The Knight of the Red Beard-The Cycle of Oak, Yew, Ash and Rowan 5 Read online

  The Knight

  of the Red

  Beard

  Tor Books by Andre Norton

  * * *

  THE OAK, YEW, ASH, AND ROWAN CYCLE

  (with Sasha Miller)

  To the King a Daughter

  Knight or Knave

  A Crown Disowned

  Dragon Blade

  The Knight of the Red Beard

  The Crystal Gryphon

  Dare to Go A-Hunting

  Flight in Yiktor

  Forerunner

  Forerunner: The Second Venture

  Here Abide Monsters

  Moon Called

  Moon Mirror

  The Prince Commands

  Ralestone Luck

  Stand and Deliver

  Wheel of Stars

  Wizards’ Worlds

  Wraiths of Time

  Grandmasters’ Choice (Editor)

  The Jekyll Legacy

  (with Robert Bloch)

  Gryphon’s Eyrie (with A.C. Crispin)

  Songsmith (with A. C. Crispin)

  Caroline (with Enid Cushing)

  Firehand (with P. M. Griffin)

  Redline the Stars (with P. M. Griffin)

  Sneeze on Sunday

  (with Grace Allen Hogarth)

  House of Shadows

  (with Phyllis Miller)

  Empire of the Eagle

  (with Susan Shwartz)

  Imperial Lady (with Susan Shwartz)

  THE SOLAR QUEEN

  (with Sherwood Smith)

  Derelict for Trade

  A Mind for Trade

  THE TIME TRADERS

  (with Sherwood Smith)

  Echoes in Time

  THE WITCH WORLD

  (Editor)

  Four from the Witch World

  Tales from the Witch World 1

  Tales from the Witch World 2

  Tales from the Witch World 3

  WITCH WORLD:

  THE TURNING

  I Storms of Victory

  (with P. M. Griffin)

  II Flight of Vengeance

  (with P. M. Griffin & Mary Schaub)

  III On Wings of Magic

  (with Patricia Mathews & Sasha Miller)

  MAGIC IN ITHKAR

  (Editor, with Robert Adams)

  Magic in Ithkar 1

  Magic in Ithkar 2

  Magic in Ithkar 3

  Magic in Ithkar 4

  THE HALFBLOOD

  CHRONICLES

  (with Mercedes Lackey)

  The Elvenbane

  Elvenblood

  Elvenborn

  CAROLUS REX

  (with Rosemary Edghill)

  The Shadow of Albion

  Tor Books by Sasha Miller

  * * *

  Ladylord

  On Wings of Magic

  (with Andre Norton & Patricia Mathews)

  The Knight

  of the Red

  Beard

  Andre Norton &

  Sasha Miller

  vA TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK

  NEW YORK

  The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you without Digital Rights Management software (DRM) applied so that you can enjoy reading it on your personal devices. This e-book is for your personal use only. You may not print or post this e-book, or make this e-book publicly available in any way. You may not copy, reproduce or upload this e-book, other than to read it on one of your personal devices.

  Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copy of this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright, please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously.

  THE KNIGHT OF THE RED BEARD

  Copyright © 2008 by the Estate of Andre Norton and by Sasha Miller

  All rights reserved.

  Map by Ellisa Mitchell

  A Tor Book

  Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC

  175 Fifth Avenue

  New York, NY 10010

  www.tor-forge.com

  Tor is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-0748-4

  ISBN-10: 0-7653-0748-0

  First Edition: October 2008

  Printed in the United States of America

  0 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To my late collaborator, Andre Norton, whose vision

  inspired the NordornLand cycle.

  The Knight

  of the Red

  Beard

  One

  Eleven-year-old Mikkel was not studying The History of the NordornLand as he had been instructed to do by his tutor. It wasn’t his fault; he was distracted by the argument taking place just beyond the door of his outer chamber.

  “Please go somewhere else,” he called. “I’m trying to read.”

