Shadowkeep

Mikkin looked down at his plate of food, cringing. It was a pile of lumpy gray mush with a watery substance leaking from it. And of course, he was given no utensils.

"You call this food?!" he shouted after the guard, who had already walked down the length of the dungeon corridor. His stomach rumbled from days without eating. He would not give in. Not yet. And if this was all the sorcerer planned to feed him, he'd rather starve.

How many days had passed? Impossible to tell in a place like this. His only form of judgement came from the food and water brought periodically. He'd received three servings thus far.

Time ran together here. Each day felt like an eternity spent dwelling on his thoughts of what could have been. As he dozed in and out of delirious consciousness, he oftentimes forgot Mardra was dead. He pictured what it would be like to come home to Thomas and Devden after a day of hunting in the hills beyond. What their cottage looked like. The garden out in front.

Then he remembered where he was and what he had lost.

He looked down at his food again. "Might as well call it poison instead of food," he grumbled.

A wheezing laugh sounded from across the corridor. "You'll be hard pressed to get much better round here," Berbik said, shuffling into the light. There was naught but bitterness in the Dwarg's voice. Understandably so. He had in been Shadowkeep's dungeons for years. One look at the Dwarg was enough to see that. More creature than Dwarg at this point.

Mikkin grunted. "Suppose you've just given up and eat whatever they give you, eh? Gray mush and all?"

"Might as well," said Berbik. "It 'ent bad once you're hungry enough, you'll eat the dirt off your cell floor to stay alive." Mikkin grunted at that. Yeah, right! "Fight it all you want, but nothing will change. That's how things are down here. Be happy you haven't been entirely forgotten. All the other cells beside us have. You 'ent heard nothing from them, have you? Key master only brings two plates down."

"Maybe I want to be forgotten," he said. "Not like I have anyone to go home to. And anyway, when Kane returns, I'm in for torture and whatever else. Rather starve down here first." He shuddered. Torture would be bad, and the sorcerer was sure to have tricks up his sleeve that took pain to another level. "What of you, Berbik? Anyone to return home to?"

There was a long pause. "Doubt it. I did, once..."

In the past few days, Berbik had painted a sad picture for himself. Mikkin knew little about Dwargs, except that they were highly regarded for their mining and shaping of Ice Metal. The Northern Barrier Range was a vast place. It was said the Dwargs had dwellings throughout the range, hidden underground. He'd heard more stories than most, being from the north, but they were still vague. Stories about the Dwargs' metal-working skills. Stories about their ability to navigate underground mines and sniff out shafts. Stories about their strength. He never believed he would meet one.

He gazed at Berbik. "In all your time down here, don't suppose you've worked out a way to escape?" His eyes darted to the lock on his cell with a deep sense of longing. He knew what Berbik's answer would be, but decided it was worth asking, if only to make polite conversation.

"Escape?! You? Ha! You got places to go? People to see? Thought you said there was no one left."

Mikkin snorted. "That may be, but I'd like to see the daylight again." Which told him there was still an inkling of will-to-live hiding within him. And something else. He thought about Jamie out on his own, waiting for him. "Besides, I got work to do."

"The dragons? Yes, well, good luck there. Even if you managed to get your door open, you'd have a right time getting out of Shadowkeep."

"How do you mean?" He perked up. How much did Berbik know?

A long hesitation followed. "Well, to start, Shadowkeep was built by the dragons and their minions, carved with magic. It's a dragon fortress, a stronghold, with vaulted ceilings and single rooms as large as a king's hall. More importantly, it's high up on the mountain. The only way to its entrance is by flight."

A deep frown settled over Mikkin's face. "The dragons were already gone when I was brought up here. So then..." He fell silent. "How did they get me up? I saw servants. A man brings me my food. There are obviously others living here. They've got to get up and down somehow."

"Oh yes. They've built a lift, but it takes more 'an one man to operate it. One has to pull the rope for the other, and vice versa. You thinkin' you might convince some o' them servants to let you down, huh? Or are you planning to throw yourself off the cliffs and hope the height doesn't kill you?"

Hopelessness settled over him then. For a long time, he was quiet. Even if he managed to escape his cage, he would be stuck inside of Shadowkeep's fortress until Kane returned to discover him wandering the halls. Unless he could convince a servant to lower him. Unlikely! That would surely earn him a more severe punishment. But he had to try something!

