The Knight of the Red Beard

by Norton, Andre

  “And that is . . . ?” Askepott inquired.

  Ysa regarded both Wysen-wyves very seriously. “The references are clear. The bracelet is what you may have already surmised—the avatars of six dragons of varying attributes, abilities, and wickedness, plus those of three extremely powerful users of magic from the dimness of the past. If the proper spells are said over these avatars, they can be summoned from wherever they have been during the long years since the bracelet was made by the same smiths who created the Dragon Blade, and put for safekeeping into the Dragon Box. Surely, their reasoning went, the brave man who could wield the Dragon Blade, would be able to keep the secret of the Six Dragons safe.”

  Zazar moved a little, and found that her bones creaked. To hear what she had only suspected, said so calmly and with such assurance, was unsettling. She glanced at Askepott and knew that she was having much the same reaction.

  “Unfortunately,” Ysa continued, “the man who wielded the Dragon Blade cannot defend the bracelet against those who would unlock its secret to the detriment of our entire world. Nor can the woman who wielded the same blade. But her abilities, joined with ours, may prove enough to harness it or, failing that, to destroy it. So that is what we must do, when we can.”

  Just a few moments ago, Ysa seemed to have been set on freeing this Power and using it herself. Zazar knew she was still smarting, somewhere in the depths of her being, from her failure to wrest control of the NordornLand and rule it herself, if from behind a proxy. From where, Zazar wondered, had this burst of selfless nobility arisen? The same place, she told herself, where Ysa had found the strength and wisdom to rule Rendel so long and so well for the most part. Yes, a few lapses along the way, but without these lapses Ysa would not have been Ysa.

  “Is the bracelet truly as powerful as you say?” Askepott asked.

  “Perhaps even more so,” Ysa said.

  “Then no wonder Gunnora the Golden coveted it above all other artifacts.”

  “This Gunnora. She is the one of whom you spoke? The remnant of the Great Foulness?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Then whatever befalls, the bracelet must not go into her hands.”

  “As long as there is breath in my body,” Zazar declared. “I just wish—”

  “Wish what?”

  “That I could actually see Mikkel. Know whether it goes well or ill for him.”

  “Once I had a little flying servant,” Ysa said. “Visp. But the means for creating another are now vanished.”

  “Visp, eh?” Askepott said, interested. “How did it work?”

  “It appeared at my command, flew where I sent it, saw what there was to see. Then it returned to me; I looked into its eyes and it showed me what it had discovered.”

  “Handy,” Askepott commented, “but clumsy compared to—”

  “To what?”

  “To what one of Holger’s captives, a long time ago, claimed she could do.”

  “Tell us,” Zazar urged. She arose, ignoring the creaking in her bones, and moved toward the fire where she poured a little brandewijn into a pitcher and mixed it with plain snowberry juice and hot water. She filled three goblets and, on consideration, added more brandewijn to the one intended for Ysa.

  “Well,” Askepott said, sipping the hot mixture, “this was a woman who didn’t stay with Holger long. She was well connected with a wealthy family who paid Holger his ransom and then some. Before she left, though, we became acquainted. She said she could recognize a Wysen-wyf when she met one, though she had only book-magic, like the Duchess here.”

  Zazar glanced at Ysa, wondering how she would take the implied slight, but she was staring at Askepott, rapt.

  “Anyway,” Askepott continued, “when Holger let her go, he made her leave behind everything but the clothes she wore—all her jewels, all her finery, all her writings. Gunnora got the jewels and other fripperies, but I saved her documents before they could go into the fire—or into Gunnora’s hands.”

  “And?” Zazar prompted, hardly daring to hope.

  “I brought them with me.” Askepott drained her goblet. “There’s nothing to say that they contain the spell to create the Ritual of Seeing, but there’s nothing to say they don’t, either. I’ll go get them.”

  As Askepott disappeared behind the curtain marking the sleeping area, Zazar and Ysa stared at each other. With a trembling hand, Ysa raised her goblet to her lips.

