The Knight of the Red Beard

by Norton, Andre

  Well, I have secrets of my own, Gunnora thought with a certain savage satisfaction. Many secrets, and important ones, too. First making sure the door to the room she shared with Holger was firmly locked, she set a bowl of snow on the floor near the hearth. Then she opened her jewel box and pressed a certain spot on the interior design. The false bottom of the chest in the lower right-hand corner popped up enough so she could remove it from the niche.

  Inside were three little dragon shell-teeth, all that now remained of the Mother Ice Dragon’s broods. Useful, of course, as all dragons were, but not the same as the fabled Jewel Dragons of the Bracelet of the Nine.

  How she wished she could have seen the Ice Dragons in flight, and to have seen Flavielle the Sorceress, leading them. But Mother wouldn’t let her go near the beasts without very strict supervision, and there never seemed to be any time she could spare to satisfy a child’s curiosity.

  Mother. And the entity she had chose as her—her mate, bizarre as the notion was. Whatever had she seen in that altogether weird creature from another world? And, of course, the answer came as it always did when she contemplated this question. It was power, power, and more power—not entirely the magical kind.

  She remembered looking at Flavielle’s body preserved on the icy bier under the crystal dome that covered her, untouched by any hint of decay. Well hidden it was, deep in the Maze that was the home of the Great One Whom All Served. But she found it, she, Flavielle’s daughter.

  Who her actual father was, she could only speculate but she believed it was Farod, the Great One’s lieutenant. Once, Farod told her, his hair had been golden, like hers. Also, there were other resemblances in the shape of her face and features. It was Farod who had lived on the crumbs of Flavielle’s favor, and then, after her death, lived for the child he had undoubtedly sired on her. Why else would he have crept back to the Maze, sorely wounded, and cared for her until Holger’s father had found them?

  He had told young Gunnora many stories of Flavielle and of the great ones in Rendel and the NordornLand, stories that she stored in her memory to be taken out and thought on later.

  It was very like the puzzles that formed little carved animals when put together properly, of which some Wykenigs were fond. With the appearance of the boy, Mikkel Red Fox, in the steading, a few more bits of the puzzle became apparent.

  Flavielle had been killed in battle by the NordornKing, the title then held by a man called Hynnel. This, Farod had told her. By listening when she appeared to be occupied with nothing more important than the proper setting of her table, she learned that Mikkel was the youngest son of a different NordornKing, Gaurin. Of course, she said to herself. It has to be, because Mother had slain the other NordornKing with Dragon’s Breath from the Rime Rod and Farod had taken it to use in her memory. It did not lie in the jewel chest, but now hung from a cord attached to her girdle. She fingered the slender silver rod, one of the few artifacts remaining from Flavielle’s existence. Now she wished she had used it on Mikkel Red Fox instead of the aging spell.

  But if she had, she would have had no access to the treasure she knew lay in the NordornKing’s castle, perhaps in another jewel box—the Bracelet of the Nine.

  This potent article of Power had been in the steading, that she knew, but did not yet know how or by whom it had been brought. Obviously, it had been a fool with no idea of its value and, furthermore, someone who consorted easily with another fool, Old Askepott.

  It took no magical ability to reason that no one would have reason to transport to Holger den Forferdelig’s steading except to learn of Mikkel’s well-being. Therefore, the visitor, doubtless another crone convinced that she wielded Power, had come from the NordornLand.

  Objects imbued with as much Power as this bracelet possessed gave off an aura plainly discernible to those who had the ability to perceive it. She had literally smelled its presence while it was so close. And then, it was gone. Where? Where else but back to the Nordorn-Land? Twice over proved beyond any doubt that the fool who had brought it for Askepott’s inspection was also from the NordornLand, and that meant in turn that Askepott herself now resided there.

  Gunnora’s world was one in which twists and tangles of meaning were commonplace, but this was simple and easily read.

