Shadowkeep

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Your visitor was something more than just a passing storyteller,” Stelft reminded him.

  Praetor nodded. “I’ve made my decision. I believe in what he said. I respect your advice as always, Shone Stelft, but this time I have to hold to my own feelings. I wish we could go together, but it seems that’s not to be. So I must go alone.” That said, he turned and headed up the stairs.

  There wasn’t much to pack. Praetor was not an acquisitive person and over the years had accumulated little he called his own. So while there was little enough to pack, there was also little to leave behind.

  At least he would travel well armed, with weapons he had fashioned himself on the forges below. He owned a superbly made sword, a fine knife equally suited to skinning game as well as less domestic pursuits, and a shield of leather and metal. These he placed on his bed alongside his extra clothing and the small pile of savings he’d managed to gather.

  That was going to be a problem, he knew. Shadowkeep was too far to go on foot, and he didn’t have nearly enough money to pay for a decent mount. Nor did he think Shone Stelft would loan him the balance required for a good horse. Perhaps he could work out some kind of trade, if not in Sasubree then in some smaller town along the way.

  He was just folding the last of his clothes into the small backpack when a click sounded from the other side of his bedroom door. He approached it uneasily.

  “Master Stelft, is that you?” Perhaps the smith had slipped upstairs to wish him good luck, now that he’d had some time to sort out his own feelings. After all, they’d been together as master and apprentice for many years. It hardly seemed likely that the old hero would just let Praetor leave without so much as a word of encouragement.

  Stelft was in the hallway outside, all right, but not with the intention of offering encouragement. His purpose became clear enough when Praetor tried the door. It wouldn’t budge.

  “Master Stelft, this isn’t right.” Praetor pulled hard on the handle with both hands, but still the wood refused to move. “Shone Stelft, open this door! I’m a free man, of age, and I can go and come as I please.”

  “Now, Praetor.” Stelft’s tone was gentle. “I’m doing this for you. You’re a fine young man and you’ll make a skilled craftsman someday, better than I. You’ll be able to set up your own shop or share this one with me and you’ll never lack for work. You’ll make a fine living… if you keep your wits in your head and your blood in your veins.”

  “I don’t have any more time for horseshoes or birthday presents, Stelft. Shadowkeep waits for me!”

  “Death waits for you. We’ll talk again on this in the morning. Perhaps by then some of this fever will have left you and you’ll be able to think clearly again. Visiting wraiths seem farther away in the bright light of day.

  “You’re a smart young man. I know that. But you’re overcome right now with enthusiasm for something you don’t understand. I’d be remiss in my responsibilities if I let you go running madly off toward your death.”

  “Stelft, if someone doesn’t get into Shadowkeep and stop Dal’brad we’re all going to die. The Spinner’s words…”

  “Spare me another recitation,” Stelft told him dryly. “One of your biggest failings, Praetor, is that you see truth in everyone else’s words. You mistake sincerity for truth. They are not the same.

  “Now get yourself a good night’s sleep and we’ll talk again over breakfast.”

  Praetor could hear footsteps moving away, down the stairs. “Shone Stelft, you let me out of here! Open this door, dammit! Stelft!”

  He wrenched at the handle, pushed and shoved at the door, but the old wood refused to give, and Stelft had forged the door hinges himself. Gasping, Praetor finally abandoned his efforts.

  Since there seemed nothing else to do, he did as Stelft had suggested and reviewed the stranger’s visit and words in his mind. He went over them repeatedly, and each time he grew that much more determined to make his way to Shadowkeep. No smith was going to stop him, either.

  His room was a third-floor garret and it was a long way down to the street outside, but he didn’t hesitate. How could he balk at a two-story drop and hope to challenge the gates Of Shadowkeep? With sword and knife tied to his belt and his shield slung across his back, he climbed carefully hand-over-hand down the drainpipe which clung to the side of the building. It was a relief to stand finally on the paving stones below his window. There was no sign of alarm from inside the house. He’d made his escape silently.

  It was a warm night and there were many strollers out, but only the moon had witnessed his shaky descent from the third floor. He had surmounted his first obstacle on the road into Shadowkeep.

  Adjusting the straps of his pack, he stared a moment longer at the building where he had lived for so many years.

  Good-bye, Shone Stelft. You were a great hero once. I don’t begrudge you your quiet home life, but someone has to do this thing. It might as well be me as any other.

  He turned and walked briskly off into the night, toward the busy interior of Sasubree. Down Tarkone Street and then up Greenflight Lane, whistling to himself as he walked. There was something he had to do before he left Sasubree, something even more important than trying to find a horse.

  Redface Inn lay at the end of the lane. It was a large, prosperous establishment, one of the most popular in the city. Praetor had spent many a pleasant evening there dining and drinking with friends.

  A few faces glanced up as he entered and voices were raised in greeting. He waved casually to his friends, his eyes searching the many tables and booths. The inn was alive with movement and sound. He made his way to a back corner, where the largest wine kegs were stored, and waited there as the waitresses and waiters made their pickups. His interest was more than casual.