  “I could wish for something a little stronger,” she murmured.

  “I think you’ll find that is quite strong enough,” Zazar replied. “In fact, I’d advise you to be cautious.”

  For answer, Ysa took a generous mouthful. Her eyes immediately teared and, by sheer bravado, she managed to keep herself from coughing. “Yes,” she said when she could speak again, “I see what you mean. It is quite—effective.”

  Askepott returned with a bundle in her hand. They were obviously several documents of varying sizes, all rolled up together and tied with a ribbon. “Here,” she said, handing the roll to Ysa. “You know this sort of thing. Open the packet.”

  The Duchess set her goblet aside and untied the ribbon. She unrolled the papers and spread them out on the table. The bundle had been tied so long it opened reluctantly and Ysa had to weigh down the corners so she could examine the contents. One by one she peeled away the layers.

  “A spell to render spoiled food edible. Very handy. Here’s one to let the user see through the backs of cards. Your lady,” she said, glancing at Askepott, “was none too honest, it would seem.” She returned to her task.

  “Well, now. Here’s one to render one’s eyesight exceptionally sharp. Could this be the one she spoke to you about?”

  “No. She was very specific. Said something about needing a bowl of clear water.”

  Ysa looked further, turning over a number of pages containing spells useful for everyday living or to enhance a woman’s beauty. Then she paused, staring at the page. With a trembling hand, she reached for her goblet and took a deep swallow without coughing or blinking an eye.

  “This is it. And it’s something that we can do here, ourselves, with materials we have on hand. Quick, Zazar, bring me a bowl full of the freshest water you can find.”

  “I melt snow for my daily use. I will gather some fresh from the battlements.”

  “Good. While you are gone, with your permission I will find a suitable vessel for the water.”

  “Askepott will help you.”

  With that, Zazar, bucket in hand, left the warmth of her tower apartment, went down the stairs to the first landing, and thence onto the walkway between that tower and the next. New snow had fallen during the night and even now a few flakes drifted in the air. Nothing could be fresher or purer than this. As a precaution, she scrubbed out the already clean bucket and then filled it to the brim with the lightest and whitest snow she could find.

  Askepott and Ysa had laid out a freshly washed earthenware bowl on a clean white cloth.

  “Now we will melt the water and pour it into the bowl,” Ysa said. “I will sit here. You two will stand on either side of me with your hands on my shoulders to lend me your strength while I say the words that will make Mikkel’s image appear to us.”

  In Holger’s stronghold, Lotte moved into Askepott’s old quarters when it became apparent that she had left and was, in all probability, never returning.

  Curious, the woman looked around the room. It bore all the marks of someone having made a hasty exit. A kettle lay abandoned, lying on its side in one corner. Elsewhere, Lotte found a pair of worn-out shoes, and a shawl with the fabric picked and rent. It was lying at the foot of the bed and Lotte thought it might have seen its final service keeping Askepott’s feet warm. The bed itself, a simple wooden frame with rope supports and a straw mattress that seemed to bear a permanent imprint of Askepott’s form, looked as if the old woman had just arisen from it. Lotte made a note to herself to have a fresh mattress brought in.

  Otherwise, the room was quite
serviceable or would be with a thorough cleaning. Bits of debris littered the floor, detritus of a hasty retreat. The one window was blocked with shutters, a sheet of oiled lambskin stretched over the opening, and curtains covering all so that most drafts were stopped before they could enter.

  Yes, Lotte thought, I can take Askepott’s place despite her reputation for having magic. Life at the steading will go on, and soon Gunnora will be over her spell of temper and Holger likewise. It will be better for everyone once the ice breaks in Forferdelig Sound and he can be out in his ship again.

  Eighteen

  Princess Elin regarded Tinka-Lillfot as she stood before her. The little woman seemed perfectly composed, her hands clasped lightly. On this day, at least, she had not attired herself in some grotesque mockery of Elin’s or Ysa’s gown but had, instead, chosen a plain green dress with matching coat that was actually quite becoming to her.

