The fires below them suddenly—

—erupted.

Once again, Pol heard that strange sound, as of something soft and heavy hitting the ground; it wasn't like thunder, nor like a tree falling, though it had something of the character of both those sounds. Now, though, he realized what it was—what the cause was, anyway. Lan had called the fires, and they had answered.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the bonfires grew—no, grew was too mild a word for they way they increased exponentially in size and fury. The burst outward in all directions, and they ate the priests around them before the latter could even twitch, licking out, enveloping them and devouring them before the eyes of their followers! The newly-roused fires roared, their voice like a chorus of wild beasts, so loud that if there was any screaming going on down there—and there must be—it was completely drowned.

In the next instant, the fires merged into one, a line cutting across the pass, effectively separating the Karsites from Valdemar. Not a chorus of beasts now—the single fire roared in a solitary voice of triumph, and as it roared, it began to move, spreading toward the Karsite tents.

Pol and Satiran stared, mesmerized. Probably everyone in the Valdemaran lines was doing the same at that moment. For the moment, he forgot his pain, forgot he was tired unto death, forgot everything but the fire in front of him. The flames clawed at the sky, reaching higher than the treetops, high as the mountain peaks on either side of the pass. Little vortices twisted in the midst of the flames, dancing along the burning ground delicately, gracefully. The fire drove forward, chasing the Karsites out of their encampment, driving them back to their own border. Pol felt the heat of it scorching his face even from his stretcher; he couldn't imagine what it was like down in the pass!

Showers of sparks, storms of sparks spun through the sky above the flames, yet none of them landed on the Valdemar side of the fire-line. Choking, black smoke billowed above the fire, yet none of it blew across to fill the lungs of Valdemarans.

:What are our people doing?: Pol asked Satiran, for nothing could be seen of the Karsite side but flame.

Satiran turned his head, and just below them ranged a sea of faces, all staring at the firestorm incredulously, mesmerized by the power and the awful beauty. No one moved; and if anyone spoke or even shouted, it couldn't be heard above the roar of the fire.

Trees actually exploded from the heat, burning pieces flying in every direction except toward the Valdemaran forces.

The fire crawled slowly away, and where it had been there was only bare earth and the smoldering remains of stumps. It retreated up the pass, presumably sending the Karsites fleeing before it.

:What's Lan doing?: Pol prompted.

Satiran swung his head about, obedient to Pol's wishes.

Satiran couldn't see Lan's face from this angle, but the boy was no longer standing rock-steady. He swayed a little, and so did Kalira.

That wasn't what made the hair on the back of Pol's neck stand up, though. What he saw was chilling and was probably sending a finger of fear down the spine of everyone else who could see the boy.

Tiny blossoms of flame danced around Lan, flickering in his hair, floating in the air above him, twirling on his fingertips, and the tiny fires swayed to the same directions as the greater fires.

Blessed gods!

If there was anyone who hadn't known of Lan's powers before, they certainly were in no doubt of them now.

Lan's hand spasmed in Kalira's mane; the flamelets vanished.

The boy collapsed, his knees giving out beneath him. He slid down Kalira's side to land in a crumpled heap on the snow.

And the firestorm below faltered.

As quickly as it had begun, it died, until there was nothing in the pass but burning tree stumps, glowing coals, and blackened ground.

No one moved for a long time. Although normally this would have been an occasion for cheers, the sheer and terrifying power of the fire had left mouths dry with unspoken fear—and no one dared to approach the creator of that terror.

No one, except Elenor, who shook off her mother's hand and ran to Lan's side.

Kalira first knelt, then carefully laid herself down beside her Chosen, and Elenor propped Lan's head up against her flank as Pol finally broke his own paralysis and sent his litter bearers stumbling toward them, with Satiran right beside him.

'He's just exhausted,' Elenor said, looking up at her father with relief. 'He needs to be put to bed, though, and he'll need to eat like a starving man when he wakes.'

Pol didn't doubt that in the least and fortunately the young Herald Turag was near enough to hear her. Without being asked to, he moved to Elenor's side, carefully scooped the boy up in his arms, and carried him off, Elenor running alongside.

Kalira remained where she was, she was probably just as exhausted as Lan was.

:Turag's Adan will stay with her,: Satiran said, moving in Herald Turag's wake. Pol went with him, lying flat and exhausted on the stretcher himself, one hand still on Satiran's shoulder. They caught up with the Lord Marshal's Herald just as he shoved his way through the entrance of a tent.

'He can have my bed for now,' Turag told Elenor as Pol reached for the tent flap and held it open so Satiran could see inside by the light of the lamp that burned beneath the center-pole. There were several cots set up, heaped with blankets; from the clothing scattered about, this tent was shared by several Heralds. Turag put Lan

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