Shadowkeep

by Alan Dean Foster - (ebook by Undead)

  Praetor had to shout to make himself heard above the noise. “If that’s some kind of alarm we’re going to have visitors soon!”

  “It may not be,” Maryld yelled back at him. “Be on guard but don’t panic.”

  As they stared, the light gradually began to fade from the crystal. It retreated back into the substance of the sphere, leaving ghost-spots dancing before their eyes.

  There was a sharp crash. Praetor and the others instinctively jerked back behind the protection of the corridor wall as the sphere shattered, sending crystal shards flying in all directions. Then there was silence.

  Praetor peeked around the bend, frowned. He started back toward the platform, accompanied by his equally speechless companions.

  Standing and swaying slightly in the middle of the stone stage was a little old man, stooped forward at the shoulders. A few days’ growth of beard formed a dirty stubble on his chin and cheeks. His white hair was cut short, in a manner new to Praetor. His clothing consisted of long brown pants and a green shirt beneath a leather vest, and simple leather sandals. He was rubbing circulation back into his upper arms as he watched them approach. He was considerably heavier but no taller than Maryld.

  “Free,” he muttered, “free at last. And it’s about time, too.” He eyed each of them in turn. “What kept you?”

  Praetor found himself apologizing without knowing why. “For one thing, we didn’t know we were coming.”

  The little man leaned forward and squinted at them. “Say, you’re not the Knights of the Legion of the Sacramental League, are you?”

  “Uh, no,” Praetor admitted readily.

  “Hmph. Have to have a word with that bunch. Well, free is free, I suppose.”

  “Are you…?” Sranul started to ask. The man cut him off curtly.

  “Yeah, I’m Gorwyther.” He stepped down off the platform, demonstrating a spryness that belied his age. “Frozen in crystal, hah?” He was nodding to himself. “I’ll give this much to old Dal’brad—he don’t take no chances.” Ignoring his openmouthed rescuers, he dropped to all fours and began scrabbling among the crystal fragments that littered the floor.

  Several minutes passed. Praetor exchanged a glance with Maryld, then moved forward. “You are Gorwyther, the great wizard? The one who raised up Shadowkeep?”

  “Yes, yes. Please don’t bother me, young man.” He continued pawing through the rubble like a dog searching for a favorite bone.

  “Well, you don’t look much like a wizard to me,” Sranul snorted. “I said it when you were stuck inside the crystal and I say it now that you’re out.”

  The little old man perked up at that, stared straight at the roo. “Oh, I don’t, eh? And how do you expect a wizard to look, long-ears?”

  Sranul was momentarily taken aback but recovered quickly. “Well, you ought to be wearing a hat. Yes, a tall hat inscribed with mystic symbols. And you should be, uh, taller, and, uh, more impressive-looking.”

  “‘Uh,’ you don’t say. Typical rooish observations. As if height had anything to do with power or size anything to do with achievement. As for my attire, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to change into something more impressive before I was imprisoned, but I just hadn’t planned on being locked in crystal for a few hundred years. If I’d known, I would’ve dressed for the occasion. Of course, my sarcasm is wasted here. Unless I guess wrong and your brains are as big as your feet.”

  “Now, hold on a minute.” Sranul took a single belligerent hop forward.

  The man ignored him. He was crawling around the base of the stone pedestal now. “Hold on a minute? Hold on a minute? My long-tailed friend, I’ve been holding on for a damn sight longer than that, and I can’t be bothered with silliness now.” He glanced up at the roo, then over at Praetor, Hargrod, and Maryld. Bushy white eyebrows drew together and he seemed to see them for the first time.

  “Say, you are a funny-looking collection, aren’t you?”

  Sranul muttered under his breath. “He thinks we’re funny-looking.”

  “A human, a thaladar, a roo, and a Zhis’ta. What brought the four of you together?”

  “Circumstance and necessity,” Praetor told him.

  Hargrod put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “It wass thiss man who did it, wizard. It wass he who insstigated thiss journey and motivated uss and hass kept uss together desspite dissagreement and argument.”

