They hesitated. Icy moth-wings flittered over Falken's skin. He would have gone around, but black walls seemed to stretch endlessly on either side of the castle.
"We go in," he said, and shuddered at the thought of meeting folk like those who hunted the flaming-eyed colossus.
Blasters ready, they went up flat titanic steps. A hall without doors stretched before them. They went down it.
Falken had a dizzy sense of change. The walls quivered as though with a wash of water over them. And then there were doors opening out of a round hall.
He opened one. There was a round hall beyond, with further doors. He turned back. The hall down which they had come had vanished. There were only doors. Hundreds of them, of odd shapes and sizes, like things imperfectly remembered.
Paul Avery began to laugh.
Falken struck him, hard, over the helmet. He stopped, and Sheila caught Falken's arm, pointing.
Shadows came, rushing and wheeling like monstrous birds. Cold dread caught Falken's heart. Shadows, hunting them....
He choked down the mad laughter rising in his own throat. He opened another door.