  Neither his older brother nor his sister deigned to answer. The least they could do, Mikkel thought, was to fight in one of their apartments or even the Great Hall. There were weapons in the Great Hall. Let them take up arms, settle the matter once and for all, and be done with it.

  At another time, Mikkel would have been studying at the desk he and his tutor customarily occupied in the outer room, but even if Bjaudin and Elin hadn’t chosen that room for their latest battle, he had no real objection to moving to his inner chamber. The room was much cozier and he preferred it for that reason, particularly during the cold months. He just wished it had been his choice.

  At the moment, he was sprawled on his bed. He stuffed cotton wool in his ears, and, for good measure, covered them with his hands. He could still hear the two of them going at one another.

  Why, he wondered, do they do that? What have they to complain about? Bjaudin held the title of NordornPrince; he was next in line to become NordornKing, and, in fact, had assumed many of the duties of kingship. Elin, as NordornPrincess, was next in succession after Bjaudin. His eldest sister Hegrin, whom he seldom saw, was actually a queen! Queen of Rendel she was, and turning out princes and princesses of her own. He, Mikkel, didn’t have a title of any kind beyond the one he had been born with. His sole honor was that Father had knighted him last year. He could be called “Sir Mikkel” if he didn’t care to be known as a prince. For a moment, he wondered what his title might be, if he had one. Duke of Obscurity, probably.

  But there was no chance of even that crumb for him. There wasn’t any need for him to be granted a title, other than Extra Prince, the younger son of Gaurin NordornKing and Ashen NordornQueen, the one who had no real prospects other than a life of hanging around the Nordorn Court, playing King’s Soldiers and trying to stay out of trouble.

  Or, he thought wryly, to cause it. Like Elin was now doing with her clamor to be proclaimed heiress to the Duchy of Iselin.

  “Granddam Ysa isn’t going to live forever,” she was now arguing, forcefully enough that Mikkel could hear her clearly even through the cotton wool. “Iselin is a fair country—or would be, if Granddam would just care for it instead of only for herself—and it deserves to come into caring hands. All it would take is a word from you—”

  “I am not the NordornKing,” Bjaudin told her, not for the first time. “Such a bestowal is Father’s to make, not mine.”

  Mikkel could almost see his sister’s shrug in the dismissive tone of her voice.

  “That’s only a formality. All you have to do is mention it to him and it will be done.”<
br />
  “I see no reason to,” Bjaudin said, again not for the first time.

  “Well, I’ve told you,” Elin retorted. “Shall I tell you again?”

  Oh, no, Mikkel thought. He closed his book. Better to give up now and risk a caning from his tutor than stay and have to listen to the whole argument repeating itself.

  He was saved by the arrival of Rols, one of the senior house stewards. The signal bell atop the Water Tower had begun ringing.

  “The Sea-Rover ships are entering the fjord, young master,” Rols reported. “Your father and mother and others are gathering at the landing to give proper greeting.”

  “Thank you, Rols,” Mikkel said, grateful to have a legitimate excuse to leave his studies. “I thought I heard the warning bell. Have you informed the NordornPrince and the Princess?”

  “I did on my way to you.”

  Rols bowed his way out of Mikkel’s inner chamber and, before he closed the door behind him, added, “There are four ships.”

  Four ships when but two had been expected! Mikkel’s day brightened immediately. Who could the others be carrying? he wondered. There had been a report at dinner last evening that the newest addition to the Nordorn fleet was being delivered under escort and should very likely arrive today, but nothing had been said about a third vessel, let alone a fourth.

  One, three, four, or a dozen, this prospect was infinitely more interesting than listening to another of Bjaudin’s and Elin’s interminable battles, or even reading the history of the NordornLand and the tale of how Gaurin NordornKing and Ashen Nordorn-Queen had, at great pain to themselves, rid the land of an Ice Dragon that was held to be virtually unkillable.