  “Do you have anything to say to me?” Elin asked.

  “No, Your Highness. You sent for me, and I am here.”

  “Very well. What I want to know is why, when I first came to Iselin, you held me up to ridicule.”

  “It is not my intention to ridicule, Your Highness, but to entertain. When, for example, I found that you did not enjoy it when I wore similar clothing to yours, I stopped doing it.”

  “Then you noticed my frowning.”

  “Of course, Your Highness. The ruler of Iselin, the Duchess Ysa, enjoyed my efforts; as you look to be the next ruler of Iselin and especially in the Duchess’s absence, I altered my efforts to please you instead. Have I failed in this? Are you displeased?”

  “Well,” Elin replied reluctantly, “not displeased exactly. But I do not find you as entertaining as the rest of the Court does.”

  “Then I will strive to find other avenues of amusement that will please you.”

  “That will be acceptable.”

  “To that end, Your Highness, might I request that you give me a little dog?”

  The question set Elin back. “A—a dog?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. My Duchess took her little dog Alfonse with her when she journeyed to Cyornasberg. Without Alfonse, I feel I am not entertaining enough for anyone.”

  “You underrate yourself, Tinka-Lillfot. You sing and dance and tell stories. But you shall have a dog for your very own.”

  The little woman smiled for the first time since the interview began. “Thank you, Your Highness! I will train him to dance and jump through hoops and do other amusing tricks! You’ll see.”

  With a wave of her hand, Elin dismissed the female fool. Who, she asked herself, would be most likely to have dogs or know of where a young dog could be found? Probably the Seneschal, Harald, or perhaps Baron Gustav. If neither of these could be of help she would ask Lord Lackel. He was unswervingly loyal to Duchess Ysa, but this was a small enough favor to ask of him.

  She arose from Ysa’s Chair of State, stepped down off the dais, and moved to one of the tall windows of the Presence Chamber where the interview with Tinka-Lillfot had taken place.

  Outside the circle of warmth created by the fireplace and braziers near the Duchess’s chair, the room was cold. The air was chilly enough that she could see her breath and the floor was frigid. Outside, it was snowing again. No chance of Granddam Ysa returning to Iselin until this harsh weather moderated. She pulled her fur-trimmed silk coat more closely around her.

  The conversation with Tinka-Lillfot had left Elin curiously unsatisfied, though she had achieved what she sought—the female fool’s pledge not to embarrass her. Then she realized what was wrong. She, Elin, had not given an order or even hinted at what had been troubling her; Tinka-Lillfot had been in charge of the entire interview right from the start and had even extracted the promise of being given a dog.

  Should I be annoyed? Elin thought. Finally, she decided not to be, for she had gotten what she wanted.

  I will call my ladies to go and embroider, she decided. At least that is a small room, easy to keep warm. The flower garden panel worked in wool thread was still only half done. Perhaps doing the snow roses wouldn’t be so tedious this time.

  In Zazar’s tower room, the three women gathered around the bowl of melted snow. At the Duchess’s signal, Zazar and Askepott placed their hands on Ysa’s shoulders. Zazar could actually feel the Power flowing from her into Ysa as she invoked the Ritual of Seeing. She glanced at Askepott and knew she was experiencing the same thing.

  Ysa murmured words under her breath, tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence. “Mikkel,” she said clearly.

  As the women watched, a vapor began forming over the bowl. Then it coalesced into an image as clear as if someone had carved a likeness. But, Zazar thought, that cannot be the young Prince. This person was fully grown, sporting a full red beard with pearls braided into it, and he seemed to be standing on the deck of a sailing vessel painted white. He was wearing a white cloak, possibly of wool, and it was lined with white fur. His hair blew in the wind.

  “Your spell has gone awry,” she told Ysa.

  “I don’t think so,” Askepott said. “Remember I told you that Mikkel was experiencing unnatural growth, thanks to a spell put on him.”

  “Do not mention another name just yet,” Ysa commanded. She reached out with both hands, appearing to caress the air around the image.

