At first Denise didn't notice the guards at the drawbridge. She just thought they were a couple of larger-than-normal snowballs. Granted, they were bluer than the rest of the snow, and granted, they just happened to be wearing helmets and swords, but, hey, it had been a long day. She was entitled to make a few minor mistakes.

Unfortunately, these two guards were anything but minor.

“Who goes there?” Guard One shouted.

The group slowed to a stop and looked at Aristophenix. The pudgy bear cleared his throat and announced, We're from the land of Fayrah, and though meeting you is a treat, we're looking for a boy and an orb who needs feet.

Listro Q rolled his eyes at him.

“Hey, it's the best I can do under pressure,” Aristophenix whispered.

The two guards paid little attention. Instead, Guard One approached a tree stump next to Listro Q and effortlessly rolled up its side. Now he stood on its top, about waist high. “Fayrahnians?” he asked. His voice sounded mechanical and brittle-like some old- fashioned record.

“Right are you,” Listro Q answered, obviously trying to remain cool. Though it's hard to remain cool when you're sweating from fear.

“Nice coat,” the guard said as he rolled closer and rubbed against Listro Q's tuxedo jacket.

“Uh, er, thanks.”

“Give me,” the guard demanded.

Listro Q hesitated. It was obviously one of his favorite possessions. No way would he give it up. At least that's what Denise thought. But then the most amazing thing happened. Without a word, Listro Q reached down and started unbuttoning it.

“What are you doing?” Denise asked. “You love that coat!”

“Shhh,” Aristophenix whispered.

Everyone watched as Listro Q took off his coat, then slowly laid it on the stump beside the little blue ball. But instead of showing gratitude or even giving a “thanks,” the guard immediately demanded more. “Nice shirt. Me want shirt, too.”

Listro Q frowned and tried to reason. “Cold, freezing is it,” he said.

“Me want shirt!” the guard insisted. “Me want shirt! Me want shirt!”

With a reluctant sigh, Listro Q reached down and started unbuttoning his shirt.

“This is ridiculous,” Denise muttered as she pushed up her sleeves and started for the little orb.

“Denny,” Aristophenix warned.

“There're only two of them and four of us,” she said.

“It's not the Fayrahnian way.”

“I don't care whose way it is,” she argued. “They're just a couple twerpy little ice balls, and if you're not men enough to stop them, then I'll—”

But that was as far as she got. Because when she turned back to the guard she discovered the little “ice ball” had grown five to six times in size. Now it was as tall as she was!

“Whoa!” she cried in surprise. “What happened?”

“Your hate,” Listro Q said, as he finished unbuttoning his shirt and handed it to the guard, “fed him did it.”

“My hate did this?” Denise asked, marveling.

The blue ball grinned.

“But . . .” Denise turned in frustration to Aristophenix. “You guys just can't stand around and give them whatever they want.”

Samson chattered off a response. Aristophenix nodded and translated.

Give what they want, do what they say. That's our code of love; that's the Fayrahnian way.

“But that's not fair!” Denise could feel the tops of her ears burn again, a sure sign of her anger. The same anger that made her the terror of every bully in the schoolyard. The same anger that would attack any foe, no matter what their size, even five-foot-five, round, blue ones!

But when she turned back to the guard, he was no longer five foot five. Now he was ten foot ten!

“Augh!” she screamed. She threw a look over at Listro Q, who only shrugged as if to say, I told you so.

Before she could do any more damage, Aristophenix reached into his vest pocket, pulled out the gold watch that Sally the camel creature had given him, and took a look at the time.

"My, oh my, well, what do you know? We'd stay for a chat, but it's time we must go."

Now Guard Two rolled forward. “Nice watch.”

But he had a little competition. For even though the first guard had Listro Q's shirt and coat, he was still greedy enough to try for the watch as well. “Yeah,” Guard One said, “very nice.”

Why, this little thing?

Shucks, it's all rusty and old.

Though I guess that's not rust, since it's made of solid—

But no one heard Aristophenix's last word as he “accidentally” dropped the watch to the ground. Before he could complete his poem, the two blue balls rolled for it.

Now it's true, Guard Two was many times smaller than Guard One, but as they fought and shouted and struggled for the watch, he began growing in size.

“Quick! Go let's!” Listro Q shouted as he scooped up his shirt and coat.

“But—” Denise protested.

“Hurry!”

She obeyed and followed as they raced across the drawbridge toward the castle. Suddenly there was a violent explosion behind them, followed by another. Denise spun around. The giant blue orbs were nowhere in sight. Instead, a light blue snow had started to fall.

“What happened?” she shouted.

“Snow!” Listro pointed.

“I see the snow, but where'd those guys go?”

“Here,” Listro Q said, again pointing to the snow.

“You mean . . . this is them?” Denise couldn't help grinning in satisfaction. “This snow is them?”

“Correct are you.”

“They blew themselves up?”

