From the midst of smoke and ash, a mighty dragon rose into the sky, its black wings threshing the air, soaring high over the ancient stone castle below. Flames bellowed from its fanged mouth, spreading hell-fire and consuming all in its path. Chaos ruled the streets below, blood mixing with dirt, fear taking feeble hearts by the dozens...

Connar awoke from the dream once again. The visions had haunted his nights, stealing restful sleep from his body. Yet now, he knew what the dream meant?or would mean; the dark spirits had found a way back to his world, to his time and were there, unleashing hell. And if he had to fight the demons of this realm and his own, then, god willing, he would walk through the fiery gates, to stare death in the face, if it would mend his wrongs and set things right again.

Concealed by the shadows, Connar crouched against the crumbling brick wall on the outskirts of town, peering through the darkness as clandestine merchants plied their bargaining trade under dimly burning torches. Three cloaked men huddled about a small cart loaded with a variety of items, most of which Connar could not discern from his hiding place. One of the men was offering his wares to the highest bidder. Voices were raised and tempers flared as the value of the cart?s contents were disputed, one merchant waving his hands in the air in disgust as he walked away from the cart, leaving one buyer alone with the seller.

This was the third such exchange Connar had witnessed this eve, ill-gotten goods bartered and bought. They would soon show up in Rhydin?s marketplace, offered to any willing to pay a reasonable price. Most items procured in cover of night, outside the reach of city guards, were stolen or pillaged, buyer and seller understanding the unwritten code of no-questions-asked. Connar had no interest in the previous carts and wares he had seen pass hands earlier that evening, but this last one was different?the trader?s attire, his manner of speaking, his constant looking over the shoulder signaled him as an outsider to Rhydin?and his wares seemed to be not of this realm as well.

At long last, a price was agreed upon and the contents of the cart were transferred into the merchant?s wagon, then covered by a large cloth, and secured with rope. The merchant would ride off, giving no passing glance or acknowledgement to the man with whom he?d just concluded business. Names were never traded, nor anything given that would mark one man a criminal if the other was ever found on the wrong side of the law.

The trader stood counting his money once more before securing the coins in his pouch and secreting them away inside his cloak. He looked around once more, nervous, perhaps feeling eyes upon him. On his previous visits to this foreign realm, the trader had been equally nervous about prying eyes, but had never seen nor heard anything to justify his paranoia. And yet, there was something more than mere paranoia or superstition haunting this man. He pulled his cart back towards the forest, the faint torchlight on the wall fading behind. As the darkness and trees closed around him, he contented himself with the notion that he would soon be back in more familiar surroundings.

Connar moved quickly and quietly through the trees, hidden from view of the trader. He stepped smoothly over fallen logs and branches, careful not to alert the trader to his presence. The creaking of the cart and its large, wooden wheels created enough noise on their own to mask the moving of a herd of deer through the trees. The man pulled the empty cart onward through the forest for nearly an hour, his pace steady, stopping only a couple of times to take swallows from a wine bottle.

The trail began to narrow, the brush and undergrowth nearly crowding the pathway at certain points. The trader was visibly more agitated, turning his head constantly, peering off into the shadows. All of a sudden, he stopped the cart, pushing it into the heavy brush and started to run off the trail, into the trees, as if being chased. Connar looked around, concealed in the shadows of the forest, wondering what had taken hold of the trader?s heart, his knee pressed to the ground, his ears and eyes searching the darkness.

Then he saw it?a large winged shadow cast on the ground?moving quickly in the direction of the trader. Were it not for the cap he had fashioned to cover Shea?s coin embedded in the hilt of his sword, it would now be glowing brightly. Against the moon-lit sky, Connar saw the winged beast descend toward the forest floor landing right behind the trader, clawed fingers reaching out to grab the man by the collar. The poor man turned, cowering as he looked into the face of the vampire, his feeble body trembling as he was restrained by the clawed hand.

?Don?t hurt me?don?t hurt me!? the trader pleaded, his hands coming up to cover his face.

