The Knight of the Red Beard

by Norton, Andre

  “And I,” said Ysa, a little reluctantly it seemed to Zazar. But then the Duchess was much too accustomed to being in command to step back easily.

  The ewers were now equipped with leather shoulder straps. Askepott slung two of them on her back and started off north, on the rocky beach still treacherous in spots from ice on the stones. Zazar picked up one of the remaining silver vessels, leaving the last one for Ysa.

  “I thought surely you could carry two empty ewers,” the Duchess grumbled as she slung her burden over her shoulder. “Of course, once they are full—”

  “Oh, do give up your fancy airs,” Zazar snapped. “Take your fair share of the burden.”

  Without any more complaint from Ysa—at least aloud—the three women trudged past the headland pointed out by the sailors and discovered that the stream had found a cut through the rock and formed a sheltered miniature cove, covered with fine white sand. The stream did not pour directly into the Icy Seas, but dropped into a stone-rimmed pool from a musical waterfall. This pool, actually a catch basin, owed much to the touch of hands, human or otherwise. A thin thread of water spilled over the side of the basin and snaked its way across the sand and into the sea itself. Judging by the line of wrack, high tide would not quite reach the rim of the basin.

  Prudence directed that they climb up to make certain the clean water had not become contaminated along its journey. A series of stone ledges that might have been set as stairs by the same hands that had fashioned the catch basin wound up one side of the waterfall.

  “Well, up we go, ladies,” Askepott said. Without much ado, she girded her skirt under her belt to knee-height, revealing sturdy shoes and knitted snow-thistle silk and wool hosen. Zazar promptly did likewise and, after some hesitation and a sigh she did not bother to hide, so did Ysa.

  Before they could begin their climb, however, a slim white figure appeared over the northern side of the rock cut. “You needn’t be concerned,” Petra told them. “All is well. In fact, you can fill your jugs from the pool, if you like.” She gazed at the women. “Wel-come, Askepott. It’s quite a change from Holger’s kitchen, isn’t it?” She leaped lightly down the rocky face to land on the sand. “And you are?”

  “Zazar,” the Wysen-wyf said. “I suppose you could call me Askepott’s sister, after a fashion.”

  “And I am Ysa, Duchess of Iselin and Mikkel’s granddam. We all have great interest in his well-being, me perhaps most of all.”

  “Of course,” Petra returned coolly.

  Zazar couldn’t help staring, this being her first real look at a Rock-Maiden. As in the conjured pictures, she wore a short white tunic though she had laid aside her bow in favor of two throwing-spears. Slung on her back was a buckler that seemed made of flat, iridescent white shells. Around her neck was the silver chain set with a large green gem and on her upper arm a circlet that looked very like the white stone bracelet Ashen treasured so much, Gaurin’s gift. Her feet were bare, ornamented with pearl rings on her toes. “Did you walk?” Zazar asked.

  Petra laughed. “Not far, this time. I asked Ridder Rødskjegg, Mikkel, to anchor offshore nearby, so that I could visit this place that might be the remains of a Rock-Maiden stronghold.” She surveyed the stonework of the pool and the face of the stony cliff from which the stream fell. “And so it might be. Some other time, I will investigate. Now, we have other matters more pressing.”

  “And do we pass muster for you?” Zazar asked.

  The Rock-Maiden turned her scrutiny from the cliff to two of the women. “Perhaps. Enough, anyway. I believe that you care about Ridder Red Fox. But know this. He does not remember you. Would you be doing him a service, pulling him from a life that he did not choose, but which has chosen him? Think on this.”

  “We could, the three of us, work to restore his memory,” Ysa told the Rock-Maiden. “We would return him to the family that loves him.”

  “Their Maimed Majesties,” Petra returned. “Yes, I have heard of them. In so doing, you would take him from me.”

  “Their hearts are heavy with the loss of their youngest child,” Ysa said, “for all that he has unnaturally grown into a man.”

  “Gunnora’s work.”

  “I feel that Gunnora is dangerous in her own way, as is Holger den Forferdelig,” Zazar said.