  “You don’t say? Well, well, the world is ever full of surprises.” With that, he turned away from them again and resumed his search as though he’d never spoken to them.

  Praetor let more minutes pass before finally moving close. “What are you looking for, sir? If you could give us a moment of your time, we were kind of hoping you might tell us how to defeat the demon king. Then maybe we could help you look for whatever it is that you’re looking for.”

  “Ah, Dal’brad.” Gorwyther sat back on his haunches. “That lying, deceiving, meretricious, smelly imp! Tricked me, he did, or I wouldn’t have been stuck fuming to myself in that blasted sphere for the last couple of hundred years. Well, it was my own fault.” He looked up at Praetor. “Take some advice, young man. Never turn your back on a smiling demon.”

  “You’re free now,” Praetor reminded him. “Why not help us and take your revenge on Dal’brad at the same time?”

  “Yes, and then we can be on our way,” Sranul added. The memory of the overflowing vault they had left behind was still strong in the roo’s mind.

  “Oh, I couldn’t do that.” The wizard returned to his search. “I can’t do anything to Dal’brad now. See, I’m dead.”

  Praetor blinked. “Dead? Pardon me, sir, but you look very much alive.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving. Oh, it’s not a bad echo, I suppose. I’m only alive on another plane of existence.” The “echo” picked up another piece of broken crystal, studied it a moment before tossing it disgustedly over a shoulder. “Very much alive there. How else do you think I’ve managed to retain consciousness these past years, trapped in that crystal with nothing to eat or drink, much less anything to breathe? I am ‘here’, yes, but only for a little while. I’m retaining myself on this plane by sheer force of will, you know. Really be much easier on me when I let go. Better to be alive on another plane than dead on this one.”

  “But what about the demon king? Something’s got to be done about him before he can break out of Shadowkeep and wreak havoc on the rest of the world.”

  Gorwyther sat back and sighed. “Yes, I suppose so. Shouldn’t have demon kings running amuck, destroying worlds at their whim and all that, should we? People would begin to talk. But I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it now. I’m dead, remember? No, you’ll have to handle that yourselves, my friends.”

  Praetor swallowed. “That’s what we came here to do, but we were hoping you might be able to help us. We did free you, you know.”

  “Yes, and I am trying to find something that will aid you. I just can’t assist you in person, is all. What do you think I’m doing down here on my hands and knees, anyway?”

  “I already asked you that, sir.”

  “Hmph. So you did. I’m looking for a special piece of crystal. It’s the key to reconstituting a certain gem. A special gem. I thought I had the piece with me, but I seem to have lost it.”

  Maryld sounded suddenly interested. “Had it with you? What does it look like?”

  “Like a piece of crystal, young thaladar. Why do you think I’m having so much difficulty finding it?” He gestured at the floor, which was coated with crystalline fragments. “It could take weeks to find it, and I don’t have weeks.”

  From his pocket Praetor pulled the small shard that had fallen from the little book. “Could this be it, sir?”

  Gorwyther stood and took it, turned it over in his fingers. His hands did not shake as he examined it closely. For the first time he broke out in a wide grin.

  “You are very observant, young man. How much training have you had in matters arcane?”

>   “None, sir. It fell out of a book in your library.”

  “Ah. So you were just lucky, then. A fortunate fool.”

  “Fortunate he is, but he’s no fool,” snapped Maryld, moving close. “He has an instinctive feel for what is right. He knows just when to proceed cautiously and when to plunge boldly on ahead.”

  “And when to pick up and open the right book, eh?” Gorwyther chuckled, leered at Maryld. “A fine compliment from one so pretty.” He glanced up at the silent Praetor. “All right then, perhaps not a fool, but not a scholar either. Something in between. Yes, that is best. A fool would end up as amusement for Dal’brad, whereas a scholar would not know when to commit himself. Maybe you do possess the right combination of ingredients to get you and your friends out of Shadowkeep alive. Now be kind enough to give me some room. New magic can sometimes burn the unwary.”

