Raisa climbed down off Switcher, wound the leather reins around her hand, and stumbled down the rocky streambed. Byrne was right: the breathing was easier below. The skin on her face felt brittle and hot, like the skin on a roasted chicken. She was tempted to kneel down and bathe her face in the water, but Byrne harried them along relentlessly. The air grew even thicker as they neared the exit from the canyon, and Raisa’s eyes stung, her vision blurred by tears.

When she blinked the tears away, she was again surrounded by wolves, the size of small ponies, their backs at shoulder height on her. They crowded in around her, snapping and growling, their wild scent competing with the stench of smoke, their stiff guard hairs brushing her skin, pressing against her legs as if to force her from the trail.

“Hanalea, have mercy,” Raisa whispered. No one else seemed to notice. Was she hallucinating, or could they be real, forced to share the trail by the advance of the flame?

Raisa was so focused on the wolf pack that she nearly collided with Micah, who’d stopped abruptly in front of her. The wolves faded into smoke. Somewhere ahead, she heard Byrne swearing forcefully. Thrusting her reins into Micah’s hand, she fought her way past the others to the front of the line.

“Stay back, Your Highness,” Byrne said, pushing her behind him. She could see that the trail beyond the exit was awash in flame. The fire had split around the ridge, pouring down the slope on either side of the canyon. They were trapped.

“All right!” Byrne said, his voice ringing through the canyon. “I want all of you down in the stream. Lie flat and immerse yourself if you can.”

Gavan Bayar forced his way to the front. “What’s going on?” he demanded. “Why have we stopped?”

Byrne stepped aside, allowing Bayar a clear view. The wizard stared out at the inferno for a long moment. Then turned and called, “Micah! Arkeda and Miphis! Come here.”

The three boys shuffled forward until they stood before the High Wizard. They were shaking, teeth chattering, and looked scared to death. Bayar yanked off his fine leather gloves and stowed them in his pocket. He drew a heavy silver chain from his pocket, fastened one end around his wrist and the other around Micah’s.

“Arkeda and Miphis. Grip the chain here and here,” Bayar said, pointing. They each took hold of the chain between Bayar and Micah as if it were a poisonous snake. “Don’t let go or you’ll regret it,” the wizard said. “But not for long.” He turned to face the fire, seized his amulet with his free hand, and began speaking a charm.