  As if in answer to her name, and to the utter astonishment of the four in the sandy cove, Gunnora herself rose into view, seated in the natural saddle behind the head of an Ice Dragon. She was clad in a skintight garment that might have been made of scales, and she glowed in the pale light.

  “And so I am dangerous!” she cried. “Even more so than Holger! Cower back, you fools, for all the good it will do you, for you will die this day.”

  To Zazar’s astonishment, Ysa gathered courage from some unknown place and stepped forward. “You will not kill us,” she declared, her voice strong and firm.

  “And why not?”

  “You need us too much. I see that you have now become a Dragon-Rider. Where did it come from?”

  “You don’t need to know, but I will tell you. I have a few shell-teeth from the last brood. With one of the teeth, I summoned this one to life.”

  “I see.”

  Zazar caught her breath, wondering how Ysa could remain so calm. Now it was plain why Gunnora coveted the Dragon Bracelet! With that in her possession, she could mount a force unknown in modern times—six different dragons with differing attributes and abilities, and three mighty humans returned from long ago to follow her in whatever direction her ambitions took her.

  “And how did you know to come here, at this time?” Ysa asked.

  For an answer, Gunnora let out a derisive laugh. “Do you think you are the only one who knows the Ritual of Seeing? Your every move has been known to me right from the start. As for you,” she said to the Rock-Maiden, “it was easy to disguise my presence as just more of their prying.”

  “I had not thought to kill you,” Petra replied, “until now.”

  “Let me think,” Gunnora said. She pulled on the Ice Dragon’s reins and it came to rest on the edge of the rocky crest and folded its wings. She did not dismount.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will not kill all of you. Just you, you unnatural stone creature, and Askepott. The pretentious snobbish fool and the old woman-thing with her I will take back with me, to ransom for that—that certain item that you know about.”

  “You cannot kill me!” Petra cried. “But you cannot say as much for yourself.” She hefted one of the alabaster-tipped spears, and let fly.

  The Ice Dragon reared its head, causing the spear to miss its target and lodge in the dragon’s jaw instead. With a roar of pain and outrage, the dragon raked the spear loose with its forepaw to go clattering down the cliff to the sand. It would have launched itself at its tormentor if Gunnora had not pulled back on the reins.

  She aimed a silver rod at the Rock-Maiden. A spray of what looked like ice crystals enveloped her and her movements slowed to a near halt.

  “I’ve long known that you wanted to kill me,” Askepott said. “My kettle showed it to me.”

  “You let Mikkel and this . . . this creature escape. That is tantamount to stealing my property. Also, you hid the presence of the Dragon Bracelet from me when it was in Holger’s steading.” Gunnora turned the silver cylinder toward Askepott. “Breathe deep of the Rime Rod’s vapors and it will go easier for you.”

  “Never!” Zazar cried. As the stream of ice crystals flew toward Askepott, she yanked the other Wysen-wyf out of its path. A portion of the rock wall behind them suddenly glittered with a thin layer of ice.

  “You have now become a target as well,” Gunnora got out from between clenched teeth. She leveled the Rime Rod at Zazar. When she pressed the button, however, nothing happened. It seemed to have depleted its store of deadly vapor, if only for the moment. With a scream of fury, Gunnora held her hand aloft and gathered twinkling sparks that appeared out of nowhere. She hurled them at Zazar just as a rocket came roa
ring at the cove toward the Ice Dragon.

  “Returning the favor,” Askepott said as she stepped in front of Zazar. The sparks enveloped her body and she dropped to the sand.

  The rocket ricocheted off the dragon’s shoulder, hit the rock wall behind where the three women were standing, and struck Petra as it exploded. With another scream, this time of frustration, Gunnora clung tightly to the Ice Dragon’s reins lest she be thrown off as it leaped aloft. As suddenly as she’d appeared, she was gone.

  Petra, released from her icy prison, rushed across the stream. Zazar was already kneeling beside Askepott, lifting the other Wysen-wyf’s head onto her lap.

  “How does she?” Ysa asked. She knelt on Askepott’s other side, and took her hand into both of hers.

  “Not well. I don’t know what spell it was that Gunnora used, but we will have to work hard to keep it from doing its mischief.”

