Shadowkeep

by Alan Dean Foster

  “I think we’ve prepared well,” Maryld told him.

  “Still, there’s always the last item forgotten and left behind, the special something you think of only at the last moment.” He winked at Praetor. “Now, I might be able to round up a few tools, the sort of thing you’d find very useful in this enterprise you propose. For a small fee, of course.”

  Praetor recalled the shopkeeper’s words. “We have everything we need, thanks.”

  “Well then, four seems like a small number to me to be challenging all the dangers of Shadowkeep. I might be able to find you some soldiers willing to accompany you a ways.”

  “I thought you said everyone but yourself had fled from the Basin?”

  The innkeeper’s eyes twinkled again. “Did I? Perhaps I did. But there are ways of finding such fighters—if you know where to look.”

  “Our number is complete,” Maryld told him.

  “Have it your way, little lady.”

  “Your offerss do not sstrike me ass thosse of a neutral man,” Hargrod ventured aloud.

  “I will sell to any who have the wherewithal to pay,” Norell informed him evenly. “Man or Zhis’ta, demon or devil. My inn is open to all. One who sells does not take sides if he wishes to profit.”

  “There are many kinds of profit and some are more bankrupt than others,” Sranul told him.

  Norell’s eyes narrowed as he stared over at the roo. He filled the tankards smoothly, without spilling a drop.

  “So your primary interest is in making a profit,” Maryld said casually.

  “I am a businessman. Yes, that is my primary interest, thaladar.”

  “Even at our expense?”

  “How else does one make a profit except at other’s expense? One man’s expense is another man’s profit. That’s the way of the world.”

  “Dal’brad wouldn’t like you helping those who plan to try and destroy him.”

  “Well, I tell you what, little thaladar. When you confront him you tell him that, and I will worry myself as to the consequences.” He walked over and set the four full tankards down on their table. “Drink and make merry, while you have the time. You’ll find no one to serve you inside Shadowkeep.” He paused a moment, then said to Maryld, “I would think a thaladar would chose a different class of comrades for such an expedition.”

  Hargrod started to rise, but Maryld put a small hand on his shoulder, and he resumed his seat without saying a word. She smiled pleasantly up at the innkeeper.

  “I do not think I could find three better companions, thank you. As for myself, I was chosen.” She nodded at Praetor. “He is the instigator, not I.”

  Norell’s attention shifted to Praetor. “You don’t say? It’s a truth, then: the world is still full of wonders.”

  “Just act as neutral as you claim to be and spare us any more of your encouragement,” Praetor told him.

  “I hope you’re as quick with your sword as you are with your wits, friend. I will prepare your supper, which I assure you will be encouraging, and not at all sarcastic.” He turned and vanished into a back room.

  Sranul leaned forward. “Well, friends, what of our happy host? Do we eat his cooking and sleep in his beds, or would we be better advised to camp out beneath a tree with a solid wall at our backs and our swords at the ready?”

  “I don’t like him much,” Praetor muttered, “but I believe him when he says he’s trying to stay neutral. I don’t think he’d try to poison us. There’s no profit in it.”

  “Unless he hass made a bargain with the demon king,” Hargrod pointed out.

  Maryld looked doubtful. “I agree with Praetor. I think we are safe from everything except this man’s tongue, which he likes to wag to see what reactions he can provoke with it. Dal’brad does not need to strike bargains with talkative innkeepers. And what Norell says about this miasma of evil having driven away his clientele also makes sense. I think we can eat and sleep here in safety. We all need a good night’s sleep.”

  “I confess it will be a pleasure to sleep on something besides the ground,” Sranul admitted. “Besides, how can we hope to penetrate Shadowkeep if we can’t handle one simple innkeeper? I agree with you and Praetor. We stay here tonight.”

  Hargrod nodded acquiescence. “I will not argue with the resst of you. It iss jusst that we Zhiss’ta are naturally ssupiciouss.”

  “That caution will serve us well inside Shadowkeep,” Maryld told him, “but I think we can safely dispense with it here.”