The winged beast transformed to a more human form, black clothing covering his tall, slender frame. The vampire tossed the trader to the ground, standing over him, his voice loud, filled with anger, ?You fool! You were followed. We had a deal.?

The trader look off to some point or feature in the distance as scrambled to his knees, ?I did nothing, sire?no one has followed me?I?ve been careful.?

The vampire turned quickly, pointing off into the trees, his fingers aimed exactly where Connar was hid, the trees all around him suddenly bursting into flames in a massive explosion. As the forest filled with smoke and fire, Connar charged, sword drawn, smoke and ash trailing off his shoulders as he moved directly at the vampire, who he recognized now to be Graeven.

The trader stuttered as he saw the charging figure emerge from the smoke and flames, moving rapidly towards them, ?I had no idea ?No one was there?I?I?? the words failing as Graeven crushed the man?s throat.

?Of course you didn?t,? Graeven sneered as the man?s body went limp and fell to the ground.

Connar was nearly upon him now, teeth bared, sword poised over his head as he rushed forward. In an instant, Graeven transformed into the massive vampire beast, its large wings muscling it into the air, hovering above Connar.

?So close, and yet, so far away,? the creature bellowed as it leered down at Connar.

Connar looked up, glaring at the hell-spawned beast, ?Tis only a matter of time, Graeven, before I send ye back to the darkness from which ye slithered.?

The creature rose in the air, challenging his mortal prey, ?We have not been wasting time sipping wine and stealing kisses in the taverns as ye do, Connar. With every passing day, we grow stronger. It?s only a matter of time before you matter not!?

Graeven closed his fist, aiming a ball of fire toward his taunted foe. Connar dove to the ground and rolled as the fireball struck his shoulder and back with a force he had never felt before. He rose to his knee, teeth clenched, his cloak in flames as he tore it off his shoulders and cast it to the ground, where the flames smoldered then were snuffed out.

The winged beast landed on the forest floor, fire issuing from its fisted claws as it moved toward its prey once again. Connar narrowed his gaze at Graeven as he pushed up from the ground, sword held tightly in his hand as he moved unsteadily yet determinedly toward the vampire.

Graeven stopped as Connar approached, apparently undeterred, ?You truly have no idea what you are up against, do you, mortal? Well, it?s about time you learned.?

The creature launched another fireball, striking Connar square in the chest, driving him backwards into the trees, fire and flames erupting in all directions, the blast choking the air from his lungs as he crashed onto his back.

Two more fire balls were hurled in Connar?s direction, spreading flames into the trees and forest floor. In a matter of moments, the entire area was consumed by smoke and fire, Graeven having to retreat in order to escape the growing heat and flames. He rose into the air, circling over the mayhem below, laughing wickedly before ascending into the darkness of night.

Connar had returned to the marketplace early that morning, finding the merchant who had last dealt with the trader whose body now lay lifeless in a charred portion of Rhydin's forest. At first, the merchant denied any knowledge of the trader nor their business transaction, but when Connar produced the merchants pouch of gold coins, the beads of sweat rising to the merchant's brow told Connar all he needed know.

After Connar assured the merchant that he had no interest in harming him, but only wanted to know if any other traders we selling wares from earth's middle ages, the merchant seemed to be a bit more at ease. This merchant had only dealt with that one trader, but since there seemed to be a growing market for those ancient relics, he could imagine that others would step in to take the trader's place.

The merchant stepped behind the curtains at the back of his shop, under the guise of searching for some item or relic that Connar might find useful. He waited for a long time, rumaging around the shoppe, knowing most of the items brought here were to be bought and sold as castle decorations, instant antiques, as it were. At long last, the merchant returned, unable to find what he had gone looking for.

Connar tucked the pouch of coins back in his tunic and ducked out of the merchant's shoppe, rising up onto Calen's saddle, riding back out to the forest, to find the trader's body once more, and look for the portal.