  “You mean keep it from killing me?” Askepott asked feebly. She coughed and managed to open her eyes a little.

  “You can’t die!”

  Askepott regained a little of her spirit. “I most certainly can,” she said with some asperity. Then she closed her eyes again and took a breath as her head fell back.

  Petra all but shoved Ysa and Zazar aside as she flung herself down next to where Askepott lay. “Do not hinder me!” the Rock-Maiden cried. “The spell still envelopes her and she hasn’t let out her last breath yet.”

  Faster than thought, white sand geysered upward between the Rock-Maiden’s fingers as she formed it into a casket of the purest crystal to shelter the old Wysen-wyf.

  At her gesture, the casket lifted from the sand of which it was formed, coming to rest on a plinth of stone that arose from the surface of the cove. Now Askepott, occasional sparks from the spell still glittering like random fireflies, lay on a crystal bed, her head on a pillow and a warkat at her feet. On the side of the casket, Petra formed a plaque in the crystal spelling out the name Askepott in raised letters.

  “There,” she said. “She will sleep undisturbed until you can find a cure for the spell that has almost killed her.”

  “But you were frozen—” Zazar said. The events of the past few moments had happened too rapidly for her to grasp at once.

  “The rocket,” Petra explained. “Its fire thawed me.”

  “But why did you do this—how—? I thought you had no reason to love Askepott.”

  The Rock-Maiden gazed at the casket. “Askepott was kind to me, in her fashion. And kind to Mikkel as well.”

  Ysa spoke truly, Zazar realized, when she guessed that Petra loves Mikkel. Different as our two species are, nevertheless, she loves him. What a world.

  A white vessel hove into view, its sails brilliant in the morning light. Petra looked up and pointed at it proudly. “Look you, out to sea. It is Ridder Rødskjegg, Knight of the Red Beard, come to my rescue and that of you others as well, though he came almost too late for Askepott.”

  Just then, the sailors from Spume Maiden came pounding around the headland, one with sword drawn and the other with arrow nocked. Petra immediately gripped her remaining spear and shifted the buckler to her left hand. She moved toward where her other spear had fallen.

  “Neither arrow nor sword can harm me,” she said, her voice full of challenge. “Come ahead and do your worst.”

  “Stay!” Ysa ordered. “Put up your weapons. We are all friends here.” She turned to Petra. “We have a boat. Can we all go out to your beautiful white ship, so that we may talk with—with your red-bearded knight? My grandson? Yes, and Zazar’s also?”

  The Rock-Maiden’s brows pulled together. Reluctantly she lowered her spear as the Sea Rover sailor released the tension on his bowstring. The other man sheathed his sword though his hand stayed close to the hilt.

  “Let me go first,” she said at last. “Explain the situation. I’m sure that Ridder Red Fox will be interested, but do not expect your presence or the tales you tell to restore his memory. Then, it will be his decision as to how many of you will go to his ship and how many will return to your own.”

  “Spume Maiden was at anchor not far from here,” Zazar said, “though I expect Rohan is even now making for this spot. He can spot a flying Ice Dragon as well as the next one.”

  “Then there is no time to lose.”

  “Here,” Ysa said, loosening a scarf and handing it to the Rock-Maiden. “This bears my colors and insignia. Let Mikkel fly it as a banner and it will inform Rohan that he is to remain neutral, at least for the present.”

  “I hope he is bright enough to figure it out,” Zazar muttered. “If not, there’s apt to be a fight he won’t want to have.”

  “Then we will not waste time. You,” Petra said, addressing the two men. “I presume you rowed here.”

  “Yes, Lady, we did.”

  “Then put us all into the boat, save Askepott, of course, and take us out to Snow Gem at once.” She turned to the other two women. “Askepott will be safe here.”

  “But not left here permanently,” Zazar said.

  “No. Not permanently.”

  Twenty-two

  In the Council Chamber at the Castle of Fire and Ice, Gaurin NordornKing called a conference with his nobles. Tordenskjold was absent, of course, but Svarteper and Mjødulf occupied their accustomed seats. Baldrian of Westerblad was absent, as was Baron Arngrim. Håkon of Erlend was present, however, and, for a wonder, so was Gangerolf of Guttorm.