  She had miscalculated, for once, had done what she had always promised herself she would not do—repeat Mother’s flaw of arrogance born of the knowledge of the Power she possessed. Gunnora had thought Holger would speed up negotiations with the NordornKing for the boy’s return before he fell into the decrepitude of old age and died, thereby giving her access to the place where the Bracelet of the Nine lay. Now she might know where Askepott had vanished, but she had no idea as to the Red Fox’s whereabouts.

  Therefore, she needed the fools from the NordornLand to come and find him for her. That, she thought, presented a problem for she could not reliably force them to go anywhere but at their choosing, not hers.

  There was one thing she could do, though, and would. Lest all be lost with a boy’s death from old age, she could freeze the spell so Mikkel stayed permanently as he was now. Later, perhaps, she would amend it again. This she would do not from any sense of pity for the boy, but rather to buy the time she needed to discover the best way to obtain the precious bracelet.

  Then—She smiled.

  Some years back, Holger had acquired a wealthy woman captive. Lady Acindia, she called herself, claiming that she was a baroness. Nobility or not, she was someone Gunnora knew instinctively was a wielder of Power, if on a minor scale. Her ransom was quickly paid and she departed forthwith, but Holger, at Gunnora’s insistence, made her leave all her belongings. She departed with only the clothes on her back; Gunnora immediately took the jewels and other finery for herself.

  Lady Acindia, oddly, had formed a friendship with Askepott and when Acindia left the steading, Askepott managed to filch a bundle of the woman’s writings that otherwise would have gone to the fire. This troubled Gunnora not at all, for one of the first things she had done was to make a fair copy of everything before Askepott could get her hands on it. One page in particular had proved very useful.

  As soon as Gunnora had completed the counter spell that stopped Mikkel’s unnatural aging, she brought the bowl of snow, now melted into pure water, to a table lit by a single candle. She wanted to see the results for herself. She spoke the words over the water, and then said one word more: “Mikkel.”

  “You—you what?” Admiral-General Tordenskjold shouted at the three women standing at the table in the Council Chamber of Cyornas Castle.

  All those nobles still in the city again occupied their accustomed places, this time accompanied by as many retainers and hangers-on as could fit inside the room. Those inside relayed what was happening to those crowding the corridor outside.

  Count Mjødulf allowed a slight frown to disturb his brow; Duke Einaar scowled outright. Lord High Marshal Svarteper shook his snowy head as if he could not believe what he had just heard. Bjaudin NordornPrince uttered a barely muffled, “No.” Even Gaurin NordornKing seemed more than a little taken aback. But the Duchess Ysa remained unruffled in the face of the nearly universal disapproval of the nobles.

  “Since you seem not to have understood me, I will repeat my statement. When you depart on the search for what has become of Prince Mikkel, Zazar, Askepott, and I must accompany you.”

  “Nonsense,” Svarteper declared. “This isn’t any pleasure jaunt.”

  “Nor do we expect it to be,” Ysa returned calmly. “Nevertheless, we three”—she indicated Askepott and Zazar—“may well hold the key to finding what has become of young Mikkel and returning him safely to his family.”

  “How so?” Tordenskjold asked truculently.

  “Would you sail aimlessly, seeking that which might not want to be found?”

  Tordenskjold’s frown deepened but he did not dispute the Duchess’s point.

  “Only we three can guide you and Rohan on your way. Not even his Wave Reader
can do so as well as we. And furthermore, you know it.”

  “I am against it. Only if I am ordered, will I allow three women on a ship of war.” He looked to Gaurin, but it was Ashen who spoke.

  “Then I so order.” Ashen turned to Ysa. “Madame Mother,” she said, her voice shaky but her expression resolute, “go with the two Wysen-wyves and help our brave Admiral-General and our equally brave ally and foster son, Rohan of the Sea-Rovers, in their quest to find and return Mikkel to us.”

  “Then, barring objection from Gaurin NordornKing, I must obey,” Tordenskjold said.

  Gaurin said nothing, but nodded his assent.

  “Good,” the Duchess Ysa said. “Now I must go and write a letter to my granddaughter informing her that she must rule Iselin in my name a while longer.”

