Darius gulped back the hard lump in his throat. "Then help me, Javar. Help me rid myself of my emotions so that I might do these deeds."

"As I told you before, you have only to bury your pain deep inside you, somewhere no one can ever hope to reach it-not even yourself."

That sounded so easy. Yet, how did one bury such tormenting grief? Such devastating memories? How did one battle the horrendous agony? He would do anything, anything at all, to find peace.

"How?" he asked his tutor.

"You will discover that answer on your own."

Magic and power began swirling more intently around them, undulating, begging for some type of release. The air expanded, coagulated, leaving a heady fragrance of darkness and danger. A surge of energy ricocheted across the walls like a bolt of lightning, then erupted in a colorful array of liquid sparks.

Darius stilled as horror, dread and yes, anticipation sliced a path through him.

"A traveler will enter soon," Javar said, already tense and eager.

With shaky fingers, Darius gripped the hilt of his sword.

"They always experience disorientation at first emergence. You must use that to your advantage and destroy them the moment they exit."

"I'm not ready. I cannot-"

"You are and you will," Javar said, a steely edge to his tone. "There are two portals, the one you are to guard here and the one I guard on the other side of the city. I am not asking you to do anything I would not-and have not done-myself."

In the next instant, a tall man stepped from the mists. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face pale, and his clothing disheveled. His hair was thick and silvered, and his tanned skin was lined with deep wrinkles. He had the look of a scholar, not of war or evil.