October 6 / Hagalsan 14

  “Prepare for a long trip, he says,” Alboim muttered to himself. “Six weeks for eight hundred miles is absurd, though!” I could drive that in a day! Well, it isn’t like they have an interstate system. “Hell, they don’t even have steam engines.”

  “Pardon, my Lord?” Bennit overheard him.

  “Nevermind. I’m just frustrated at how slow things are.”

  “It is a good pace, lord. The current hinders us, but with your horse collars, we can use fewer horses, for longer, at a faster pace. Not as fast as dedicated courier boats, but far faster than the old towing methods.”

  Alboim ran his hands through his hair, and responded. “I should have made plans for a steamboat. There’s an outside chance we could have had a small one built by now.”

  “I saw your schematics, Lord, and there is little chance of that.” Bennit countered. “Even if we had, the design would be unproven, there would be no refueling network, no chance to fix it if something broke down. We are better off using proven methods. The king’s time constraints are too tight to risk something going wrong. Now, quit whining, and follow me. We must have you fitted for formal clothing, then to the cobbler for new shoes, then to the armorer. We have shamefully neglected the marital aspect of your training.”

  Preparing for the trek to Rolnburg meant Alboim got a geography lesson. Barugala was huge for its technology level—four times as big as Texas—and all held together by a vast river network. The plan was to travel by boat up the Barugala River to Rolnburg, towed by teams of horses with regular team replacements along the way. One of the first orders Elspith had issued was sending messengers to arrange for fresh teams along the way.

  “Thank the God of Light, you made those horse collars.” Dobsen had told him shortly after the summons had reached them, “Otherwise, we would have had to travel overland. Even the best carriages are hard on old bones like mine, or Lady Elspith’s.” On the map, Brantle was in one of the few hilly regions in the southern third of Barugala, near the elvish empire, while Rolnburg, the capitol was located roughly in the middle of the state.

  In addition to Elspith’s core group, seven of her vassal nobles were taking advantage to travel to the capital for the Winter Solstice and the social season. None had the wealth to send their sons and daughters north without assistance, and all had eligible children to marry off.

  Fortunately, the unmarried girls stayed in the woman’s quarters with their mothers or aunts. Some of them were as young as eleven, and only one as old as Susan! Sue should be worrying about her algebra tests, not angling for a rich husband! Times like this, I’m glad I was kidnapped and not Sue or Aggy. Thank God Mom and Dad got out of this backwards hellhole.

  “One of those girls,” Oswalt had teased him, “could be the one for you. All are your aunt’s vassals and from respectable bloodlines. You could do worse, and she would be able to assist you with your county’s local customs and quirks.”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell,” he retorted, “before I marry myself off to the highest bidder like she is a prized broodmare.” That, of course, confused Oswalt until Alboim explained that in his culture, hell was a lake of fire.

  “It’s normal.” Oswalt shrugged. “My fiancee is twelve. We’ll marry once she turns fifteen.”

  “And you’re OK with that?” Alboim asked, eyebrows trying to climb into his hair.

  “It is a suitable match. My father and hers came to an agreement. The eldest daughter of the Count of Gilafan. Her uncle is the Duke of Cresfael. She’s a nice girl, and our families get along.”

  Alboim opened his mouth, but closed it again quickly. Oswalt seemed, if not happy, then amenable to the arrangement. Rather than argue the morality of an arranged marriage with an eleven-year age gap, he dropped the subject. No one likes a scold, and it is useless to fight against the weight of a thousand years of culture, he reasoned.

  The first day was uneventful, even boring. Mere hours after first light, Alboim was missing the cooling breeze at Brantle Castle. Even the five hundred foot elevation had gotten them out of the worst of the humid soup they called air at the river bottom. Lulled by the oppressive heat, the enforced stillness and the creak of the twelve-horse team’s harnesses, he closed his eyes and slept for most of the day under a canvas awning. The horses made excellent time, and they reached their first layover, the town of Sigalburg at the confluence of the Katzenbar and Barugala rivers.