  The miniature person turned. His lips moved, as if he spoke to someone as yet unseen. Another person, barely within the field created by the misty vapor from the bowl of water, moved in and then out of view. It was possibly a woman, clad in white. She turned her head as if something had briefly caught her attention.

  “Well, I do not believe you have commanded the image of Prince Mikkel,” Zazar declared. “This must be someone else.”

  The Duchess made a few more gestures. “Then name someone else you could recognize.”

  “Ashen.”

  The bearded man faded from view along with the mist from which his image had been formed. A new mist arose, and settled into an unmistakable likeness of the NordornQueen. She was sitting at a table with young Tjórvi, apparently helping him with one of his lessons. The boy’s forehead was knotted with concentration and Ashen gently said something to him as she pointed to a page in the book he was laboring over. Tjórvi’s face cleared immediately and he smiled as he began writing something down.

  “Well?” Ysa said. “Are you satisfied?”

  “Let me try,” Askepott said.

  Ysa nodded.

  “Lotte,” Askepott said clearly.

  Again the image faded and vanished, as a new mist began to form. This time, a stout Wykenig woman emerged—two women, actually, as the Wykenig was apparently being lectured by another, a more slender woman with yellow hair who was dressed in blue snow-thistle silk.

  “Is that—” Zazar hesitated, unwilling to name the powerful woman who craved the dragon-teeth bracelet. Ysa’s spell might have unknown properties; perhaps Gunnora would be able to see through it and view them, even as they watched her, and then who knew how the security of the bracelet’s hiding place would be compromised.

  “It is.”

  “Well,” Ysa said, looking back over her shoulder. “Are you satisfied now that the mist shows the true images?”

  “Yes,” Zazar admitted.

  “I have someone I would see,” Ysa said as she turned back toward the bowl. “Elin.”

  The Princess was sitting on an ornate chair that was much too big for her.

  “That is my Chair of State,” Ysa said. “What has the child been up to?”

  Another person was in the range of vision, a very small woman dressed in green, with her back turned to the onlooker.

  “That is Tinka-Lillfot, my female fool,” Ysa told the others. “Whatever there is that prompted this meeting, I doubt that even the clever little Princess Elin will get the better of her.”

  Tinka-Lillfot turned, a smile apparent on her face before she vanished outside the scope of the viewing mist. Elin watche
d her go, a perplexed expression on her face.

  “Show me the red-bearded man once more,” Zazar said.

  In the moment between the dissolving of one mist and the forming of another, Zazar had observed that the water level was very low; this final image would be the last until more pristine snow could be collected and melted.

  Again, the mist showed the man on the deck of a ship. The woman who had been but barely glimpsed earlier now stood in the circle of his left arm; in his right hand he held a stone-tipped mace. Now Zazar could see clearly the Ash amulet on a golden chain, the one that had disappeared from Ashen’s jewel box, around his neck. Another mystery solved.

  The woman with Mikkel wore a short white tunic girded high. Her hair looked like it had been spun of translucent crystal filaments, and in her hand she held a bow. A quiver of white stone-tipped arrows was slung on her back. She wore a silver necklace set with a huge green stone. The stone and the man’s hair and beard were the sole spots of color in the icy scene they were watching.

  The woman looked up at the man and smiled. The planes of her face, Zazar saw, were sharply cut. They reflected light as if—With a peculiar thrill, Zazar realized she really was formed of a clear white stone, like alabaster.

  She must be one of the fabled Rock-Maidens that were said to inhabit portions of the far north. But how had Mikkel come to be embroiled with them? And why were they on a ship? She wished that she could talk with this man, what Mikkel had become, for she had many, many questions to ask.

  The images vanished; the bowl was now empty and dry.

  “I saw Ashen’s missing amulet. Now I know we have found Mikkel and observed what he has become—the captain of a peculiar white ship. We must show the people here what we have seen concerning him,” Zazar said. “But first we will let Ashen know what we have discovered.”