Shadowkeep

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Now, look,” said Stelft, “if you do come from another dimension or world, and I don’t for a moment countenance that, then why don’t you take your otherworldly powers off to Shadowkeep and take care of this looming evil or whatever it is by your solemn lonesome?”

  “Would that I could be of direct assistance, but I cannot interfere. My powers in your world are circumscribed by laws you cannot comprehend. I am unable to interact directly. Someone of this world must do what I cannot.”

  “What happened to this great and wise Gorwyther? Evidently he wasn’t all that great and wise or he wouldn’t be in the mess you say he’s in.”

  “His intense curiosity about the nature of space-time caused him to ignore what was taking place immediately around him. As I said, there are other dimensions. Some are inhabited by people much like yourself, but others serve as home to those who prefer the Dark. In his work Gorwyther often opened gates between the dimensions. This was not damaging… except once. He let through one named Dal’brad.”

  “Hey, I’ve heard that name before,” commented the apprentice from his corner.

  “Be silent, Fime,” Stelft ordered the younger man. The apprentice looked hurt, but subsided. The smith turned back to his visitor. “It’s not an uncommon name. He has something to do with the demonic forces, doesn’t he?”

  “Something, yes. Dal’brad is first prince and then king of all the demons of the demonic dimensions, not only those that haunt this world but the ones who trouble my own, and many others as well. Demons can pass freely between many realms, but usually not directly into such as mine or yours. It was an experiment of Gorwyther’s, improperly monitored, that permitted Dal’brad entrance into Shadowkeep without the wizard’s knowledge.

  “The demon king is clever. One does not become king of anything by acting the fool. So he hid within the bowels of Shadowkeep, planning and biding his time, until he was able to catch Gorwyther off guard. He imprisoned the wizard in a crystal stasis, then took over the castle.

  “It is his sanctuary in this world. Safely within he can plot and plan. He cannot be reached, cannot be touched… except by one of unsurpassing bravery and skill. Gorwyther’s treasures he leaves untouched, and lets word of their availability seep to the world outside. This suits his purposes well, for it so tempts those who might threaten him that they come running to Shadowkeep in search of instant wealth and power. Once they are within, they fall prey to the numerous traps the demon king has set or to the safeguards that Gorwyther constructed. When all have been destroyed, only then will the demon king call forth his legions to ravish the land. Demons are cautious by nature, and Dal’brad is the most cautious of all. Even now he keeps to himself deep within the castle and makes his plans while studying Gorwyther’s writings. It is those which must be denied to him, and quickly. The wizard’s knowledge combined with his own could eventually render him invulnerable.

  “This then is what must be done: someone must go to Shadowkeep, seek out and free Gorwyther. Only with the wizard’s assistance can Dal’brad be defeated.”

  “You make it sound so inviting,” Stelft murmured. “A simple excursion.”

  “Nothing in this world or any other is guaranteed,” the Spinner told him, almost apologetically. “There are risks inherent in any difficult undertaking, be it slaying evil or fashioning a fine piece of jewelry. In this the risks are greater than most, but so are the potential rewards.

  “I will not try to minimize the danger you would be facing any more than I will the accomplishment. Think of the glory of saving a whole world, not to mention the treasures Gorwyther accumulated which Dal’brad now hoards for himself. All that can be yours if you agree to undertake this quest.” The Spinner paused briefly before adding, “I was told that you were a great hero.”

  Stelft did not reply for a long moment. Then he slapped a big hand down hard on the table, making the flagon bounce, and stood to face his visitor.

  “‘Was’ is right.” He pushed back his chair. “Sorry, not interested. I’ve plenty to occupy my time right here.”

  The Spinner sounded surprised. “But I was told…”

  “I don’t know what you were told elsewhere, but listen well to what I tell you here and now. I’ve a family to look after and a business to pursue. I’m finished with the hero business. I pushed my luck and got away with much and I’ve no desire to tempt fate yet another time. Most of my friends who soldiered alongside me are well remembered for what they did, but they’re remembered in song, not in person, and with flowers set on their graves. Those whose bodies were intact enough for burial, anyways.”