* * * * * * * *

His mind snapped back to the present as his fingers graced the long gash across his right arm. He had crudely stitched the wound closed, but a trickle of blood still managed to run down his arm. Not long after arriving in the forest and beginning to search the area around the trader's fallen body, Connar had been surrounded by city guards. They had been tipped off that a trader had been robbed and murdered somewhere in the forest outside the city walls. That explained the merchant's long absence from his shoppe. The guards had a description of the coin purse, too detailed of a description, for which Connar had a difficult time explaining why it was now in his possesion, and he wasn't about to be led away in chains to await the city magistrate. Connar had managed to excape without killing any of the guards, though they would most likely be reporting in sick the next morning, too weak or bruised to perform their duties.

He knew that, come daylight, the forest area would be teaming with city guards, as it was now a crime scene. If Connar was to find the portal, assuming it had not been destroyed in the fire, he would have to find it tonight. He finished dressing, strapping his swords and daggars around his waist and over his shoulder before opening his window, slipping through and stepping out into the night.

A fierce wind whipped Connar's cloak violently about his shoulders, the cold air beating against his face and skin. He lowered his head, dropping his gaze to the ground as he pushed the horse onward up the rocky, coastal trail. The sun was making a feable attempt to break through the gray morning sky, its rays too distant, too strained to add any warmth to an already chilled morning.

As his horse plodded onward, Connar thought back over all he and Shea had been through. Death, or the threat of it, seemed to be their one constant...death, and heart ache.

Connar knew Shea's life had been darkened by death's shadow on many occasions, too oft taking those she loved the most. He knew she feared it now, feared it for him, wrestled with the separation death could bring. And yet death held no special place for Connar, like watching the sunset in the western sky, knowing full well the sun would rise once again in the east. For him death was just a passage, not too unlike the mystical portals that opened one world to another. He didn't fight out of fear or to stay death's hand, but rather, he fought for the love of life, for the protection and freedom of life's blessings.

He had made many, many mistakes over the centuries...being too quick to take up the sword, too angry to see reason, a bit too cavalier in leading others to a death that could have been avoided...or at least stayed. But those mistakes in judgement paled in comparison to here and now in this realm. He had tainted his world and this realm by his actions. He had drawn away the heart and affection of Shea, only to distance himself from her, physically and emotionally. Connar wasn't sure he could ever make amends for the devastation worked by his hands and heart, intentional or not, it mattered little to him. He wasn't about to rationalize or make excuses for his actions now.

In many ways he felt he had actually held her back from her true potential. Their love was folly amidst the chaos that surrounded both of their worlds...an elven wind mage and a time-transcending mortal...a timeless, untamed beauty and a tired relic from a forgotten age...Cut from the same cloth, but with different shears::

And yet, as he thought about Shea, her soft features, her pure heart, her tender voice, he wondered how cold hearted he could be to someone so deserving of unfettered love and affection. He knew when he first took her hand in his that the path they set out upon was fruitless, and yet, he proceeded anyway. He had witnessed entire nations pass away from sword and famine, fire and disease, yet the emotional hell he was putting her through was unforgiveable in his eyes. It nagged at his soul, weighted his every step. How many tears had fallen from her eyes on account of him? He would have to answer for every drop.

As he raised his gaze to look up the jagged costal trail, Connar wasn't sure what he would find up there, back in the meadow...He had become so caught up in her plight and cause that he had lost himself. Even if all that remained for him to find were charred remnants of the portal leading back to his world....it was the only place he knew to start looking for answers. From there, he would let the winds guide his steps.

The darkness peeled back in layers as Connar descended into the catacombs, torch held high in his hand as he ducked under cobwebs and crumbling archways. The air thick, rancid, almost palpable. The flickering light illuminated niches and shallow caverns holding the rotting remains of the catacomb?s decomposing residents. He moved deeper into the maze of chambers and hallways, not knowing what he was seeking?not exactly. What he needed to find would be old, ancient?long forgotten, and resembling nothing of this realm.

