"Well, as in most major matters there is only a limited number of choices. In this case, you are with me, you are against me or you want to walk away from me. Two of those responses are unacceptable and would require action on my part."

"I wouldn't like that," said Pol. "But then, you might not either."

"Are you threatening me, lad?" Spier asked.

"Just stating a possible consequence," Pol replied.

The big man sighed.

"You're strong, Pol," he said, "stronger today than you ever were before in your life. You've passed your initiation, and your lights are all shining as pretty as can be--for the moment. No telling how long it will last, of course. But be that as it may, I am stronger still. There would be no contest whatsoever between us. You would be as a candle's flame before the hurricane of my will. Now, I could force you to produce the Keys. But I would far rather you did it willingly, for I want you alive and on my side and wearing no special enchantment."

"Why?"

"I've my reasons. I'll tell you later, after I'm sure of you."

"You foresaw a possible conflict between us. Something you'd said ..."

"Yes, I did. But it need not be. If you're squeamish, I'll even do the sacrificing myself."

Pol laughed.

"That's not it. I'd have killed Ryle only a little while ago if I could have. As I said, you're pressing me, you're manipulating me."

"I have no choice."

"The hell you don't."

Spier turned away, staring for a moment at the Gate.

"I wonder... ?" he began.

"By the way," Pol said, "if you were to kill me, how would you get at the Keys?"

"Only with great difficulty, if at all." Spier said, "since you are carrying them around in what is practically a private universe. If you die, it would be a hell of a problem piercing it."

"Then your 'candle in the wind' metaphor isn't quite apt, is it? You'd have to pull your punches if it came to throwing any."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. I wouldn't count on it, though. The Gate could be opened with just one Key--but it might take me a couple of years and an awful lot of trouble. Good thing we're just speaking hypothetically, isn't it?"

Pol crossed the chamber and touched the Gate for the first time. It felt cold. The eyes of the nailed serpent seemed to be fixed upon him.

"What would happen if the statuettes were destroyed?" he asked.

"That would be a very difficult thing to accomplish," Spier replied, "even if one knew how."

"But we're being hypothetical, aren't we?"

"True. The Gate would fade away from this plane, and you would be standing there looking at a raw piece of mountain."

"But it is open now--or can be opened without the Keys--on another plane?"

"Yes. But only tenuous things can take that route, as you did in your dreams."

"What brought it here in the first place?"

"Your father, Ryle and myself--with great exertions."

"How? And how are the statuettes involved?"

"That's enough for being hypothetical--or anything else of an interrogatory nature," Spier said. "There were three choices--one good one and two bad ones. Do you recall?"

"Yes."

Pol turned toward him, leaned back against the door and folded his arms across his breast. Immediately, he felt the coldness along his spine, but he did not move. The power was still there, moving within his right forearm.

Spier's eyes widened, slightly and but for an instant. He glanced upward and then back down at Pol again.

"I know your answer," he said, "but I have to hear you say it."

"You ran out on my father and left him to face an army."

Spier frowned, looked puzzled.

"He acted against my advice," he said. "The army was there because of his actions, not mine. There was no sense in my dying with him. But what is all of this to you? You never even knew him."

"Just curious," Pol said. "I wanted to hear your side of it."

"Surely you are not going to use that as a basis for refusing me? You were only a baby."

Pot nodded. He was thinking of the thing that might have been his father's ghost walking beside him in the misty chamber.

"You're right. But humor me with one more question, if you will. Would the two of you have fought one another eventually, for hegemony in this new land?"

Spier's face reddened.

"I don't know," he said. "Perhaps..."

"Had it already begun? Were you on the threshold and was this your way--"

"Enough!" Spier cried. "I take it that your answer is 'no'. Would you care to tell me which is your real reason for denying me?"

Pol shrugged.

"Choose any of the above," he said. "Maybe I'm not certain myself. But I know there is a sufficiency. "

The coldness had invaded his entire body now, but he made no move to withdraw from the serpent figure of the Gate against which he leaned. It was almost as if it had invited him to position himself just there...

"It's a shame," Spier said, "because I was beginning to like you...."

Pol hit him. He summoned up every bit of the power he could muster, backed it with all of his will and hurled it at the man.

Very slowly, Henry Spier unscrewed the cigarette from its holder, dropped it upon the floor and stepped on it. He replaced the holder in some hidden pocket beneath his cloak. It had to be sheer bravado. Pol knew that the man must be feeling the force of his attack. But the display was effective. Pol felt a tremor of fear at Spier's power, but he maintained the siege and reached for even more force to back it. He was committed now, and he felt as if he were sliding down a long tunnel which ended in blackness.

Spier raised his eyes and they bored into his own. Pol suddenly felt a resistance rising.

Spier took a step toward him.

It was as if he suddenly faced a heat backlash, as if the target of his exertions stood directly before him rather than some distance away.

Frantically, he switched to the second seeing. His vision focused upon Spier, advancing upon him, fists raised. The image of Spier, still standing in the distance, faded. The man's face was twisted into a smirk and perspiration dotted his brow. His fist was already moving.

Pol's concentration was broken. He ducked forward, raising his hands to protect his face. He heard a solid thunk, followed by a brief cry and realized immediately that Spier's blow had fallen upon the Gate.

He dropped his hands and drove his left fist, followed by his right, into Spier's abdomen. The blows had surprisingly little effect. The man was solid.

Even as he swung a left uppercut and felt it connect, he realized that the main pain the man seemed to have felt was in the bloodied knuckles of his right hand, which he now held in an awkward position. Pol immediately threw a right toward his face, but this blow was blocked. Then Spier rushed him.

Spier's bulk crashed into him, driving him back against the Gate. Pol was dazed as his head struck upon it. Then Spier stepped back and their eyes met again.

He called upon the dragonmark to raise a defense as a shock ran through his entire system like a jolt of electricity. He struck out with the power he had wielded earlier, but it barely seemed to shield him against the forces the other was turning against him. He felt a pressure beginning to build, not unlike that which Ryle had turned upon him. Both he and Spier stood absolutely still now, and though he threw everything he had into the defense, the pressure continued to mount.

A throbbing began in his temples and his breathing became labored. He grew damp with perspiration, though he still felt abnormally cold. A wave of dizziness came and went, came again. He felt that he might only be able to hold Spier off for a few more seconds. His defenses would crumble, the man would place him under control, force him to produce the statuettes and then possibly use him for the sacrifice. Where was the flame which had guided him, protected him?