  Praetor and his friends stepped out of the way. Gorwyther held up the fragment of crystal and fluttered the fingers of his right hand above it, all the while muttering to himself. As the incantation speeded up, a faint, eerie red light appeared. It emanated not from the piece of crystal but from the wizard’s eyes, and suddenly even Sranul had to admit that the old man now looked very much more like the great wizard of legend.

  The room began to tremble, the floor to shake ever so slightly underfoot. Now the transparent shard Gorwyther clutched between thumb and forefinger also began to glow. Praetor found he had to look away from that pulsing radiance. It didn’t seem to affect the wizard. He concluded his incantation on a rising note, waved his hand three times over the crystal. The light went away.

  “You can look now.”

  They rejoined him, admired the extraordinarily transparent jewel that rested on his palm. Only the facets indicated there was anything in his hand at all. It was round and big as a plum, with the most peculiar compensating internal index of refraction, for no matter at what angle you looked through it, there was no distortion of whatever lay beyond.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it,” Praetor said reverently. “It’s beautiful. What do you call it?”

  “The key to Dal’brad’s destruction—in the hands of one who will use it effectively.” He extended his arm. “Take it, young man.”

  Gingerly, Praetor took the gemstone. It twitched once in his hand and he almost dropped it. There was an aliveness to it, a suggestion that something besides mere mineral rested in his palm. He was sure he could feel it moving, a tight little bundle of crystalline agitation waiting for something to happen. The stone was anxious, expectant. It was ready for him to do something with it. But what?

  “I can’t help you anymore,” Gorwyther declared. “You must find the demon king. Find him and destroy him. The evil that inhabits these halls can be annihilated with one decisive blow. You have the means to strike that blow. You must cleanse Shadowkeep. Cleanse it of the disease that stains it and threatens to spread to the world beyond these walls. I know you are capable of doing this. In any case, you have come too far to turn back.”

  “We’ve no intention of turning back,” Praetor told him quietly.

  “Spoken like a true hero.” Gorwyther clapped him affectionately on the back. “You have fortitude, young man, and sound companions to help you.”

  Maryld moved to stand close to Praetor. “We won’t fail. I have no fear for the future.”

  “If you can survive the rest of this day, then you may have a future. That’s more than you can say for me, on this plane, at least.”

  “Look.” Hargrod stared in awe. “He iss beginning to dissappear.”

  “Not disappear.” Gorwyther looked down at his fading self with interest. “Just leave this plane of existence. I told you it was hard to maintain my presence here once I was dead.”

  “How is being dead?” Maryld was unable to restrain her curiosity.

  “Not too bad. The only real drawback is that there’s no future in it. Don’t worry about me. I’m looking forward to a long and full existence in the elsewhere.” He took a last long look around and waxed nostalgic. “You know, I am going to miss this place, though. Quite a pile of rubble, ain’t it? Even with sorcerous powers and magical forces to do the dirty work, it took quite a while to build.” He grimaced.

  “And now that rotten relic from the underworld, Dal’brad, is about to inherit all of it.”

  “Not if we can help it,” Praetor assured him.

  “That’s the spirit, young man!” By now even his voice was growing faint.

  “There’s just one problem.” Praetor tried to hurry his words lest the wizard vanish forever before the question could be asked. “How do we find the demon king before he finds us?”

  “Yes, it would help if you could surprise him, wouldn’t it? Might even be your only chance.” The wispy wizard beckoned Maryld closer.

  She put an ear close to his thinning lips. They seemed to linger a little longer than the rest of his disintegrating face. She listened intently. Praetor strained to overhear but could not make sense of the weak whispering.

  Finally Maryld pulled away and nodded solemnly to the wizard’s shade.

  “You understand how this is to be done?”

  “I do.”

  “You understand also that once you commit yourselves you will not be able to retreat or turn back? Once you have presented your challenge it will be you or Dal’brad who prevails, good or evil?”

  “We understand that,” she told him softly. “We’ve known it ever since we entered Shadowkeep.”