"Aren't Dwargs supposed to be strong?" he asked after a while. His question earned a grunt. "Can't you bend your bars wide enough to squeeze through?"

"You're a daft one, you are."

"Suppose I am..." He shrugged.

"The sorcerer put magic on the bars. Otherwise, I'd have been out of here on my first day."

"I take it you already tried and failed?"

"Look here, if you can find a way to lift such a spell, well then yes, I could bend the bars. Don't suppose you got some hidden magical ability up your sleeves, huh?"

"What if you did bend the bars...hypothetically speaking. If two are required to operate the lift, one of us gets out and the other doesn't."

"Oh, goodie. You're not as daft as I thought."

"So...it's hopeless either way..." Again, he fell quiet. Surely there was a way. He refused to believe that no solution existed. All his life he'd been trained to survive, living on the outskirts of Belnesse, looking to the forest for sustenance. He was trained to look at a situation from all sides until the proper outcome presented itself. That's all he could do here, until one became apparent.

He started to doze off, his back against the cell wall beside the bars, when Berbik spoke again. "There could be another way." The Dwarg's voice was so quiet he almost didn't hear. His head jolted up. "Suppose I do get the bars bent. Suppose we do get out. There could be another way out. Down...instead of up."

"Deeper into Shadowkeep? A secret exit?" His heart thudded against his chest.

"I wouldn't call it that. I don't even know if such a thing exists."

"What makes you think it does then?"

When Berbik didn't answer, he thought he had stumped the Dwarg. But at last, Berbik said, "Stories. Stories from my people."

"Rumors?" Mikkin would hang his hope on a rumor, if it came to it.

"It's said that long ago when the clans ruled this land, they had many dealings with the Dwargs. The Ice Clan had the most, co-existing quite peacefully with my people. We often traded. Many tunnels exist that link our great cities together beneath the mountains. We aren't suited for long periods of above ground travel, especially not through snow. The sun isn't kind up there. And with snow, we'd freeze to death, most likely, before we ever made it anywhere.

"But in the tunnels, we found our best way to travel. If I managed, I might find those leading away from Shadowkeep. Those long forgotten. But even then, wandering around for days and days in the dark. Not even rats down that deep. We'd starve, most likely."

He ignored the starving part as his mind began turning over, slowly at first, and then faster. "So, you think that there has to be some way out—one of these tunnels? It would make sense. If your people traded with the dragons here, they had to get in and out of the fortress somehow. Like an old road. Hm..."

Berbik said nothing in return. He didn't answer for a long time. When he emitted a snore, it was obvious he had fallen asleep. At last, Mikkin did the same.

Another day passed. And then another. And another. Mikkin spent most of it curled in a ball drifting in and out of his waking dreams. Without food, his energy was too low to do much else. He turned lethargic. If he didn't get out soon, he wouldn't last much longer.

The familiar approach of the guard roused him. Perhaps this time he was hungry enough to eat it. He pushed the old tray out of his cell in preparation. The appearance of the now spoiled mash turned his stomach. He would have vomited had there been anything in his belly. On second thought, perhaps never mind about the food. Another day might be necessary.

He waited. The guard's footsteps came closer. Then they stopped. He waited. A loud clatter echoed off the walls. He was slow to jump, slow to register the change.

"Gods above!" someone cried. "Mikkin?! Mikkin?! You down here?"

His eyes widened. He climbed to his feet, pulling himself up using the bars. "Jamie? That you lad?" He kept his voice low. "How in the gods' hell did you get down here?" His heart raced. He wasn't sure if he should rejoice or despair. Had Jamie been captured too? He would never forgive himself if that was true.

He shoved his face through the bars as far as it would go, trying to look down the hall. Jamie came into view. "Found him!" Jamie called over his shoulder to someone unseen. Unka perhaps? If so, he owed that little urchin a huge thanks. Six people came into view behind the lad—three females and three males. His eyes widened. Behind the six newcomers trailed the Gobelin, Unka.

"Jamie?! How the hell...? I can't..." He was at a loss. "Gods, I owe you! Nice to see you again, Unka," he added.

Jamie offered a wide grin. His skin was chapped and cracked when he smiled. "I'll explain later. We've got to get you out of here. Lord Averaen believes Kane could be back any minute. We were lucky to find him gone."

"Lord Averaen?" The name was familiar, distant.

"That'd be me," Lord Averaen grunted, stepping forward. "Lucky is one way to put it. I will be no match for a sorcerer if he returns."