  “Someone must do what must be done,” the Spinner told him, “or all peoples will suffer.”

  “That’s all peoples problem, not mine,” Stelft snapped. “Now if you don’t mind, friend, I’ve had a long hard day at the forge and I’m very tired. I’ve heard you out politely, and you’ve no more call on my time.

  “As for your tale, I venture that it might be true. If so, well, I could do with a spot of treasure. What man couldn’t, or woman either? But as far as I’m concerned, the risks of trying to penetrate the depths of Shadowkeep far outweigh any possible rewards. Now, perhaps if you could provide a little of this vast wealth up front…?”

  The Spinner spread gray-clad arms. “Alas, I can offer you only promises.”

  “Poor collateral on which to borrow a man’s life. No thanks, I’m afraid I can’t help you, stranger.” Turning, he strode purposefully across the floor toward the back door, stepped through, and closed it firmly behind him. The visit was over.

  The Spinner slumped. That was an end to it, then. Shone Stelft had been his great hope. His journey had taken him through many towns. He had spoken to many soldiers-of-fortune and daring adventurers. As each had turned him down they’d said that the man he really needed to engage was the legendary Shone Stelft of Sasubree.

  Now he, too, had refused to undertake the task that must be undertaken. There seemed nothing more to be done. He would have to return to his own world and admit defeat, leaving these people to the fate that…

  A hand tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me.” The voice was hesitant, deferential.

  Turning, the Spinner found himself looking into the hopeful face of Shone Stelft’s young apprentice. The apprentice was no less surprised, for in turning the Spinner had allowed the youth an unobstructed view of what lay beneath the gray cowl. Fime took a couple of startled steps backward. He thought he’d prepared himself for sight of anything: grotesque ugliness, facial distortion, blindness… but nothing could have prepared him for the sight of nothing. All that lay beneath the visitor’s hood was a kind of smoky haziness.

  “Do not trifle with me.” The Spinner was upset at the harshness in his own voice, worked to modify it. “I have had a difficult day, and a disappointing one. I have no time for casual conversation.”

  Fime gathered his courage. “I’m not trying to waste your time, sir. My name is Praetor Fime, and I’ll go.”

  The Spinner paused uncertainly. “What is this you say?”

  “I’ll go.” Fime smiled at him. It was a thoroughly ingratiating smile. “To Shadowkeep.”

  “Don’t be a fool, young man. Your master was correct in much Of what he said. Death waits for any who try to penetrate the mysteries of Shadowkeep.”

  “Then it’ll have a long wait, because I’ve no intention of dying there. Don’t condemn me without giving me a chance, sir. I don’t care where you come from, that’s not fair. At least I’m willing to try.” He nodded toward the doorway leading into the house. “That’s more than that old fraud offered to do. He’s too attached to his life here. Now, me, I’ve nothing to hold me to Sasubree, and I’m not afraid of Shadowkeep.”

  The Spinner spoke softly. “You should be.”

  Fime slumped slightly. “Well, maybe I am, a little. You’ll find me neither overcautious nor reckless, sir. Let me go for you. I’m tired of being an apprentice and I don’t think metalworking’s
the career for me. I’d much rather have a stab at heroing.”

  “It takes more than good intentions and willingness to endure to make a hero,” the Spinner told him, but less brusquely now. Even as he spoke, he was studying the young man standing before him. Fime was taller than Stelft, though not as broadly built. Muscular and in good condition, though. As for the condition of his mind, that lay beyond the Spinner’s ability to evaluate. His desire could not be denied, however. It was plain as his face. Might it not be better to employ an enthusiastic if untried hero rather than an experienced but reluctant one?

  Did he have any choice?

  “I cannot prevent you from going to Shadowkeep. I can only warn you of the danger that lies within.”

  “Fine. You’ve already done that. I overheard everything you told Master Stelft.”

  “What of your own family?”