  “Good.” All that was left of the great Gorwyther were a pair of disembodied lips drifting in the air before them. “I wish you all the good luck in existence and elsewhere. You’re going to need it.” A pause, then, “The other elsewhere draws me and I must leave you now. I wish you could see it. It’s a beautiful dimension—though I’m told they have trouble with the plumbing from time to time.

  “Farewell and good-bye to you all, and most especially to you, young Praetor Fime. You’ve already exceeded your fondest expectations for yourself. Press on but a little farther and you may gain the world.” With those final words of encouragement, the lips of Gorwyther vanished.

  The four adventurers were alone in the domed chamber.

  Chapter XII

  Hargrod leaned back, balancing himself on his thick tail. “That ssounded pretty final to me.”

  “Not as final as it was for him,” Sranul pointed out. “For a dead wizard he sure was talkative.”

  “Fortunately for us.” Praetor gazed down at the thoughtful Maryld. “What instructions did he give you?”

  “There is a way. A way to approach and confront Dal’brad before he can prepare.” She was looking around the room. “A way that only the one who designed and built Shadowkeep would know of.” She looked up at him. “You heard what he said. Once we enter the presence of the demon king there can be no retreat, no escape. We must defeat him, and defeat him quickly before he has a chance to marshal all his forces, or we will be lost.”

  Praetor put a hand in his pocket and felt the gently quivering jewel that lay within. “The gem that Gorwyther gave me: what’s it supposed to do?”

  “He didn’t tell me that. We can only hope that it will do enough.”

  Hargrod unlimbered his battle-ax, held it in front of him. “I am ready, and I will place my trusst in thiss, ass I alwayss have. It hass not let me down yet. Incantationss and mysstic meanderingss I leave to you two. But if they fail, perhapss a sstraightforward attack will ssucceed.”

  Maryld nodded, then knelt and began searching the floor.

  “What are you looking for now?” Praetor asked her.

  “A few choice splinters of the wizard’s crystal. Ah, here’s one the right size.” She slipped the fragment into her pouch. “And here’s another.”

  “Can I help?”

  “No, that’s all right.” She chose several more fragments, then straightened. “I have enough.”

  “Something to help us defeat the demon prince?” Sranu
l asked her.

  “Not exactly, my good roo. These are to help us find and surprise him and then, should we succeed, to escape the attentions of his servants.” She studied the floor. “Perhaps just one more. For luck.”

  Praetor watched as she picked at the pieces of the wizard’s shattered sphere, but try as he might, he could see no difference between the fragments she saved and those she tossed aside. Of course, Gorwyther had instructed her, not him.

  His hand strayed to the hilt of his sword. That and a small gemstone didn’t seem like enough to challenge a demon king with, but it was all he had. Hargrod might be right. In the coming fight their weapons might prove as useful as their wits. He was prepared to do battle with both.

  “Are we ready, then?” Maryld nodded. So did Hargrod, while Sranul waved a spear wildly about more to inspire himself than any of his companions.

  “Since I can’t convince any of you to return to the vault with me, which would be the sensible thing to do,” the roo said, “I guess we might as well get it over with. Let’s see if this king of pests is all he’s cracked up to be. I’ll bet he isn’t so tough!”

  Praetor glanced at Maryld. “Which way?”

  She led them to the back of the room. Hidden in a tiny niche in the wall was a waist-high stone pillar. They hadn’t noticed it before because it looked exactly like the stonework that enclosed it. There was a neat depression in the bowl-shaped top and a small silver wheel concealed near the back.

  “Hey, I’ve seen that before,” Sranul murmured.

  “One like it,” Maryld corrected him. “In another room far behind us.”

  Hargrod eyed the tiny wheel dubiously. “That doess not look big enough to open a ssection of wall.”

  Maryld only smiled at him. “You should know by now, my good Zhis’ta, that the world is full of strange gateways, and that size and effect are not always proportional.” She reached out with both arms. “We must join hands.”

  Sranul was the last one to step forward, completing the semicircle of friends surrounding the pillar. “It’s not even carnival time,” he muttered.