  “Ass you wissh. It iss not for me to ssay in any casse, ass I am bound to sserve you.”

  “Forget that,” Praetor said sharply. “You’re one of the group, and just like Maryld said to me earlier, each of us is an equal side of a square. No one’s ‘bound’ to anyone in this.”

  The Zhis’ta was silent for a long moment, then he said, “You are good people. That I knew becausse you helped uss againsst the goblinss. But I did not know how good.”

  An embarrassed Praetor hastened to change the subject….

  Chapter VII

  True to his word, the most wonderful smells began to reach them from the vicinity of Norell’s kitchen. They were salivating by the time he finally emerged, pushing a heavily laden cart in front of him.

  Praetor viewed the forthcoming meal with suspicion. To his great surprise, the innkeeper’s cooking demonstrated a light touch. There were puff pastries stuffed with some kind of sautéed, shredded meat, several kinds of vegetables, and lightly spiced potatoes and other tubers. Long strips of fried fowl were encrusted with pepper and coriander, and there were enormous loaves of some yellow bread that had been sweetened with honey.

  The famished travelers dug into the unexpected feast with gusto. Even the usually taciturn Hargrod was moved to compliment grudgingly, “I am impressed, innkeeper.”

  “Me too,” Sranul’s words were blurred because his mouth was full of steaming vegetables. “Never expected anything like this. Sure is a change after weeks of scrounging for fronds and berries.”

  Norell looked embarrassed. “To tell you the truth, my friends, I don’t usually lay on this kind of banquet for my customers. My regular dinner fare is not nearly so elaborate. In fact, I don’t usually have time to cook at all. But you all looked hungry, and you’re going to need your strength, and besides, all my help has run away.”

  “This is most considerate of you.” Maryld had distanced herself somewhat from her three male companions. She ate slowly and precisely, watching distastefully as they assaulted their plates. To see them you would’ve thought that the food on their dishes was still alive.

  Norell stood nearby, attending them with a jug that rested on his right shoulder. It had a long, flexible spout attached to one end. By keeping a firm grip on it with one hand he was able to regulate the flow precisely.

  “My best golden ale,” he told Praetor as he refilled his tankard.

  “I’m not sure we can afford—” he began, but Maryld shushed him.

  “I have resources of my own to draw upon, and who knows when we may again have the opportunity to enjoy so fine and nourishing a meal. Eat your fill.” Her gaze shifted to roo and Zhis’ta. “All of you eat your fill. Once we enter Shadowkeep the only food we will have is that which we carry in with us.”

  “Tut,” said Norell as he moved over to fill her tankard, “I know that you can pay. A thaladar’s word is good enough for me. And what good is ale that lies moldering in its cask? Better it should repose in thirsty bellies.”

  “Norell,” she murmured, “I do believe that you are something of a poet.”

  He grinned at her. “Little thaladar, all innkeepers are poets. Most tend to the needs of the soul. I tend to the needs of the body.”

  Praetor smiled as he chewed something stringy and flavorful. “This is my kind of poetry, friend.”

  “Ah, then you must save room for the concluding stanza. Dessert!”

  Praetor was already full to bursting by the time Norell rolled out the cart laden with pastries
, but their appearance seduced him. Each one contained a different filling, and he was compelled to taste several.

  “What do these contain?”

  Norell wagged a finger at him. “It’s best to leave a chef with some of his secrets, my friend. Besides, I am not sure you really want to know.”

  That made Praetor push a last, half-finished tart aside. “Perhaps you’re right, innkeeper. I do believe I’ve had enough.”

  “We’ve all had enough.” Maryld pushed her chair back from the edge of the table and rose. Praetor hurried to get behind her so he could pull her chair out the rest of the way. She favored him with a slight smile and he felt suddenly warm all over.

  “Tomorrow is the day of reckoning. I suggest we all try to get a full night’s sleep.”

  “I agree.” Praetor turned to Norell. “Do you have three rooms ready?”

  “Four,” Maryld corrected him sweetly. Wisely, he didn’t press the matter.