  “I’m long since of age. I make my own decisions and go my own way now.” He indicated the smithy, with its still-smoking forges and neat racks of tools. “I chose to be apprenticed to Master Stelft because there was nothing more interesting to do in Sasubree. If I choose to leave, I will do so when I please.”

  “You lack experience. You’ve had no training to prepare you for what you talk of accomplishing.”

  “Could any training prepare someone to enter Shadow-keep?” When the Spinner did not reply, Fime continued, emboldened. “As for experience, I know how to handle myself. See these arms mounted on the walls around us? I’ve helped to make most of them, and Master Stelft has shown me how each is used.

  “Besides, it sounds to me like it’s going to take more wits than brawn to defeat this Dal’brad. In that”—he lowered his voice—“I’m at least as well equipped as Master Stelft.”

  “It may be that you are, it may be that you are,” the Spinner admitted. “Very well, then. As you are determined, go then to Shadowkeep. Seek out the imprisoned Gorwyther. Free him and learn how you may restrain or destroy Dal’brad.

  “As for myself, I shall continue my search. It may be that I will be able to send help after you, though I have not been very fortunate thus far. I wish you all good luck and success in this venture which you have taken upon yourself, though I cannot keep from feeling that I am sending you to your doom.”

  “If what you said earlier about the plans of this demon king are true, then death will be coming for all of us soon enough. So I don’t see that I’m any worse off for searching it out now.”

  The Spinner was feeling a little better about his trip to Sasubree. “There is no denying that you have courage as well as strength and intelligence. All you lack is experience.”

  “One gets experience by experiencing, isn’t that the way the world works?”

  “Truly. Good fortune to you, Praetor Fime. I hope we may meet again someday, if not in this world than in another.” The hood turned to stare toward the distant doorway. “I hope Shone Stelft will not object to your leaving.”

  Praetor managed to swagger while standing still. “He has no choice in the matter. I come and go as I please.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “There’s nothing Shone can do to….”

  He stopped in mid-assertion. The Spinner had vanished. There’d been no noise of running feet, no final farewell, and it was a fair distance to the street. Frowning, Praetor inspected the place where the visitor had been standing only seconds earlier. There was no lingering smell, no footprint in the dirt floor; nothing to show that the stranger had ever been. A most unusual personage.

  Unusual, and desperate. He must have been desperate to accede to Praetor’s request. Not, as he admitted, that he could prevent Praetor’s traveling to Shadowkeep. No one could.

  He looked toward the house. All that remained was for him to pack his few belongings and some provisions and be on his way.

  To Shadowkeep. Fabled Shadowkeep, lair of demons and storehouse of unimaginable treasure.

  And to think all he’d had to look forward to this day was a visit to the local inn.

  Chapter II

  “What! Have you gone mad?” Shone Stelft rose from behind the kitchen table and glared at his apprentice in disbelief. Praetor held his ground against his employer’s fury while the smith’s wife busied herself with kettles and pots and the roaring wood cookstove. Two small children clung to her skirt and stared in wide-eyed fascination at their raging father.

  “Go on,” Stelft urged the younger man, “explain yourself.”

  “I am quite sane, Master Stelft. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

  “Is that a fact? Let me tell you something, Praetor. You don’t have the damnedest idea what you’re about. You heard what that wraith said. Not only is this Shadowkeep secured by every insidious sorcerous device this Gorwyther could devise, it is now home to Dal’brad himself. The prince of demons, or king of demons, or both. Shadowkeep is not a castle: it’s the world’s largest mausoleum. You go there and inside half a day you’ll find a nice cold niche prepared especially for you. Demons like to bury people, and they’re not very particular about whether or not you’re dead first, either.”

  “I’m not afraid of traps or demons,” Praetor told him firmly. “Brains and stealth can carry a careful man past any obstacle.”

  “Can they now?” Stelft was dangerously quiet. “And just what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Praetor tried to look relaxed and self-assured, but he was trembling ever so slightly inside. “Just what it says.”

  “I see. You do realize, though, that there are occasions when a little muscle and some small skill at combat is necessary for survival?”

