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He broke the surface with a gasp, thrashing against a clutch of weeds, seeing scythes of blue fire slash through the canopy in broad sweeps, smelling wood and plants burn, hearing the hiss and crackle of their destruction, tasting smoke and ash on the air. Overhead, the canopy was alive with twisting vines, some of them aflame, others batting wildly at burning neighbors. He saw Ahren Elessedil standing on the raft, both hands thrust skyward, his elemental magic the source of the fire, summoned from the ether and released from his fingers in jagged darts.

“Pen!” someone yelled.

Khyber had surfaced next to the raft and was hanging on one end, trying to balance the uneven platform so that her uncle could defend them. The swamp waters had turned choppy and rough, and it was all the Druid could do to keep from being tossed overboard. Pen swam to their aid, seizing the end of the raft opposite the Elven girl, the vines whipping all about him.

An instant later, Tagwen dropped out of the canopy, his bearded face a mask of confusion and terror as he plunged into the murky waters and then surfaced next to Pen.

“Push us out into the bay!” Ahren Elessedil shouted, dropping to one knee as his tiny platform tilted precariously.

Kicking strongly, Pen and Khyber propelled the raft toward open water, fighting to get clear of the deadly trap. Tagwen hung on tenaciously, and Ahren continued to send shards of fire into the clutching vines, which were still trying to get at him but were unable to break past his defenses. Smoke billowed and roiled in heavy clouds, mingling with swamp mist to form an impenetrable curtain. From somewhere distant, the frightened cries of water birds rose.

When at last they were far enough from the vines to pause in their efforts, Pen and Khyber crawled onto the raft beside Ahren Elessedil, pulled Tagwen up after them, and collapsed, gasping for breath. For several long seconds, no one said anything, their eyes fixed on the smoky mass of tree vines now some distance off.

“We were lucky,” Pen said finally.

“Don’t be stupid!” Khyber snapped in reply. “Look what we’ve done! We’ve given ourselves away!”

Pen stared at her, recognition setting in. She was right. He had forgotten what Ahren Elessedil had said about how using magic would reveal their presence to those who hunted them. Ahren had saved them, but he had betrayed them, as well. Terek Molt would know exactly where they were. The Galaphile would track them to the bay.

“What can we do?” he asked in dismay.

Khyber turned to her uncle. “How much time do we have, Uncle Ahren?”

The Druid shook his head. “Not much. They will come for us quickly.” He climbed to his knees and looked around. Everything was clouded with smoke. “If they are close, we won’t even have time to get off this bay.”

“We can hide!” Pen suggested hurriedly, glancing skyward for movement, for any sign of their pursuers. “Perhaps on one of the islands. We can sink the raft...”

Ahren shook his head. “No, Penderrin. We need to go ashore and find a place to make a stand. We need space in which to move and solid ground on which to do it.” He handed the boy one of the two remaining poles. “Try to get us ashore, Pen. Choose a direction. Do the best you can, but do it quickly.”

With Ahren working on the opposite side, Pen began poling toward shore once more, farther down from where the vines still thrashed and burned, farther along in the direction they had been heading. They made good time, borne on the crest of a tide stirred by their battle with the vines, a tide that swept them east. But Pen sensed that however swiftly they moved, it wasn’t going to be swift enough.

This is all my fault, he kept thinking. Again.

The haze continued thick and unbroken, layering the surface of the water in a roiling blanket that stank of burning wood and leaves. Slowly, the bay went quiet again, the waters turning slate black and oily once more, a dark reflection of the shadows creeping in from the shoreline. Pen