ese waves were stronger than any he had known before.

A barrier, a wall of force, closing the inner end of the Gates of Death.
A barrier that was not designed against man.

Stark shivered. He turned from the sombre, brooding form of Ban Cruach
and his eyes followed the gaze of the dead king, out beyond the cairn.

He looked across this forbidden land within the Gates of Death.

At his back was the mountain barrier. Before him, a handful of miles to
the north, the terminus of the polar cap rose like a cliff of bluish
crystal soaring up to touch the early stars. Locked in between those two
titanic walls was a great valley of ice.

White and glimmering that valley was, and very still, and very
beautiful, the ice shaped gracefully into curving domes and hollows.
And in the center of it stood a dark tower of stone, a cyclopean bulk
that Stark knew must go down an unguessable distance to its base on the
bedrock. It was like the tower in which Camar had died. But this one was
not a broken ruin. It loomed with alien arrogance, and within its bulk
pallid lights flickered eerily, and it was crowned by a cloud of
shimmering darkness.

_It was like the tower of his dread vision, the tower that he had seen,
not as Eric John Stark, but as Ban Cruach!_

Stark's gaze dropped slowly from the evil tower to the curving ice of
the valley. And the fear within him grew beyond all bounds.

He had seen that, too, in his vision. The glimmering ice, the domes and
hollows of it. He had looked down through it at the city that lay
beneath, and he had seen those who came and went in the buried streets.

Stark hunkered down. For a long while he did not stir.

He did not want to go out there. He did not want to go out from the
grim, warning figure of Ban Cruach with his blazing sword, into that
silent valley. He was afraid, afraid of what he might see if he went
there and looked down through the ice, afraid of the final dread
fulfillment of his vision.

But he had come after Balin, and Balin must be out there somewhere. He
did not want to go, but he was himself, and he must.

* * * * *

He went, going very softly, out toward the tower of stone. And there was
no sound in all that land.

The last of the twilight had faded. The ice gleamed, faintly luminous
under the stars, and there was light beneath it, a soft radiance that
filled all the valley with the glow of a buried moon.

Stark tried to keep his ey