He ran his hand along the wall as he moved down another narrow stairwell, the stones were smooth and damp. The smell of mold nearly as strong as the rotting stench. Connar extended the torch into one room after another seeing tombs and coffins, most having been left in shambles by grave robbers, anything of worth long since removed. Those that appeared to be untouched were more than likely protected by magic, either of the deceased or next of kin.

As he stepped down to yet another lower level, his feet landed in water, which quickly rose to his waist. Connar surmised the lower chambers had been flooded by a spring or some other natural cause. He had traveled far enough in the labrynth that he could very well be anywhere under Rhydin?s walls. He waded through black water, turning down the dark hallway, pushing past flooded rooms and rotting wood. The corridor ended ubruptly at a stone wall with a low ceiling, the water in the corridor nearly reaching his chest by now. Connar pressed his hands against the stone, hoping, searching for anything that might indicate this wasn?t a dead end. As he searched the watery floor with his feet, he found an opening and what felt to be steps leading deeper into the water.

He thought about the ancient latin note, its cryptic writings seeming to make no sense when he first read them, but now the references to a watery grave seemed clear. He filled his lungs with air and dove into the water, being swallowed in the blackness as the torch was suffocated. The weight of his clothing and weapons made it easy to stay under the water?s surface as he slowly crawled his hands down the narrow steps, following them as a blind man would explore unknown territory in the world of the seeing.

The submerged stairwell was narrow, no wider than a man?s shoulders, the steps were short and shallow. Through the water it felt more like he was falling, than swimming. The pressure in his ears building as he continued the watery descent. No sooner had he reached the bottom of the submerged steps than another set of stairs climbed upwards. Connar kicked with his legs and pulled himself along with his hands up the slick stone steps. His lungs burned as he exhaled a slow stream of air to stave off the urge to take a breath. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he continued ascending the watery passage. He looked up through the water straining to see anything, but seeing only blackness.

He contemplated turning back, but he had traveled too far and didn?t have enough air in his lungs to make it. He kicked harder, scrambling faster up the stairwell until his head suddenly crashed against a wall, causing him to see stars and flashes of light, air escaping his lungs at the sudden rush of pain. Connar pressed his hands against the walls which surrounded him on all sides, frantically searching for any other passageway and finding none. He reached up, expecting to touch the ceiling, but his fingers found nothing but water. He lunged off the steps with all the force he could muster, straining against the weights holding him to the bottom, propelling his body straight up, arms reaching out in front of his head, a desperate flight from a certain watery grave.

There was something about the night, the darkness that was disconcerting and yet comforting to Connar. It was usually under the cover of night that evil preferred to stir, in all its forms, but it was also the night that caused the city to stand quiet, giving room for reflection and thought?and star gazing, if nothing else. It was also the night which brought him close to Shea, her day?s work ended, drinks to be enjoyed, kisses to be savored. He had no way of knowing for how much longer the savoring might endure. After his last tear-filled encounter with Shea, he wasn't sure how much more she or he could endure.

He had chosen the cover of night to descend into the bowels of the catacombs. Connar stood before the stone wall of the chamber deep running his fingers over the deep, round recess midway up the wall. He hadn?t noticed the indentation before, hidden among the raised symbols and reliefs adorning each of the walls in the small room. He produced the metal marker?the key, holding it up to the round recess?best as he could tell, it was a perfect fit.

The archaic carvings and symbols embellished in the stone created an archway effect in each wall. The differing markings perhaps an indication of the destination of each portal, once opened by the key. Connar stood before the archway bearing symbols of stars, moons, crests?and most peculiar of all, a crucifix ? assured that of all the markings, these had to be from his world.

Tentative fingers pressed the marker into the circular recess. The wall began to tremble, dust falling loosely from the cracks and seams. The center section of the wall began to glow, filling the small chamber with pale yellow light until it radiated in the shape of a wide door where stone once stood. Connar stared at the portal, hesitating, if only slightly before pulling the marker from its slot and stepping through the light.