  “Certainly, but I’m no novice with weapons. I have your instruction to thank for that.” That seemed to mollify Stelft. “I’ll manage. I’ll have to manage. Not only for my own sake but for everyone’s. A lot of people are going to be depending on me to succeed, even if they don’t know what’s at stake.”

  Stelft calmed himself, regarded his apprentice evenly. “All right. I’m not going to talk to you as master to apprentice now. I’m going to talk to you as an equal, since that’s what you’re striving to be.”

  “That’s very decent of you, sir.”

  “Praetor, why do you think I turned down that stranger’s request?”

  The younger man hesitated. “You gave him a number of reasons, sir. They sounded like good reasons to me.”

  Stelft was nodding. “They were that, but there is another. I know Shadowkeep’s reputation. I don’t mean the casual horror stories voluble travelers tell to entertain at the drop of a coin, I mean its real reputation.

  “When I was your age, I dared many dangers, some of them rash, all of them fraught with peril. That I managed to survive was due as much to luck as to skill and ability. Better fighters than I perished because they weren’t lucky. Luck is something you can’t pack in your backpack to take with you on an expedition. My point is that you’d need all the luck in the world to succeed in this, and I don’t think you have it. I don’t think anyone does.

  “It’s not just you, Praetor. I don’t think this thing can be done. I don’t think anyone can get into Shadowkeep and out again alive, except perhaps another wizard. And you’re no wizard. You’re just a man.”

  “You have no proof it can’t be done,” Praetor argued.

  “Only this: no one has ever come out of Shadowkeep once they’ve entered. It’s easy to get in, not so to come out with a whole skin. I know my limitations. Always did. Another reason why I’m alive when others are dead. We all have to realize our limitations, Praetor.”

  “The best way to do that is to test them.”

  “You have some skill, but not the combination necessary.”

  “Then I’ll find help along the way.”

  Stelft was shaking his head. “What kind of help? Others like yourself? You’re a good man, Praetor, a fine worker and a decent soul, but you’re still a bit headstrong. You’re not thinking this through.”

  “Just because you’re too old…”

 
Shone Stelft looked pained. “Common sense is not a province of the old, Praetor. Though listening to you, I wonder.” He’d chosen to ignore the insult, which was a good thing for Praetor. Besides, his wife brooked no fighting in her kitchen. “Listen to me. All you will find in Shadowkeep is an unknown death. You will not emerge covered with treasure and glory. If you enter, you will not emerge at all.”

  “I thank you for your concerned advice, Master Stelft, but I’m bound and determined to do this thing. To try, anyway.”

  Stelft let out a tired sigh. “You haven’t been listening to me. You haven’t comprehended a thing I’ve said, have you?”

  “On the contrary, Mas—Shone… I’ve heard everything you’ve said, but someone still has to get into Shadowkeep to free the wizard so that the world may be spared Dal’brad’s intentions.”

  “So the stranger said. You’re a fine one, Praetor, for trusting your life to the word of a stranger. There may be nothing to them. The world is infested with troublemakers.”

  “There may have been nothing to the stranger,” Praetor replied, remembering his glimpse of that vacant hood, “but there was plenty to his words.”

  Stelft’s wife spoke for the first time. “I know what your problem is, Praetor. You’ve been inhaling too much of the smoke from the forges again. You need a rest.” She glanced at her husband. “Don’t you agree, Shone? You’ve been working him too hard.”

  Praetor walked over to the stove. “I am quite clearheaded, Mistress Stelft, and my health’s never been better. Nor am I tired. I am well, and confident of my course.” He started for the stairway. “Now if you will excuse me, I must pack a few things to take on my journey.” He hesitated at the base of the stairs, turned back to them.

  “You’ve both been good to me. I’ve enjoyed living here and learning the art of the forge. It’s been interesting, enlightening… and safe. But I always felt the time would come when I’d have to challenge that safety. All my life I’ve been waiting for one big chance, one special opportunity to prove myself. Now that it’s come, no matter how difficult or dangerous, I just can’t run away from it. I can’t. And there are others whose lives will be affected by whether or not I succeed. Yours too.”