  He swung himself off the bed and dashed out of his bedchamber, tossing the book ungently on his desk, and in the process disturbing the half-grown warkat that had been drowsing on a rug in front of the hearth. The warkat shook its ears vigorously, then got up and followed Mikkel down the stairway leading to the Great Hall, and thence to the cool, clean air outside the Castle of Fire and Ice.

  “When did you become interested in ships, Talkin?” Mikkel asked the warkat. “Or were you bored to tears with them, like me?” He indicated the area where Bjaudin and Elin had been fighting. “Well, whatever it is, let’s go see what we can find.”

  The young Prince and his companion reached the landing at the top of the stairs that led down the cliff to the quay to find a considerable company already there.

  The Castle of Fire and Ice had a sizable population. Not only the NordornKing and NordornQueen and their immediate family lived there, but also Uncle Einaar and Aunt Elibit, the Duke and Duchess of Åsåfin and the NordornLand, even though they had fine estates outside Cyornasberg and a handsome manor house inside the city as well. Mikkel stifled an exclamation of displeasure; Yngvar was with them, dressed in deep blue velvet, pale and slight and a total bore. For a moment, Mikkel regretted that he hadn’t changed into better clothing to greet the visitors, but the feeling passed as quickly as it had come.

  Admiral-General Count Tordenskjold was, naturally, on the scene to receive his newest addition to the growing Nordorn navy. Count Svarteper of Råttnos, Lord High Marshal and Protector of the NordornLand, stood beside the great Admiral-General, with the Countess Gyda at his side. Tordenskjold’s wife, Aud, was absent and Mikkel remembered that she had left Cyornasberg to be with their daughter, Audiline, who was expecting the Admiral-General’s first grandchild at any moment.

  Svarteper’s town residence was a part of the Castle of Fire and Ice, and Tordenskjold had an apartment set aside especially for him when business required his uninterrupted presence.

  Other barons and counts came and went as they pleased, though this day it seemed that most of the Nordorn nobility had chosen to attend. Several had joined the crowd to watch the ships make the turn into the fjord. Mikkel recognized Count Baldrian of Westerblad and, a little to his surprise, Mjødulf of Mithlond and his wife, the Countess Ekla. Mjødulf almost never came in to Cyornasberg except on important occasions.

  Father leaned on a staff carved with dragons and other fierce creatures, and Mother stood close beside him. Beatha, who had served as nursemaid to Hegrin, then Bjaudin, and so on through the rest of the royal children, hovered in the background. Though the need for a nursemaid had passed, Beatha stayed on. Transparently, she hoped for Bjaudin or Elin to marry and start producing babies for her to care for. In the meantime, she ministered to Father and Mother when they would allow it.

  Mikkel’s conscience bit him a little; he had just been attempting to read about the wounds his parents had suffered. Their Maimed Majesties, they were called now. Both wore gloves to hide their withered right hands. In addition, Father had suffered a weakened right arm as well as permanent injury to his left knee. It must be painful today for, handsome though his staff was, he disliked using it and did so only at need. Mother also bore the marks of that encounter with the Ice Dragon. Her left hand, where she had gripped the blade of a sword that had been forged from the scales of the Ice Dragon’s mate, was badly scarred. Both were old beyond their years, their faces lined with wrinkles. Once Father’s hair had been like Elin’s, honey gold. Now it was almost pure white. Mother’s hair also had lightened from its silver-gilt color until the gilt had melted into silver alone. Looking at the two of them, Mikkel wondered where his bright red hair and ice-blue eyes had come from.

  “Greetings, Mother. Greetings, Father,” Mikkel said, with a bow.

  “And to you, dear son, greetings,” his father replied.

  “Did you come to watch the ships come in, or are you merely playing truant from your lessons?” Mother asked.

  “Not playing truant!” Mikkel protested. No need to tell either of them that Bjaudin and Elin were fighting again. “You know I’ve always loved to watch ships, and, even better, to go on board one!”

  “Well, then,” Father said. “This is a brave sight. Find a good place from which to watch.”

