She unslung the rifle from her back and started loading it, working hard with the ramrod to jam the tight-fitting ball down the barrel. Once it was prepared to her satisfaction, she propped it on the thin railing that protected the roof walk, sighting on the crossroads and the bonfire.

If she’s wrong, we’re all in deep shit. It was a lot of trust to place in a self-admitted ex-Concordat agent. But Raesinia’s faith in Sothe was implicit. And we don’t have a lot of other choices.

“I’ll head down, then. In case you miss.”

“I won’t miss,” Sothe said, not looking up. “But be ready in case one shot isn’t enough. I’ll join you when I can.”

When Marcus returned to ground level, the Leatherbacks were ready. The Silver Eagle building had one large double door and several smaller entrances, and teams were stationed next to each, prepared to rush the crossroads. Those who had muskets waited beside the old-fashioned leaded glass windows. Marcus doubted any of them would qualify as a marksman, so it didn’t matter much that the range was long enough that accurate shooting was going to be difficult.

Walnut, who seemed to have assumed the position of second in command, met Marcus at the stairwell. Marcus found himself half expecting a salute.

“We’re ready,” the big man said. “The grenade team is by the doors.”

“Make sure the musketeers know that they should only fire one volley,” Marcus said. “Otherwise they’ll be as dangerous to us as the Patriots.”

Walnut nodded and moved off, whispering a few words to the men and women crouched by the windows. Marcus took a position by a glass pane less distorted than most, offering a reasonably clear view of the crossroads. Beside him, a plump older woman he wouldn’t have been surprised to find selling him flour and vegetables clutched a musket in sweaty hands.

Outside, a carriage pulled up beside the bonfire, driven by another sash-wearing Patriot Guard. The door opened, and there she was—an old woman, cloaked against the autumn chill, walking with the aid of a cane. She descended one step at a time, carefully, but none of the soldiers offered to help her. The Patriot Guards obviously knew something about who she was, in fact, because they began to drift discreetly away, keeping as much distance between themselves and the sorceress as duty would allow.

Marcus found himself holding his breath. One shot. One good shot and this is over. The old woman reached the ground and walked, slowly, toward the growing bonfire. What is she waiting for? Sothe—