Maertyn meant to set only a small fire at first. When they led him and the dozen or so other men crammed into his cell out to the garden, he found he was uncomfortably lucid. His hangover was long gone. All the things that he avoided for half a lifetime alone on the mountain surrounded him. Noise, fear, and crying.

　　He could have, if wanted, panicked them. Held his hands above his head and pulled until both palms were full of fire. Did these poor people even realize that their black stick dolls were supposed to be in his image?

　　No, he`d told himself. Do what she said—wait for the professor. It had been a very long time since Maertyn had prayed—he`d replaced all his prayers with whiskey. Now that he had neither, he put his faith in Anryn.

　　Then they came to the pyre. Standing a whole foot taller than the men chained to him, Maertyn looked out over the tops of their heads and saw the wide wooden platform. The Sight picked out the little splotches of blood flecked over it. Some of them belonged to Anryn.

　　He knew then that he couldn`t wait any longer. The prince could grind her teeth at him over it later. He grabbed the chain that kept him hooked to the prisoner in front of him. Maertyn could See the iron beneath his hands when it had been ore mined from the earth, and also See the moment when it would dissolve as all things do under the touch of time. He Wove it forward, the metal rusting under his hands. It crumbled to dust between his fingers.

　　No one noticed. The crowd was so thick that the guards could barely hold them back with their poleaxes. It would take more magic than that to stand out among the hundreds of tense, angry faces. Maertyn reached behind him and Unwove the other chain, and waited until he was herded closer to the wooden platform while they made room for other prisoners to arrive.

　　When the sun started to set, Maertyn made his move. He reached out to touch the bloodstained platform and called the black flames to his fingertips. He pushed at them, driving the fire along the underside of the platform, where it wouldn`t be seen right away. Maertyn Wove air into the black fire to make it spread faster.

　　They want to burn witches? Maertyn thought. His face ached with a vicious smile. We will see who burns first.

　　When the smoke rose up between the boards, the screams started. Maertyn let everyone around him flee, keeping his feet firmly planted beneath him so that he would not be knocked down. As the smoke spread, he used the Sight to cut through the dark haze—and finally found Professor Lawson, chained up with a dozen other men. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

　　"You look like you could use a drink," Maertyn told him.

　　 "Good God, Master Blackfire, your timing is impeccable," the professor gasped. He rubbed his neck where Maertyn had Unwoven the iron collar for him. "Though I do not know how you can think of drinking at a time like this! Come—we`ve got to make our way to a fire lane&"

　　 By now, Maertyn saw that his flames had eaten away at most of the pyre. The logs and tinder he hadn`t burned were starting to catch fire from the heat, little orange knives of natural fire stabbing the air. For a moment, Maertyn thought of smothering them before they could spread.

　　Then he spotted the mages among the crowd. With the Sight, Maertyn`s eyes picked out a half-dozen faces among the men and women. They were watching the pyre, their eyes wide with fear, their hidden scythes glittering from the unearthly light of the black flames.

　　Of course they came for the witches, Maertyn thought. They would be there for Anryn, too.

　　Maertyn`s Sight settled on the one who stood the closest to him. This mage was dressed in the robes of a priest, masquerading as a confessor. Maertyn snarled a curse and lunged for him. The mage spotted him just in time to duck into the crowd. Maertyn shoved after him. His fingers closed around the brown wool robe and he yanked the man backward.

　　"Come wind!" screamed the mage.

　　A gust of air knocked the people around Maertyn to the ground. It rippled over the flames in the garden, fanning them. The orange knives danced and jumped the iron fence around the gardens. Smoke swirled up from the trees and bushes there. People started to scream. Or was it the screams of the voices, all the mages Maertyn had ever killed, crying out in his mind? He thought he saw stars in the mage`s eyes as they rolled backward to look at Maertyn.

　　"Master Blackfire!" Professor Lawson was there, grabbing him by the shoulders. "We must get away—hurry!"

　　The mage seized his chance and slipped out of the robe. Maertyn gathered himself to give chase, but felt the air in his nose and mouth sting with heat. He looked around and realized the blaze was already out of his control. It spread out from the pyre in all directions, with no way for Maertyn to get ahead of it to form a bank.

　　Maertyn`s sober mind returned Anryn. He would not chase after the mages like he had in Java. His rage would not get the better of him this time.

　　"Where is Anryn?" Maertyn asked.

　　The professor tried to get his bearings. He looked all around them in the smoky streets. At last, he pointed at the hulking shadow of the palace, south of the gardens.

　　"There," the professor coughed. "The prince will be there, if he`s alive."

　　Maertyn started to run, but Professor Lawson grabbed his arm. Maertyn dragged the professor along beside him as they cut a path through the crowd parallel to the spreading flames. The man was babbling something at him, some lecture Maertyn could barely hear over the screams of panic in the streets.

　　Something about a prisoner`s dilemma.