The throne room of Haspan Cosmos was already throbbing with heat when Baron and the five RuthValis witches stepped out of the portal.

The air smelled of soot and burnt magic. Charred witches and wizards-Haspan's loyal dead-things-stood in a long line like burnt statues, their eyes following every breath.

Haspan stood at the far end of the hall, half-shadowed, half-smiling.

"Well," he said, voice smooth as poison, "welcome to my palace, little trespassers."

Then his smile dropped.

"You risk ...