Averaen was the oldest in the group. His hair and beard were white, but his face showed minimal wrinkles. He was of a strong build, tall and muscled. Even in his old age he was powerful. The female standing beside him was younger in appearance, but still older than all the others.

Mikkin frowned. "You...you're the leader of Fort Edge, aren't you? But...what the hell are you doing here?"

"As the lad said, we'll explain later." Lord Averaen closed the distance to Mikkin's bars. "Got to get you out of here first. Lucky we found Jamie, else you'd be stuck down here, since we had no intention of entering this place once we found it. Now, let me see about this." He placed his hand over the lock and began muttering words under his breath—magical incantations of some kind. He did this for a long while. The longer he took, the more strained his expression became.

"Perhaps I can try?" A female stepped forward—a Rider.

"Damn it to hell!" Lord Averaen exhaled. "No, Jenna, it's no use. It's not my strength—nothing to do with that. Damned sorcerer imbued it with some kind of anti-opening magic. Everything I try doesn't work." He slammed his palm against the lock.

A throat cleared behind them.

"Oh." Mikkin had forgotten all about the Dwarg. "I should probably introduce you to Berbik. Berbik? Meet my...er...rescuers."

Lord Averaen turned. "Aha! A Dwarg. No surprise. Suppose you want out too?"

Berbik let out a sound between a grunt and a laugh. "Unless I plan to die here, master Drengr. Yes."

An idea came to Mikkin's mind. "Berbik can bend the bars! He said Kane placed some kind of magic that kept him from bending them. Perhaps—"

"—If we focus instead on removing the magic from the bars rather than breaking the lock mechanism, Berbik might bend them," said Lord Averaen, quickly picking up on the idea. "Is that possible, Berbik?"

"Just a hunch," said Berbik, shrugging beneath his cascades of hair. "I can bend the bars, most certainly, but removing the magic that makes them stronger—not sure about that."

Lord Averaen nodded. The female beside him remained watchful, a sense of deep intelligence lurking beneath her gaze as he doled out orders. "Ceget, Osorro, Jenna? You're some of our best with magic. Give it a try." Two Drengr and the Rider from before moved over to Berbik's cell and began muttering again. They placed their hands against the bars while they spoke. A faint blue glow spilled from their palms, washing over the bars.

"Well I'll be damned," said Lord Averaen. "Looks like it's working." The three stepped away a few minutes later, chests heaving. Mikkin didn't know much about magic, but he was certain that whatever they had done to reverse the magic had taken its toll.

Berbik stepped up and placed his hands on the bars. "I ain't got the same energy I once did. Poor diet and all. Let's see." He took a deep breath and then his arms tensed. His face grimaced. At first nothing happened. Then a metallic groan filled the air. Ever so slightly, the bars began to bend.

"It's working!" Jamie cried, nearly jumping up and down. "Look at that!"

Berbik continued to strain. The more he pulled, the farther the bars moved apart, a small measure at a time. He had to stop twice for a breather, but at last, the bars were far enough apart for him to squeeze through.

Berbik set foot in the corridor. Almost instantly, a rumble shook the mountain like an earthquake. Everyone froze, eyes wide, motionless, listening, waiting. Then the world went silent.

"What the hell was that?!" Jamie cried, looking back and forth.

"Don't look at me!" Mikkin held up his hands. "It's never happened before."

"It's him," Berbik hissed. "Kane. He's back."

"What?" Mikkin's voice was strangled. "How...how do you know?" He'd shoved his face through the bars, looking at them.

"Hurry, remove the spells on Mikkin's bars. Quick!" Ceget, Osorro, and Jenna rushed over to Mikkin's bars.

Berbik continued while they worked. "It's the mountain," he explained. "Dragons never liked Asarlaí sorcerers. Remember the stories of old? They hunted them all down at one point. Butchered 'em. Shadowkeep knows it—remembers it. Every time he returns, the mountain trembles in greeting. In anger."

Mikkin's stomach dropped. "You're sure, Berbik? Sounds made up to me." If Kane was back, there was no way the Drengr were getting them out without having to pass through Shadowkeep.

Berbik's nostrils flared. "I just know, all right? We Dwargs guard our history and the history of Dragonwall fiercely." Berbik turned to Lord Averaen. "Kane's portal isn't far from here, much deeper beneath the mountain. If we're lucky, he will retreat to his chambers long before he realizes you are here. We leave as quickly as possible. But we cannot go up. Not now. He will catch us."