  Contrary to her usual choice of pink or peach or yellow, this night Princess Elin of the NordornLand had donned spring green, her father’s color. A certain softness in the air bespoke of the coming end to winter’s grip on Iselin. Twi-night—the time halfway between day and night—was shorter now, and the lights in the northern sky less brilliant.

  With a clear and untroubled mind, she was enjoying the entertainment Tinka-Lillfot and her dog were presenting to the Court. Really, Elin thought, the diminutive woman had trained the animal to an amazing degree. At her command, the dog, which she had named Hagbart, turned somersaults in midair, jumped through hoops, and as a grand finale, spun and twirled as if dancing with his mistress.

  Elin was so entertained she didn’t even mind that both dog and fool were wearing green as well, though nearer the dark emerald shade so favored by Granddam Ysa. She laughed and clapped her hands as Tinka-Lillfot, with a tap on his shoulder, caused Hag-bart to mimic her bow before leaving the Hall.

  Baron Gustav leaned forward. “Your Highness seems in good humor this evening,” he said.

  “I am,” Elin told him.

  A wrestling match was now in progress between two of the younger men of the household, with much shouting, laughter, and placing of bets.

  “I would speak with you and also with Caspar and Isak, but I cannot hear myself think. Anyway, it is a private matter.”

  “Then we shall adjourn to Your Highness’s audience chamber.” He caught the eye of both Isak and Caspar and indicated that they should come with Elin and him. Isak complied a little reluctantly; his man looked likely to win the match.

  Presently, the four were seated in the outer room of Elin’s apartment that served as her audience chamber. A servant brought the customary heated snowberry juice mingled with wine.

  Elin drew a folded piece of paper from the pocket in her sleeve and spread it out on the table. “I have had a letter from the Duchess Ysa, telling me that she will not be returning to Iselin as quickly as she had thought when she departed.”

  “Is she well?” asked Baron Isak.

  “Oh, quite well. In fact, she is going on a sea voyage.”

  “Then we will have the pleasure of your continued rule over us in her absence,” Gustav said diplomatically.

  “So it would appear.” Elin took a deep breath. “My good lords, I confess that I have not fulfilled my duties as best I may, up until now.” She held up her hands to forestall the expected—and false—denials. “My Granddam Ysa was to return very shortly, or so I thought and so did she, I’ll warrant. Also, during the quiet of deep winter no great matters need be solved that cannot wait until the stirring of spring. But now spring is close upon us and, like the earth, I must also bestir myself from winter’s grip. I must go out among my granddam’s people. And you, my lords, must teach me how to govern them.”

  As one, the three barons arose and bowed low to her.

  “I know that I speak for my fellow Council members,” said Gustav, “when I say that it would be both an honor and a privilege.”

  Elin smiled. “Then please, when the weather permits, let us go a-progress through Iselin. I would get to know its people, and them me.”

  Pleading fatigue, she dismissed them to return to the entertainment in the Hall while she retired to her bedchamber. Once her ladies had made her ready for bed, however, and tucked her in, she lay long thinking, staring up at the canopy embroidered, oddly, with bears standing erect on a background of oak leaves.

  Yes, Granddam Ysa was right—again—and it was fortunate for both of them that Elin was established safely in Iselin to learn the art of ruling, thus leaving the Duchess free to lead the search for Mikkel.

  She hoped her little brother was making as good use of his time away from the Nordorn Court as she, Elin thought. And then she fell asleep.

  Twenty

  With Ysa in the lead, Zazar carrying the bowl and Askepott the bucket, the three women entered Ysa’s apartment. Little Alfonse immediately began barking and pawing at Ysa’s skirts.

  “Poor darling, I’ve been neglecting you,” she told him. Her ladies came bustling in, a bit belatedly. “Grisella, send for heated wine. Ingrid, bring us some meat pies and a dish for Alfonse. Gertrude, pull three chairs around that table. Then, the three of you, leave us in private.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” they said, almost in unison. Then each lady went to do as she was bid.

  Without being told, Askepott left the apartment to gather more snow. Zazar set the bowl on the table, and seated herself in one of the chairs. “I take it that we will be doing the Ritual of Seeing again,” she said. “This time directed at the woman who seems to have caught Mikkel’s fancy.”