  “Here,” the NordornKing said, indicating a letter bearing a red wax seal, “is disturbing news from our friend, kinsman, and guardian of our southern border, Earl Royance.”

  He handed the letter to Einaar who took it from him and began to read:

  Greetings, my liege lord, friend and ally, from your vassal, Royance of Grattenbor and of Åskar.

  It is reluctantly that I must report unrest on your borders and, yea, throughout the land if rumor is to be believed. The good and able Baldrian the Fair is abroad with a troop of men, putting down outbreaks of violence where he finds them. My kinsman Nikolos and I would go forth as well save for his old injury in a tournament. Also, my beloved Countess Mjaurita, having lived as a wealthy widow for some years, has expressed herself unwilling to repeat the experience. We had quite a spirited discussion about it. Therefore, I have sent for aid from the Lord High Marshal of Rendel. He has promised to send a young officer, Cebastian, your cousin, and a company of soldiers to aid Baldrian and I expect them daily.

  I have no doubt that this unpleasantness will soon be resolved, so you may have no fear either for your safety, that of your beautiful NordornQueen, nor of the NordornLand itself. When all is secure once more I will come to Cyornas and report in person.

  “He does not mention Iselin,” Ashen said.

  “No, Madame, he does not,” Einaar said. “But I am sure that if Princess Elin were in the least peril, he would have found soldiers to go and reinforce the manor and even have ridden out himself regardless of his wife’s frowns.”

  A ripple of laughter went around the table.

  “There will be no need,” Bjaudin declared. “I will take some men and go to Iselin myself.”

  “It is a brave thought,” Gaurin said, “but I believe that a better way to quell any unrest that seems to have arisen in our land during the winter is to take the path of peace. I will go a-progress through our land, seeing the people and having them see me, and talking with them and listening to their grievances. Time enough for soldiers and drums and warfare.”

  “I will go with you, then, Father.”

  “No, I will need you and Einaar to see to the governance of our land in my absence. Obey me in this.”

  “As in all things, Father, but I would rather be with you. Is it not important for the people to see me as well?”

  “It is, but now is not the time. Obey your father, my son,” Ashen said. “In the event that Tordenskjold and Rohan are successful in returning Mikkel to us, you and Duke Einaar will be needed here to make him properly welcome.” Sh
e turned to Gaurin. “I will go with you in Bjaudin’s stead. Surely if the people see me, they will know that our purpose is peace and they will be soothed thereby.”

  “Are you well enough for such a journey?”

  “Of course I am!” she exclaimed. “It is for the good of our kingdom. It would be a disgrace if I stayed behind.”

  “Good thoughts all,” Einaar said. “May I make a further suggestion?”

  “Of course, my brother,” Gaurin replied.

  “Bring back the custom of the King’s Penny, as it was in the days of Cyornas of noble memory.”

  Gaurin pondered a moment. “Share the benefits of Nordorn-Land peace. Yes, that we will do. We will grant a silver penny to each farmer, townsman, and shareholder, and a gold penny to the mayor or other magistrate of every village.”

  “I will give orders that treasure boxes be filled.” Einaar smiled with a trace of his old mischievousness. “It will give the guards something to do, looking after the boxes.”

  “Then it is settled. The NordornKing and the NordornQueen will both go a-progress through the NordornLand. Let heralds ride forth and so proclaim.”

  The nobles arose from their chairs and bowed deeply to their sovereigns. Mjødulf spoke for all: “Earl Royance is a man of great experience but unlearned in the ways of our Land of Ever Snow. We have experienced this sort of thing before, and from what I believe are the same reasons. These problems arise from the annoyances of a hard winter and living too closely together and, as such, will be easily and quickly resolved. May your journey and your generosity bring with it the fruits of peace to our land once more.” Then, with a smile, he added, “And when you see my aunt and uncle, please give them my best regards. It would seem that each have found a match in the other.”

  “Yes, I am going with you, and that’s final,” Ayfare said firmly. “And Nalren will be attending your lord husband. Someone has to look after you.”

  “But what about Cyornas Castle?” Ashen asked, amused.