"You have another plan?" Lord Averaen's eyes narrowed.

"Depends on if you brought any food and water with you?"

By the look of it, yes. They had canteens attached to their belts. Pouches that most surely contained dried meat at the least.

"Berbik said something yesterday about tunnels into Shadowkeep." Mikkin turned to the Dwarg. "But how do you know where we might find one?"

"I'm a Dwarg, Master Mikkin. I use my nose."

Lord Averaen grunted. "Dwargs have supreme sense of navigation in dark places like this—places under the earth. Can I trust you, Master Dwarg? You will not betray us?"

Berbik hesitsted, then placed his fist over his heart. "You have freed me, Master Drengr. So too will I free you from this place. I will find us a road through the mountains. A road out. A debt for a debt."

Ceget, Osorro, and Jenna stepped away from Mikkin's bars, their work complete. Sweat dripped down their temples. But success showed in their expressions.

Berbik moved forward. He looked at Mikkin and said, "Who would have guessed our talks would amount to more than chat, eh?" Then he placed his hands upon the bars and began prying. His face turned a deep shade of red. Beads of sweat poured down his brow, mingling with his overgrown beard. It took him twice as long as before, and once the bars were wide enough, he slid down onto the floor in a huff. "Just got to catch my breath is all."

Mikkin squeezed through to embrace Jamie. "Good to see you Lad. Don't ever let me underestimate you again, eh?" He felt a rush of adrenaline coursing through him, feeding him energy he didn't think he had. In a few hours, no doubt, he'd collapse. But for now, he was too jubilant to worry over it.

"Wouldn't dream of leaving you," said Jamie, grinning. The lad appeared to have matured a great deal in the past several days. Perhaps being alone forced it.

Unka remained at a distance, wary, watching. "Good to see you again, Unka." Mikkin bobbed his head in the Gobelin's direction. Unka nodded back but said nothing.

"Good," said Averaen. "But enough with the greetings. We can cover introductions later. I don't want to die down here any more than the rest of you." The fort leader helped Berbik to his feet before adding, "Any others worth freeing, Berbik?"

"No one else alive on this level," said the Dwarg. "As for the other levels? Who can say. I don't think I can pry any more bars today."

"Very well. Let's go." Lord Averaen motioned them forward.

They moved down the hall, passing the guard lying dead on the floor. The trays the guard had been carrying were on the ground beside him, gray slop spilling off. Which reminded Mikkin how hungry and weak he was. "Suppose you might have some food on you, eh, lad?" he asked Jamie.

"Not much. Lord Averaen and his party brought a little with them. We left most of our belongings at the cave camp. But we got enough for a few days if we must ration it." Jamie reached into the pouch at his belt and offered Mikkin a slice of jerky before passing along his water skin.

"Better than nothing," Mikkin said, taking a bite. The salted meat was delicious to his deprived tongue. It took three bites to finish the entire strip. He licked his fingers clean, not caring that they were dirty. Jamie passed him a second, and then a third. And even still he was hungry. But he dared not eat too much after a few days on an empty stomach.

"This way," said Berbik, leading them down a dark corridor. They traveled some ways before he hesitated, then took a right. Then a left. Then down again. Shadowkeep was a maze.

"How do you know which way is which?" Jamie asked, curious.

"I can smell it," Berbik grunted, maintaining his pace. "Deeper places smell different. Dwargs have been trained to sniff them out. Even now, I can tell that this tunnel leads down farther than the one we were just in. But we shouldn't talk. Kane could be lurking anywhere."

That shut everyone up quick. The idea of Kane lurking in the shadows of Shadowkeep frightened all. And soon they were too tired to speak anyway.

They went deeper with each turn, one hand on the shoulder in front of them since they couldn't see. There was no longer any light. The sconces and torchlight had diminished ages ago. By Berbik's reasoning, deeper was better. Once they went deep enough, they would find the road leading them away from the mountain. It was impossible for Mikkin to tell which way was which, so he kept his hand firmly planted.

"There," Berbik said after what felt like hours of navigating. "We are at the bottom...I think. This road leads west."

How the hell could the Dwarg sense direction, too?

Mikkin did not bother voicing this, and followed after without complaint. It was clear that even the Drengr—mighty as they were—were out of their element here. All they could do was take the dark tunnel before them and hope that someday it might lead them to the light. Hopefully before they starved to death. Until then, they could do little more than keep walking.

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