In the dark, the clatter of heavy boots rang out across the stone floor. Someone was closing in—fast. A few torches flared to life, their flames pushing back the gloom. Several figures sprang from their chairs, each clad in a long black robe with the hood drawn low. The flickering light revealed runes burning faintly on the floor.

  “It has happened. The Great War has begun. Blood and fire will be enough to satisfy our lord.”

  The newcomer drew a long breath, his voice trembling with excitement. Whispers rippled through the chamber.

  “Enough, brothers!” A firm, commanding voice cut through the murmurs. Its owner was marked only by a medallion on his chest—the emblem of a snarling dog. “Our hour is at hand. You know what must be done.”

  They formed a polygon, each taking a place marked by runes. The silence was soon filled with words from a tongue long forgotten by mankind. Crimson light began to swell, brightening the chamber by slow degrees. The very sound of the incantation could drive a righteous man mad.

  The chanting quickened. The walls shuddered. Sweat beaded on their brows as the strain of the working drove them to the brink. Hellish light welled from the runes, coalescing into a sphere. A wind rose from the thing, gathering strength—whipping books, toppling chairs. Still the men did not falter. Beams of power shot from their chests to the spinning sphere, until the red light fled to the rim, revealing a darkness no flame could pierce.

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  Then a thunderclap split the air like a volley of cannon fire. Lightning burst from the sphere, raking the hall. One man dropped to his knees, his pale face slick with sweat, his heart thrashing like a trapped beast. The sphere hurled a wave of force that flung them onto their backs—and then vanished. Darkness reclaimed the chamber. The air stank of burning.

  “You fool! How dare you?!” roared the man with the medallion, shattering the silence. “Because of you, our lord’s son could be anywhere!” Wild with fury, he seized a dagger etched with arcane designs.

  “Please… forgive me… He’s here… he crossed into our domain… We’ll find him… Our lord’s will shall be done…” the fallen one muttered. His heartbeat thudded in the unnatural quiet that followed the blast. Fear flickered in his eyes—no greater than the fear in the others’.

  “Menkes does not tolerate stupidity. You will pay.” The man with the medallion drove the blade straight into the wretch’s heart. A gasp—and then stillness. The engravings on the steel gleamed and quivered as fresh blood ran down the blade to the floor.

  “Find him. Now.” The order rang like iron. The remaining men rushed into the night in a flurry of haste and disorder. They understood the weight of what had just occurred.

  But the question is never who — only when.