Barbara Howe
Thunder rolls in a continuous barrage, echoing off mountain walls. Lightning blazes across the sky, one jagged flash after another. The bolts that hit their targets leave charred bodies in their wake. The attacks that miss turn spruce and fir into torches, spreading fire until the entire mountain is in flames. Struggling wizards stand out as black silhouettes against the reds and oranges of the forest fire and the white of the deep snow.In the valley, villagers cower under beds or huddle in cellars. The bravest peek out through gaps in closed shutters and pray for the Fire Warlock to come and save them.Their prayers go unanswered. There is no Fire Warlock. 3
