“Shoot her!” Raesinia hissed. She drew one of her own pistols, aimed, and fired as soon as it looked as though the guards were lining up another shot. It was too far for someone of her low skill to hope to score a hit, however, and besides sending the enemy ducking for cover again, there was no obvious effect. She tossed the empty weapon away and drew the other. “Marcus! Get them to shoot the woman.”

A musket cracked, and one of the Mierantai stumbled and crashed into a stack of boxes. His two companions dove for cover, and Andy popped up and fired again, raising sparks where the ball glanced off a stone outside. Raesinia caught sight of Hayver, taking cover behind a box and frantically ramming a new round into his musket. The old woman continued her unhurried advance, staff tinking on the floor, while behind her the Patriot Guard fired from the sides of the doorway and ducked out of sight. One of them took too long in aiming, and a Mierantai rifle cracked, sending him sprawling to the floor.

Hayver rose from cover, musket swinging about, aiming square at the old woman from less than twenty yards. She had time to turn her head before his weapon bloomed with fire and smoke. Something fast and bright happened, just in front of her, the sphere of flame swooping with trip-hammer speed to place itself between them. Something spattered across the old woman’s clothes, spraying droplets that smoked wherever they landed.

She melted the ball—

“Hayver!” Marcus shouted. “Back!”

Hayver backpedaled, dropping his musket and scrabbling for his pistol. He backed into a stack of musket crates and stumbled, sending the topmost crashing to the floor. Weapons packed neatly in straw spilled across the floor.

The old woman raised her hand, her face gleeful. The fiery orb subdivided again, and a smaller mote zipped across the space between them to impact on Hayver’s chest. It spread across him in an instant, as though he’d been dipped in lamp oil, outlining him in a nimbus of fire that brightened until it was white-hot. The pistol in his hand exploded as the charge cooked off, spraying blood across the floor, but Hayver was already screaming. His flyaway hair seemed to glow as each strand burst into brief, brilliant flame.

“Hayver!” Andy put her musket to her shoulder, sighting on the woman, and pulled the trigger. Sparks flashed in the pan, but she must have been hasty loading, because the shot didn’t fire. Another shot, from one of the Mierantai, did. The ball of flame skipped across to interpose itself, again spattering her with molten lead, which she ignored as though it were drops of rain. Another bolt of fire slashed out, and the rifleman began to burn.

“Run!” Marcus shouted.