  “Your question is a formality, I assume, little thaladar.” Norell nodded toward the stairs at the far end of the dining area. “As you see, my inn is quite empty. One hopes, however, and so you will find that all are ready to receive visitors. Choose what rooms you will and sleep in confidence. There is no variance in price from one to the next. I will tend to your mounts and they will rest as comfortably as their masters. No need for you to worry on that.”

  “We weren’t worried,” Maryld told him as she started toward the stairs. “After all, an innkeeper’s word is good enough for us.” She started up.

  Sranul and Hargrod followed, arguing about some obscure point of legend. Praetor would have followed save for the massive hand that came down on his shoulder and bid him remain behind.

  “Stay a moment, my young friend,” Norell asked him. “I have something to show you that might interest you.”

  “Like what?”

  Norell studied his remaining guest. “You four are determined to try Shadowkeep, aren’t you?”

  Praetor nodded. “That’s our intention. It’s why we’re here.”

  “I asked you earlier. Now I ask again, in all seriousness. Are you certain you have everything you need?”

  “You heard what Maryld said.”

  “Aye, but not even the thaladar can foresee everything.” He hesitated a moment longer, then tugged at Praetor’s arm. “Come with me. It will only take a moment of your time, and if nothing else, I think you’ll find what I have to show you interesting.”

  Praetor longed for the sanctuary of a room, for the softness of a real bed, but Norell had taken good care of them so far and he didn’t want- to offend him. So he allowed himself to be led toward a door behind the—counter. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go through it alone, but if he feared this huge but very human individual, how could he hope to confront the far more imposing dangers within Shadowkeep?

  So he affected an air of confidence and stepped through when Norell opened the door.

  They were in a dark room. Norell spoke as he moved along the walls, lighting oil lamps. “I’ve come by many interesting items, friend. Not every guest can make payment in coin. I have relics of magic, healing potions, fine arms and armor, a great many unusual devices.” As the lamps flickered to life, Praetor could see a gleam in the innkeeper’s eyes, and for an instant he wasn’t sure that that hulking body held only the soul of another man.

  Fully illuminated, the storeroom Was a surprise. Praetor expected to see a mundane collection of ordinary goods that had been left behind by hurried travelers. Instead, the board was neatly arrayed on shelves and benches.

  A bin held a collection of walking staffs, each one gnarled or twisted in a manner different from the one next to it. On a bench was a box full of large crystals. He bent over them. They were not of gem quality. He knew fine stones because rich customers often had Shone Stelft work them into swords or daggers. But their size and color was intriguing. He was particularly taken with one fist-sized black crystal.

  The walls were lined with mounted weapons. There were swords and spears, daggers and stilettos, helmets and breastplates. Golden chain mail dripped from several hooks.

  Another bench displayed an assortment of small bottles and boxes. He had no way of knowing what they contained. There was a cushion on which rested a handful of curiously inscribed pendants. His fingers tingled when he reached toward them, and he hastily drew his hand back. Norell watched silently. His expression was unreadable.

  Finally he picked up one small amethyst bottle and uncorked it. A look of pure bliss came over his face as he passed it gently beneath his nose. Praetor got a whiff of something indescribably delicate and sensuous.

  The innkeeper restoppered the bottle, set it back among the others. “Any of this can be yours, traveler, if you have the money.” His expression turned conspiratorial and he beckoned Praetor over.

  From his belt the innkeeper produced a ring full of keys. Selecting one, he used it to unlock a table drawer. Inside the drawer was a shallow box which responded to another key.

  Inside was a gold ring. The gold was not what took Praetor’s breath away: it was the workmanship. As a smith he could fully appreciate the skill which had gone into the making of the ring. It was all filigree work, the designs and motifs rendered and built up through the painstaking use of wire gold. Some of the patterns were so minuscule that even when he held the ring right up next to his eye, he couldn’t make out all the details.

  “Ten thousand,” Norell told him softly, hovering close to Praetor’s shoulder. “Does it interest you?”