  “I cannot shake off the feeling that she is aware of us, if not what we are about, and I think this is something shared by Askepott.”

  “If not, she will surely find no objection to our investigating,” said Zazar.

  Askepott entered, bearing the bucket of snow. She set it down and blew on her fingers to warm them. “Spring may be upon us but winter has lost none of its grip,” she commented. “Very well, now are we to look in on Petra?”

  Zazar handed her a steaming goblet. “Yes. I confess myself curious about these Rock-Maidens and how one of them has Mikkel in thrall. Now eat, before the food is all gone.”

  Alfonse was greedily snuffling over one of the meat pies. Weyse appeared out of nowhere and helped herself to one as well. Askepott took the last one from the platter.

  “A person has to be quick around these two,” she commented.

  Zazar was already ladling the snow into the bowl, adding more as it melted. By the time Askepott licked the crumbs from her fingers, preparations were complete.

  Doing the ritual was becoming easier with practice, Zazar thought. The image of the Rock-Maiden they had seen in Mikkel’s company appeared. She was alone, in what seemed to be her bed-chamber, sitting at a table where she was stringing pearlescent shells onto a silken cord. She raised her head as if seeking the source of the magical stirring she felt.

  “So you grasped that I was aware of you and so have come to me directly,” she said. “Well, then, who is it that seeks me out? Speak to me. I will hear you.”

  “You do it,” Ysa told Askepott in a whisper. “She knows your voice. Zazar and I are but strangers.”

  “Do you recognize me, Petra?” Askepott said.

  “You’re Askepott, the woman from Holger’s steading. Did you flee from his wrath when he discovered that both Ridder Red Fox and I were missing?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Are you the one who has been watching him then? For what purpose? Do you wish to return him to Holger, to buy back his good favor?”

  “I have sought him, yes, and others as well, but not to return him to Holger’s keeping. His mother has been in a decline since he disappeared. Now she is better, knowing that he lives.”

  “His mother. Ah, yes, I forget that the people outside bear young and are fond of them. But why do you come to me now?”

  With Ysa and Zazar’s help, Askepott related the Nordorners’ plans to apprehend Holger and also to find Mikkel and bring him back to the NordornLand, where what calamity tha
t had befallen him could be reversed.

  Petra digested this in silence. “And what would you have me do?” she asked finally.

  “Your help in seeing to Mikkel’s well-being,” Zazar said.

  “Ridder Rødskjegg needs not my help, nor yours for all that he is but a human. He will go where he list.”

  “You love him.” That was Ysa.

  “Love? You would think so. ‘Love’ among the Rock-Folk is a dangerous undertaking. When a Rock-Man captures one of us, his embrace causes young to form from her body until nothing is left of her but a pile of dust. We are different in every way imaginable, including the ability to sense your spell-casting and to speak through it. But this one thing causes me to consider your words and not reject you out of hand, that you would remove Holger den Forferdelig from his current seat of power so that he ceases to be a scourge to all at sea or on land.”

  “That is a worthy reason for soliciting your aid,” said Ysa diplomatically.

  “You say that you three will be on the ship seeking Holger?”

  “Yes. We hope to find both him and Mikkel on the trackless sea in that fashion.”

  “Well, then. I know Askepott. I must meet the other two face to face so that I might judge you better. Then, I will decide whether to tell him of you so that he can make his own decision as to his fate.”

  Ysa glanced at the Wysen-wyves. “I sense that we can do no better at this time,” she said.

  Then Petra gave them instructions as how best to preserve the pure water they would need when they were too far from land to go gathering snow. They would need silver ewers, stoppered with silver, and kept under close guard from seamen who might think they were only water vessels for the use of delicate women too good to dip from the common barrel and so contaminate or even steal them for the silver.

  “There is a spot on the coast, north to you but southerly to those who live in Wykenig country, where a fresh stream flows from snowmelt and seafarers go to fill their water casks. There I will meet you when conditions permit. Good-bye until then.”