  There an eighth family joined them when they transferred to the larger floating palaces that would take them up the great river. Larger even than the Lower Mississippi, the Barugalan was a muddy, slow-moving and deep river nearly two miles across. Brantle claimed the northern bank, while the Dukes of Seabanna ruled the south. The king owned the river itself.

  Gulls, eagles, and other birds circled the docks of the town, screeching as they embarked their new homes for the next fifty or sixty days, searching for scraps from the fishermen who plied their trade. They would depart in the morning as soon as it was light enough for the horses to see the towpath. The largest barge was reserved for Elspith and her entourage; the other families boarded slightly smaller vessels. All except for the new addition.

  Briony, around forty-five, was the mother of the baron of Sigalburg. She was a stately, blonde haired, green-eyed beauty who had indulged her appetite for too many years, escorting her daughter Kalmira. Kalmira barely registered beside her mother. Where Briony was domineering, she was a quiet, younger, slimmer, version of her mother. Her blonde hair was plaited and wound into round buns just behind and above her ears, clear green eyes, and a faint dusting of freckles on her button nose and cheeks.

  “Sister-by-law!” Kalmira greeted Elspith, grasping her by the shoulders, and planting faint kisses on each of her cheeks. “It has been much too long since you have left the castle for the capital! I look forward to traveling with you. Do you remember my eldest girl? Well, Kalmira is past her mourning now, and about ready for remarriage.” She dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief. “I know, she’s not much to look at, scrawny as she is, but her dowry will fetch someone willing to raise her son.” she stage-whispered to Elspith. Kalmira flushed slightly at her mother’s assessment.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Alboim suppressed a scowl at her harsh assessment as the woman continued. Kalmira was quite good looking, though clearly uncomfortable. “I am so grateful that we will be able to catch up on the river. Tell me what changed your mind? I thought you would never leave that dreary old castle again. You have mourned Sylvar and Sylam too long.”

  “Alboim, why don’t you escort your cousin-by-law and allow her to show you around? Her father was my husband’s brother.” Elspith suggested, then turned to Briony. “The king has summoned us; he is not happy that my new heir is Arnulf’s son.”

  Alboim greeted Briony, then approached the younger woman. Hopefully, he could gain a new perspective of Barugala from her. Besides, her mother clearly wanted a private moment with Aunt Elspith. “Hello, I’m Alboim. I guess we’re cousins of some sort?”

  Kalmira turned her attention to him and curtsied. “Yes, Lord Alboim. But only through marriage, not by blood.” Her voice was soft, timid, the exact opposite of her mother. A faint look of wistfulness crossed her face as she glanced up at her family’s castle.

  He offered her an elbow, which she hesitantly took. “I would love to hear more about Barugala and to see the sights.” Alboim said. Bennit and a human slave girl, who Al assumed was Kalmira’s chaperone, trailed the two at a discrete distance.

  Briony waited until they were out of earshot to turn once again to Elspith. “Have you given thought to my proposal?”

  “It is complicated, Sister.” Elspith removed a talisman from a pouch at her waist and activated it. A translucent butter-yellow dome engulfed the pair. Safe from prying ears, she continued. “For one thing, the king may banish or even execute my nephew. He may choose to abandon Brantle for his home world. And he is old enough, and stubborn enough, to refuse a match I make for him. He will have the final say.” Not to mention you would be his mother-by-law. I would not do such a thing to him, even if he were willing.

  “And a quick marriage to one of your loyallest vassals would solve most of your problems.” Briony countered. “She provides an instant heir if the worst happens. Surely Brantley cannot outlive a three-year-old child. The castle itself is secure enough, if any place is. Other than the Royal Palace, I do not know of any place so heavily warded.”

  “You would risk your own daughter twice widowed?” Elspith spat out. “You and I both know how hard it is to be a widow, and one with young children to boot!” Despite her best efforts, Elspith’s temper was getting the better of her. “She could not remarry, not if her son were to be heir of Brantle. You would sentence her to a lifetime alone, Briony.”

