elspith, can we do to lighten your burden?”

  “It is not so serious as all that, my dear. For now, we must wait for the reports and avail ourselves to the good count’s hospitality. We had planned to overnight here anyway, so there is no immediate worry.”

  ~*** *** ***~

  The report was not as bad as her worst fears. Gathered around her in Halric’s library, which she had borrowed, Elspith’s advisors listened to the head groomsman’s report, along with most of the other adults in the group. “The replacement horses are done in.” he concluded. “Some are so badly lamed they will take a month to recover. Frankly, Duke Halric’s men are doing a good job in re-shoeing them. Whoever did that to good horses should be hanged. Our own horses are still in good condition overall, though. I would recommend we rest them for two, maybe three days before pushing on.”

  “Thank you, Sten.” Elspith said. “Are there any questions?”

  “Why not push on, slowly, to the next exchange point? We would lose less time that way.” Kalmira asked. And why was I invited to come, anyway? Is Lady Elspith trying to further expose me to Alboim?

  “In the best of circumstances, yes.” Elspith granted. “But we cannot be sure that the horses at the next stop will be hale, and at the very least, if we are three or four days behind Drustan, his leavings should be rested for us to continue. Another delay like this, and I fear Alboim and I would have to abandon the rest of you to make the king’s summons in time.”

  “I see. A longer delay now minimizes the risk of further delays later. I had not considered that.”

  “Sten,” Alboim called, “should we plan on two days with an outside shot at it being three, or is three more realistic?”

  “I would be more comfortable staying three days than two, even before the Lady’s reasoning.” he replied. “That’ll put us four days behind the duke, and I can see us overtaking him, given the horse collars. If we do get close enough, we cannot rely on his castoffs as replacements. I would rather do it closer to the capitol with more traffic, and better alternatives.”

  “I see.” Elspith thought for a moment. “It has been too long since I left Brantle. Is Elaboim still maintaining the tow-ways? How likely are we to encounter something like this,” she waved her hand vaguely toward the stables on the other side of the town. “or some other problem? There are forces that would like nothing more than to see me brought down a peg or ten. Is this sabotage or fecklessness? Can Brantly’s eyes be on us even now, or am I being paranoid?”

  “Are you being paranoid enough?” Roscrans countered. “We cannot stay and investigate the matter; we can only push on as best we can and trust in God to watch over us. But we know you have powerful enemies, and even worse, the enemies of Queen Tasia may be looking to knock out one of her allies. Your downfall will have massive ramifications that could determine who sits on the throne after Elaboim.”

  “Our cushion has dropped from ten days to a week—sorry, those are Earth weeks. One week to seven days.” Alboim corrected himself. “What can we do to make up some of that time? How much more can we lose before Aunt Elspith and I would have to abandon the rest of the party to travel ahead on land? Those are the important questions, I would think.”

  “Lord Alboim, to the first question,” Sten answered, “the answer is not much. With a fourth team, we could travel deeper into the evening and start before first light, even tow through the night, but that would take a toll on men, horse, and equipment. More accidents, longer down-time when we change harnesses, greater risk of the horses going lame.”

  “I agree,” Elspith chimed in. “and right now, if we lose another three days, I would be forced to send you ahead with Occam and Harralt by horseback with a troop of horsemen, then beg a favor of whatever lord’s territory we are in to make up the difference.”

  “Any further delay would be in my father’s territory, most likely.” Oswalt offered. “There would be no favor owed, except between you and my father.” Elspith looked relieved to hear that. She and Occam were old friends and allies of Tasia’s. “And what is a minor favor between friends?” he grinned.

  “Very well.” Elspith came to a decision. “We will rest the horses here for three days. We depart at first light on the twenty-sixth.”

  “The silver lining to all this is, Kalmira’s birthday is the day after tomorrow. If we’re going to be here anyway, we may as well have a proper celebration for her.”

  Inwardly, Kalmira groaned, and struggled to refrain from hiding her face. Despite herself, her cheeks flushed slightly at the withering looks the mothers of Alboim’s prospective brides tossed her way.