Einarr knew which way was out only because he could still feel cooler air on his back. Ahead of him, for spouted from every surface and smoke filled the air. The only thing louder than the crackle of flames was the occasional scream of a horse.
He kept his arm up as a mostly futile shield against the worst of the heat, trying to remember if the stableboy kept his tools on the right or the left. Taking a gamble, he checked left.
A puff of flame shot up from the floor when he stepped on straw flooring, the dust igniting immediately. He drew back long enough for the tiny fireball to go out. This was the right way, then, and if the picket rope wasn’t already burning he should be able to cut it and free the horses soon.
A black mass rose up before him: the wall of…
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