Herewiss, Prince of the Brightwood, is the only man in centuries to possess the Power of the Flame, but he cannot use or control it - not even to help his dearest friend, Freelorn, the exiled Prince of Arien.
Herewiss faces a devastating choice. Shall he join the Freelorn in his fight to regain his kingdom? Or shall he abandon his friend to seek out the ancient castle where doors
are said to lead to other worlds, worlds here, perhaps, he can learn to control the Power that burns within him ...
(What is death?) The fire elemental sang, its up-leaping fires dancing and weaving through the timbre of its thought. (Why do you fear? They would come back. So would you. The dance goes on forever, and the fire - )
Sunspark gathered itself up, leaped, streamed across hte sky like a meteor, a trail fo fire crackling behind it and lighting the lowering clouds as if with a sudden disasterous dawn.
The army broke, scattering this way and that in wild disorder, screaming. Sunspark flitted from place to place in the first camp, the one on the eastern side, leaving explosions of white fire behind it. The flames spread with unnatural speed, leaping from tent to wagon as if of their own volition.
Herewiss opened a door in the encircling cloud, parting it to the northward, and people began to flee through it. They fled, officers and men together, with their screaming horses. Sunspark came behind them, though not too closely, spitting gledes and rockets of fire with joyous abandon.