  Elspith closed her eyes and took a calming breath. “I agreed to let them meet.” We have the weeks on the river for them to learn about each other, and if Alboim shows any interest in Kalmira, I will broach the subject with him. It would make his proposal for an adopted heir more palatable, at least. But, God of Light, if he agreed to marry her, only to abandon her, he would hate himself for the rest of his days. If he marries a woman here, he will take her, and her family, to Earth with him, or he will stay to the end of his days. “That is all I can offer. Naturally, when Kalmira—not you—is ready for her remarriage, I will do all in my power to arrange a suitable one for her.”

  ~*** *** ***~

  Alboim bought meat pies for himself and Kalmira, as well as for their ‘tail’, Bennit and Kalmira’s matron, an older woman with graying hair in a silver collar. “Thank you, my lord.” she said as she took her pie.

  The vendor pocketed the coppers and wandered off, resuming his call of “Meat pies! Lamb or beef! Only a copper for two!”

  “It is nothing. Consider it a thank you for guiding me on a tour of your city.” He took a bite. The crust was flakey, buttery, and tender. The innards were ground beef, onions, peas, and a cream sauce very similar to bechamel, with the ubiquitous peppery-cinnamon taste he finally learned came from the inner bark of the inland redwood trees that grew only in the Brantle Hills. “These are delicious.”

  “They are a local staple. But I like the duck-and-pepper-sauce ones better.” She admitted. They walked slowly, savoring their snack and checking out the town. The background murmer of the vendors and shoppers created a pleasant background for them as the talked around the meat pies of inconsequential things. Most of the smells were pleasant: spices, roasting meats, burning charcoal. The daily rains did a lot to wash fouler smells out into the river.

  Most of the buildings were wood, of course. One thing that Brantle did not lack was timber. Two to four stories tall, they were painted bright colors and tiled with terra-cotta tiles. Wide eaves covered raised sidewalks, while the town roads were all paved with large limestone pavers four feet square.

  Presently, they came upon a large plaza, a hundred yards square. Flower beds and trees gave it a park-like feel to it, but most of it was paved. In the center was a fountain twenty feet around, with an obelisk rising fifty feet in the center topped with a statue of a man on horseback, sword lifted high and gesturing to the south.

  The flawless white marble wall of the fountain’s pool depicted scenes from an ancient battle; men battling elves, with the men triumphant and leading lines of elves, cat-people, and other beings away in chains. “The battle of Albkatz.” Kalmira informed him. “Four hundred years ago. The second Count of Brantle, Aistulf, the son of Arnulf I, won a dominate victory less than ten miles from here. We drove back the elves and subjugated the long-ear’s vassal races.”

  Nearby, he spied a mother-daughter pair from the group. The girl, who could not have been more than twelve, curtsied deeply to him, and puffed out her chest, trying to look bigger than she was. The mother smiled at the girl, then nodded toward Alboim. He hoped his uneasiness did not show as he nodded back then turned to Kalmira, but not before he noticed the girl’s frown and the mother’s narrowing eyes when they spotted Kalmira beside him.

  “Lord Alboim.” Kalmira continued as if she had not seen her supposed rival. “You must know why my mother wishes me to spend time with you. She hopes you will be agreeable to a marriage alliance with my family.”

  “Aunt Elspith warned me about your arranged marriage custom. I suspected as much, but I doubt I will marry anyone. And definitely not to someone I dislike.” He held up a hand to forestall her response. “Not that I dislike you, but I need to know a person before I can make that commitment. I am trying not to be overly-critical of your culture, but it is not mine, and I cannot bring myself to swear faithfulness to a woman just for dynastic considerations. On Earth, we marry for love.”

  She nodded, while her matron gave a gasp of shock, and Bennit whispered something to her. “I understand, and I find myself in a similar situation. I am a widow. I must know my future husband well enough to be assured he will treat my children well. My son is only three, while my daughter was born after her father went to the Light.” She drew a shaky breath and closed her eyes, gathering courage. “I have been a widow for almost a year-and-a-half, and it is my mother, not I, who is pushing for my remarriage. Nevertheless, the reports about you suggest you are a kind person. If it is to your liking, I would get to know you better on this voyage.”

  Alboim nodded slowly. “I think that is a good idea. So, what can you tell me about your children?”

  Kalmira’s eyes lit up as she went into great detail about Silas and Elowyn.