  Praetor reluctantly handed it back to the innkeeper. “Of course it interests me. I’m not made of stone. It’s exquisite, the finest workmanship I’ve ever seen.” He thought of how it would, look on Rysancy’s finger. “But I don’t have a hundred goldens, let alone ten thousand.”

  Norell shrugged as though it made no difference and carefully placed the ring back in its box. “One never knows. I learned early in life never to judge anyone by their looks.”

  “Maybe Maryld would like it.”

  “The thaladar?” He locked the drawer, put the key ring back on its hook at his waist. “They part with their money most reluctantly.” He turned to look around the storeroom. “For you then, perhaps something less expensive?”

  Praetor shook his head, eyed the door leading back to the dining area longingly. “I don’t think so. This is all very interesting and I’m not denying its value, but I’m afraid it’s not for me. I’d like to buy everything, so I’d best buy nothing and conserve what little money I have left to me.”

  “What for? You’ll have no use for it in Shadowkeep. Why take it with you? Or do you think you can bribe a demon?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve heard tell that can be done. Where evil thrives, so does greed. Demons are not immune to the lure of gold. Who is to say what is possible and what is not inside the castle?”

  “Not I, certainly,” Norell admitted, realizing that his sales pitch had failed. “Ah well, perhaps one or two of you will come out again. There is a first time for everything, they say. If you bring out any treasure, maybe we can work a trade for something you value highly.” He tapped the drawer meaningfully.

  “Maybe.” He turned toward the door. Norell accepted the cue and carefully extinguished each of the oil lamps in turn before leading his guest back to the main room. There he bid him a good night’s rest.

  But despite his exhaustion it was difficult for Praetor to fall asleep. The gleam of the filigree ring was a bright light in his brain. Where had it come from? What sort of creature had the skill and the tiny fingers necessary to produce such incredibly fine work? He lay on the bed and wondered and marveled at the memory of it.

  And eventually fell asleep.

  Norell was waiting for them the next morning with a breakfast of eggs fixed many ways, sausages, rolls and muffins in abundance. They ate more out of politeness than desire, since all four of them were still full from the previous night’s feast. Maryld in particular was ad
amant that they be on their way.

  “We will sit here and grow fat on this man’s cooking,” she told them. She looked over at Norell. “Your food is too good and our time too short. We must be about our business.”

  Norell looked resigned. “I understand. Listen, all of you. I was, well, a bit skeptical of you all when you arrived here last night. I am still skeptical of what you’re about to attempt, but not of you. You are fine folk and I want to wish you well before you leave here. Despite knowing better, I hope you succeed. The thought of Shadowkeep swallowing you up forever is not one that pleases me.”

  “It pleassess uss even less,” Hargrod told him.

  “Don’t try to confront the demon king,” Norell urged them. “Go in if you must, find the treasure, and hurry out with whatever you can carry.”

  “I’m sorry,” Praetor told him. “We appreciate your concern, but we must try. Whatever treasure we may find is incidental to our purpose.”

  Norell looked resigned. “My conscience is clear. I’ve done all I can to dissuade you.”

  “You will care for our mounts until we return?”

  Norell’s expression showed clearly what he thought of her last words, but he nodded nonetheless.

  “They will continue to receive the best of care. I promise you that I will never sell them. They will always be here waiting for your return. They say time itself plays tricks inside Shadowkeep.”

  “Then there’s nothing more to be done. We’re ready.” Sranul and Hargrod nodded at him and Maryld smiled.

  The fog off the marsh was as thick as it had been when they’d ridden up to the inn the previous night, but the sun shafted cleanly through the drifting clouds and they were able to see quite well.

  They approached the castle four abreast. No one challenged them when they stepped onto the causeway and began advancing toward the gate, though Praetor found himself eyeing the murky water on either side of the roadbed uneasily. Guards could be placed beneath the waters as well as above them. He contented himself with Maryld’s assurances that Dal’brad would concentrate any defenses inside the castle. Be they natural or otherworldly, guards were expensive. Shadowkeep’s reputation was enough to keep away all but the most foolish, and demons were notoriously stingy.