  The girl he sought was dark haired, not especially pretty but overflowing with a special kind of vivacity and love of life that permeated her whole being. It pleased visitors and customers but had thoroughly captured Praetor Fime.

  She saw him and glanced behind her, but the owner of the inn was nowhere in sight. Praetor gestured urgently, and after a whispered exchange with another server, she hurried over to him.

  “Praetor, it is you! I thought you couldn’t come again for two nights. And then I was supposed to meet you by the Upriver Bridge. Don’t you remember? We were going to take a dessert and drink and watch the stars together. We were…”

  He put a finger to her lips, quieting her. “There will be no star-watching two nights hence, my love. Something has happened. Something important.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’re not in trouble, Praetor?”

  “No,” he lied. “But I have to go away for a while. Just a little while.”

  She looked around but no one was watching them. “What do you mean, you have to go away?”

  “It’s for Shone Stelft,” he told her, and that wasn’t as big a lie as what he’d already told her. He was going for Stelft, and for everyone else as well.

  “For the smith?” She smiled then. “I know. You’re going to buy some raw plate for him. Or is it ingots this time? That’s what you’re doing. You’re going to buy metals from the dealers in Typur.”

  “No,” he told her softly, “I’m not going to Typur. Not this time. I have to go east, across the Barrens.”

  She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “No one crosses the Barrens except some crazy traders, and you’re neither crazy nor a trader. What’s going on, Praetor?” For the first time she noticed the pack and shield he’d set down in the corner. “What’s happening?”

  “It’s kind of hard to explain. We had a visitor, at the shop. A most mysterious and wonderful visitor. He told me of a great danger that threatens us all. Someone has to do something to stop it and I—” he shrugged, “I sort of nominated myself.”

  “I knew you were in trouble.”

  He smiled fondly down at her. “It’s not what you think.” Actually, it was much worse than what she thought, but he saw no point i
n making her worry even more. “I’m just going to deliver a message to someone, that’s all.”

  “What kind of message do you deliver with a sword and shield?”

  “That’s to protect me along the way,” he lied. “Hopefully I won’t have to use them. You know me, Rysancy. I’ve always managed to stay clear of fights by using my wits.”

  She eyed him uncertainly. “Where do you have to go to deliver this message?”

  He couldn’t tell her he was going to Shadowkeep, much less what he had to do once he got there. She’d get hysterical right there in the middle of the inn, and that wouldn’t do either of them any good.

  “It’s not important. The important thing is that I’m going to be paid a great deal for this. Enough to set me up in my own business when I get back. Enough so that we can travel and see the world, just like you’ve always wanted to. Enough,” he whispered lovingly, “so that we can finally get married. You’re going to have a fine home, and servants; everything you’ve ever wanted. I’m doing this for more than just myself, Rysancy.”

  He didn’t add that he was doing it for everyone. No harm in letting her think he was doing it for them alone. And as in everything he did, she would be his greatest source of inspiration.

  She still seemed uneasy. “Well—if you’re sure it isn’t really dangerous.”

  “Not at all,” he assured her. What could be dangerous, he asked himself silently? All he had to do was penetrate the secrets of the least-visited castle in the world, defeat all its safeguards, free a trapped wizard, and avoid the hand of the king of demons. No danger at all.

  “You’ll see. I’ll be back in a few fortnights and we’ll . have plenty of time for stargazing.” She still looked reluctant, so he took her hands in his and smiled as confidently as he could manage. “You have to believe what I’m telling you, Rysancy. This is more important to me than I can say. I want to go with your blessing, and I don’t want you worrying about me while I’m gone.”

  “What did Master Stelft think of this?”

  “He didn’t approve,” Praetor told her honestly. “He advised me not to go. Rather strongly, in fact.”

  She grinned back at him. “Then you definitely should go.”

  “Rysancy! I thought you respected Shone Stelft’s advice.”

  “I do—in everything except where you’re concerned, Praetor. He knows how good you are at what you do. You’re valuable to him. It’s only natural for him to want to keep you around, where he can keep an eye on you. I’ve been telling you for a long time that you’ll never be able to do anything until you get out from under his wing.”

  “It’s not like that at all, Rysancy.”

  “Isn’t it? No matter. The important thing is that you’re doing this thing on your own, for yourself and not for him.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him long and hard.

  He would have been content to stand thus for an hour or two, but she saw something out of the corner of an eye and pulled away from him suddenly. “There’s old Strurier.” She nodded toward a beefy, bewhiskered individual making his way toward them like a ship breasting a sea full of icebergs. “If he catches me back here with you it’ll mean my job, and you haven’t been paid for delivering your message yet.” She turned her face back up to his. “Good fortune go with you, my love. Come back to me with riches or without, but be sure to come back. That’s more important to me than silks and servants.”

  A last, lingering embrace. Then Rysancy picked up her tray and vanished back into the smoke and noise and movement of the inn before her employer could find her.

  Praetor watched until he could see her no longer. Then he hefted his pack and shield, slung them carefully across his back once more, and made his way out of the inn. It would have been good to stay and share food and drink with friends, but he didn’t think he could stand to see Rysancy again. If he did, he might lose his resolve and never leave Sasubree.

