THE HEALER’S SHIELD The air on the ridge wasn't as thick, but it was still there. Every time the wind picked up, a fresh wave of that sparkling death would drift toward the wounded. I looked around at the people lying on the dirt. They were coughing, their skin turning gray and mottled.

"We can't just sit here," I whispered to myself. My throat felt like I had swallowed hot coals.

Demetrius was trying to stand. He was using a broken branch as a crutch. "We need... to move them further back. ...