The scarred man stood in the Void between Earth and his world, his thoughts troubled. In his hand he held a dark green stone the size of a pigeon's egg. On Earth it had a name, precious even, and its size alone would cost a fortune.  But on Ervon it was nameless, for in his world the stone did not exist. Except in the deepest coffers of the Conclave, where its existence was a closely guarded secret.

Primed in Ervon, the emerald served as a Gateway to Earth and back through the Void, but it could be used only once, for upon returning to Ervon, the will and Power of the bearer would ultimately destroy the gem.

The scarred man clenched the stone within his palm, part of him wanting to release his Power and return to his world, to leave the child to whatever fate had laid for him. 'It would be mercy. Death would be a trifle thing compared to what lies before him. Because of him the Conclave is sundered; never in the last five hundred years has this happened! If the child's influence reaches even from this world, what more chaos will he reap when he steps into ours? But damn the Conclave and their own petty self-interests, I have my own orders from a higher command. Orders that have to be fulfilled, if—'

From somewhere in his mind, a cry of terrible agony and despair suddenly bent him double, and he clutched at his head, trying to shield his thoughts to no avail. The cry went on and on, and his pupils contracted, images of death and destruction filling his mind, and for a moment the madness gripped him. Then his gray eyes cleared and he muttered angrily, "Cha'ak's curse! The boy--!"

He closed his eyes and clenched his thoughts, willing himself to the source of that terrible cry, the stone forgotten in his hand.