  Then too, if Master Stelft thought to check on his ward and found him gone, he was likely to come looking for him. Praetor was ready to fight if necessary, but he hoped he wouldn’t have to until he was far away from his own home.

  Giving the smithy a wide berth, he strode down several side streets as he headed for the outskirts of the city. On its fringes he would find the stables which catered to the needs of the innumerable merchants and travelers who passed through Sasubree. Somehow he had to find himself a good horse.

  He wasn’t worried about food or lodging. He could live off the land, or work for his keep. The skills of an accomplished smith were always in demand. The one thing he couldn’t do was walk to Shadowkeep. The Spinner’s voice had been taut with urgency, and there was no telling how little time remained to the world before Dal’brad felt strong enough to try and extend his sway over the peaceful lands beyond the Keep itself.

  Also, the rainy season would soon be upon them. That would not only make travel through the Barrens uncomfortable, it could render it impossible.

  He found the stable he was searching for. It was owned by a crafty old codger named Minza. Praetor had done plenty of farrying for the old man, both under Stelft’s supervision and on his own. Minza was no less avaricious than his fellow stablemasters, but it always seemed to Praetor that he’d looked on him with a kindly eye. How kindly he was about to find out. In any case, Minza was his best chance.

  The stable was extensive, a testament to Minza’s shrewd business sense and dedication to his work. Despite the lateness of the hour, he found the old man near the far end of the stable, brushing down a fine stallion.

  It was an unusual hour for customers, however, and the old man drew back uncertainly at the sound of approaching footsteps. One hand reached for the sharp pitchfork he always kept at hand. He leaned forward and squinted into the dim light, his eyes darting from aisle to shadow like those of a mouse.

  “Who is it, and what do you want at this time of night?”

  “Take it easy, Minza. It’s only me, Praetor Fime.”

  The oldster relaxed, set his tri-pronged weapon aside. “Praetor? What are you doing here at this hour? I don’t recall sending to your master for any work.”

  “Shone Stelft is my master no longer,” Praetor told him as he stepped out into the light of Minza’s lantern.

  “Oh ho! You don’t say, you don’t say. Does this mean that you’ll be setting up your own shop? Perhaps one that will charge more reasonable rates? If so, I think you and I can do a lot of business, Praetor. You know that I’ve always respected your work.”

  “Not for a while, I’m afraid. Actually, I’ve come to see you about something else entirely.” He leaned against one of the posts that supported the stable roof. Most of the stalls on both sides of the central aisle were occupied. Minza’s long hours and careful attention to the health of his boarders had earned him a high reputation among local citizens and visitors alike. No animal at this stable ever lacked for food or fresh water.

  Minza was scratching the bald spot atop his head. “Well, my young friend, if this isn’t a business call, then what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “It is a business call, but this time I’m not here to sell you something. I’m here to buy.”

  “Oh so, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” The old man eyed him shrewdly. “What have you in mind? How about a nice young gigantha? If that’s too slow for you, I have a toreledon stabled in the back that I repossessed in payment of a bad debt. He is not too old, and sturdy.”

  “I need something faster still, Minza.”

  Minza switched from scratching his pate to rubbing his chin. “You aren’t in trouble with the authorities or anything like that, are you, Praetor?”

  Praetor rolled his eyes. “Why is it the first time I decide to take a little trip on my own, everyone thinks I’m in trouble with the law?”

  “No offense, youngster.”

  “I’m not in trouble. Actually, I’m running to it, I can’t wait to find it, and I’m in a hurry to g
et there. So I need a horse. A good one, not some old dray animal.” In spite of himself, he kept staring at the proud stallion the old man had been currying.

  Minza didn’t miss much, and he didn’t miss the hunger in his visitor’s gaze. “His name’s Kaltar. As fine a three-year-old as I’ve ever seen.”

  “He’s magnificent.” Praetor moved forward to pat the horse on the nose. “Who owns him?”

  “The Riverlord Arnotem. He and his family are away in the south until Springtide. He trusts his horses to my care sooner than to his own grooms. I’m boarding several of them here, but this one’s the pride of his breeding farm.”

  “Beautiful,” Praetor agreed, stroking the soft muzzle. The stallion nuzzled his hand.

  “He likes you, too, it seems,” Minza observed. “You have a gentle touch, youngster. He’s not for rent, needless to say.”

  “Needless to say.” Praetor sighed and turned back to the stablemaster.

  “Now then,” Minza asked him, “how long would you need this mount for? I’m assuming you don’t have money to buy one.”

  “You assume right. I don’t know. Not too many months, I hope. Certainly I’d like to have both my mount and myself home before the worst of winter sets in.” He frowned. “Are you saying you’d be willing to rent me a good horse?”

  “I might.” He walked over to Kaltar, patted the stallion on its neck. “Now, anything I rent to you I would have to have back before winter Second Month, undamaged and in good condition.”

  “Of course.”

  “Yes, Second Month should be sufficient. It’s just before spring breaks, you know. I’m always busy in the spring. Winter travelers returning from the south and all that.”

  Praetor discovered that his heart was pounding fit to burst through his shirt. Or was he completely misinterpreting what the old man was saying?