“Critical mass,” Listro Q nodded. “Their hatred blew up them.”

“All right!” Denise laughed. “Well, I guess you guys really do know what you're doing, don't you?”

No one answered. Instead, all three stood there giving the weakest smiles she'd ever seen. Suddenly she wasn't quite as confident. “You did know that was going to happen . . . right?”

Again, they smiled.

“Oh, brother,” she sighed. For if there's one thing she'd learned, it was that Fayrahnians couldn't lie. They could smile all they wanted, but they could not lie. “You mean to tell me you just guessed this would happen? You just winged it?”

Once again the trio smiled.

“Oh, brother,” she muttered again as she turned and headed into the castle. “Oh, brother . . .”

Aristophenix, Listro Q, and Samson looked at one another, shrugged, and followed her inside.

“If you think I'm going in there,” Nathan said, backing toward the door, “you're crazy!”

“You are a chosen thread,” Bobok insisted as he rolled toward him. “To take and possess without giving, to look out only for yourself — that is your dream.”

Nathan continued backing away. “Yeah, but . . .”

“This is what you've lived for, what you've always wanted.”

It was Mr. Hornsberry's turn to speak. The hair on his back was sticking straight up, and although he remained polite, there was no missing his determination. “Excuse me, but if you persist in rolling any closer, I am afraid I shall have to take a bite out of your head.”

Bobok threw him a glance and chuckled lightly. “This is my kingdom, oh cloth stuffed with cotton. You will do as I say.” Bobok continued moving toward them.

“I have given you sufficient warning,” Mr. Hornsberry said, sounding as bold as any English bulldog could sound—although he would have been a little more convincing if he hadn't been shaking or crowding so close to Nathan's legs.

Bobok continued toward them.

“Please . . . ,” Nathan stuttered. “Maybe we can talk, you know, work something out.”

Bobok continued.

“It is quite obvious, Master Nathan, that the creature wishes no further dialogue.” Mr. Hornsberry turned to Bobok. “Am I correct in this matter?”

Bobok said nothing, but continued.

“Very well,” Mr. Hornsberry said, “have it your way— though please remember, I did give you sufficient warning.” With that the dog leaned back on his haunches and with a fierce growl sprang directly at Bobok.

But the ruler was prepared. He fired off a blast of icy cold breath that hit the animal dead center. And there, in midair, Mr. Hornsberry froze. He didn't even fall to the ground. He just hung there, suspended.

“Mr. Hornsberry!” Nathan cried, racing to him. He reached out and touched him. The dog felt as cold and stiff as a chunk of ice. Spinning around to Bobok, he demanded, “What have you done to him?”

“It makes no difference,” Bobok purred. “In a matter of seconds, you will no longer care.”

Nathan threw a cautious glance back at the menagerie. Another pair of fighting creatures drifted by, lost forever in their mindless trance of scratching and clawing, grabbing and owning, taking and possessing. “I . . . I don't want to go in there!”

“All of your life, Chosen Thread, you have been planting the seed of greed. Now it is only fair that you enjoy its harvest.”

“But . . . that's not what I wanted!”

“It is precisely what you wanted. To live in a world where all you do is take.”

“Yes, but — well, not like that.” He threw a terrified look at the menagerie. “I didn't mean this. I didn't . . . what I meant was—”

Bobok started to laugh. It was cold and frightening.

Nathan's fear turned to panic. He had to make a break for it — past Bobok and out the door. But Bobok sensed his thoughts and signaled the guards. Their speed was amazing — blue blurs that raced to the doorway — hundreds of them — until Nathan's escape was entirely blocked.

Turning back to the menagerie, Nathan shouted, “I won't go in there! You can't make me!”

Bobok said nothing. Instead he simply nodded to the guards. Like a synchronized machine, the little balls rolled out across the platform and slowly closed in.

Nathan had to back up — closer to the edge of the ramp, closer and closer to the menagerie.

“Please . . . ,” he begged. “Don't do this . . . I beg you . . . please.”

Bobok only smiled.

Nathan glanced over his shoulder. There was only a few feet of platform left. Just a few feet before he'd fall into the cone of energy. He turned back to Bobok.

“Please . . .”

The orbs continued forward.

He reached the edge of the platform. He began fighting to keep his balance.

The guards pressed ahead.

“Please . . .”

“Enjoy yourself,” Bobok grinned. “I know I will.”

And then it happened. Nathan's foot slipped. He tried his best to hang on, but it did no good. With a chilling scream, he tumbled and fell.

The energy cone crackled and surged with power as if Nathan had somehow fed it, as if his spoiled selfishness had given it energy — an energy that it would feed upon for many epochs to come.

Excerpted from The Portal, book one of the “Imager Chronicles” series by Bill Myers, and reprinted by permission of Tommy Nelson Publishers. Read chapter 11 of The Portal.

To read chapters 1 through 9 of The Portal click here.