  Arngrim of Rimfaxe, one of the barons, beckoned to Mikkel and he moved over to stand by him. He liked Arngrim, who bred excellent horses at his holding in Rimfaxe. He did not expect to see Gangerolf of Guttorm, who had a well-earned reputation for tardiness, and so was not disappointed.

  Three ships had already cleared the headland. One he recognized immediately as Spume Maiden, as it was a frequent visitor to Cyornas Fjord. The second could be none other than Earl Royance’s yacht, Silver Burhawk, with its rakish lines and boldly flying banner. The third was just cobby old single-masted GorGull, wallowing along, bobbing in the other ships’ wakes, her stern wagging and threatening to throw anybody off the aftercastle.

  The fourth ship had to be the newest addition to the Nordorn navy, saved for last to impress the crowd.

  “Can you see the banner on that fourth ship?” Arngrim asked, smiling.

  “Not yet, sir.”

  “You will in a minute, and there’s a rumor that it’s going to be a nice surprise to more than one. That’s the new Nordorn ship, Ice Princess, and your uncle of New Vold, Rohan, is at the helm. He wouldn’t entrust her to anyone but himself. Further, I have had word that he is bringing Obern—he’s taking his turn captaining Spume Maiden—and young Tjórvi with him. Look to the banner, Prince Mikkel. There’s a very special person on the Ice Princess.”

  At that moment, the ship cleared the headland to a gasp of admiration from the waiting crowd. Her design was radically new, crafted along marvelously clean lines. Like Spume Maiden she boasted three masts, with sails square-rigged on the foremast and mainmast and lateen-rigged on the stern, but Ice Princess was built without the overhanging forecastle that always made sailing to wind-ward almost impossible. With a fair wind at her back, she looked capable of outrunning anything that currently rode the waves. Timing her entrance into Cyornas Fjord to follow awkward old GorGull emphasized the improvement. Ice Princess sliced through the chop created by the other ships with scarcely a dip of her bow.

  The banner—Mithlond’s snow-fox on a de
ep blue ground—flying alongside Uncle Rohan’s blue-green with the device of a crashing wave, indicated the presence of one of Count Mjødulf’s relatives. It was a mystery Mikkel did not take time to explore. He was too joyful over Arngrim’s other news. Tjórvi was coming to Cyornasberg! Now there would be good times indeed! The royal lad closest to Mikkel in age and station was his cousin Yngvar, and he was a stick. You never could have much fun with Yngvar around. Or, even worse, Mårten of Mithlond, who was nine and thought himself very grown up, much to the annoyance of those who really were. He always wanted to shove in on games of King’s Soldiers—a very popular pastime for all castle residents—yet either could not or would not learn the rules.

  Count Tordenskjold of Grynet, Admiral-General of the NordornLand and Uncle Rohan’s friend and mentor, had been the one for whom Tjórvi had been named, but nobody called him by anything but his nickname. Mikkel and Tjórvi were almost the same age and furthermore, they shared the burden of being younger sons in families where the succession of rulership was already secure. Yngvar was as yet without a rival for his father’s rank and estates and furthermore, made no bones about it.

  Mikkel rubbed Talkin’s ears. “Do you hear that?” he said. “Tjórvi’s almost here! Good games of King’s Soldiers for a change! And we can go out hunting! You’ll like that.” Life in the Castle of Fire and Ice, so burdensome just a few moments ago, seemed sweet once more.

  “Think you’ve got the perfect excuse to get out of your lessons, do you?” said Granddam Zazar as she puffed her way onto the landing, followed by the unearthly little creature, Weyse, that went with her everywhere. For once Weyse was unaccompanied by Finola, the oldest female warkat in residence at the Castle of Fire and Ice.

  Talkin uttered a sound halfway between a chirp and a purr, and immediately trotted over to Weyse to begin a wrestling match. The two creatures grappled playfully, getting underfoot.

  “No, Granddam Zazar!” Mikkel exclaimed with as much innocence as he could muster. “One must show hospitality when visitors come, that’s all.”