They came in a long, spread-out line. Hundreds of vehicles, the entire Syndicate force, riding abreast, a wide wave of troops, the dust from their wheels reaching into the sky, a dun cloud partially obscuring the hoovering quadcopters.

  An army rolling toward us.

  The lead vehicles were less than half a kilometer away, but not that fast. I guessed it would take them two minutes or more to reach us.

  I could use that.

  They traveled in distinct packs, the same seven clan groups as before, with the quadcopters riding herd on them, weaving and dipping to position themselves better.

  Which was likely why they were traveling so slowly. Nobody wanted to be in front, with all the guns behind their backs.

  I could definitely use that. Even with my mind fuzzy, my fingers numb, by throat dry and raw, I could use that.

  A magerifle doesn't leave a trace, doesn't cause a bang, or a whizz of a passing bullet. It is the perfect sniper weapon, except for the burning out your mind part.

  At four hundred meters, the trikes and transports were dark dots in the desert, running down a slight slope toward us.

  At three hundred, I could pick out which pack was leading the cavalcade, slightly ahead of the others, somewhat fewer vehicles. Maybe it even was the Void Orbs, trying to hurry home to the safety of their walls.

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  I didn't choose that one. Too easy. The other clans would pounce, destroying them. I wanted war.

  I picked the largest group, aimed for the trike at the extreme right-hand edge.

  It went up in a ball of flame.

  The one furthest to the left, an eight-wheeled transport, I hit with a razor ward, peppering it with a thousand tiny holes, ripping away stanchions and collapsing the wheel arms.

  It twisted aside, colliding with the adjacent gun-carrier.

  I blew up a vehicle at the back, setting its fuel tank ablaze. Didn't even know what kind of vehicle it was. Destroying it felt great, adrenaline pumping though my heart. Other vehicles were exploding around it, orange glows in the dust cloud.

  My head hit the rifle, bounced, and I lifted the rifle again. There was a war on. I had to keep shooting.

  Hao yanked on my rifle.

  "Leggo," I muttered, trying to pull it back, but she wouldn't relent, kept yanking.

  Stupid crudmunger. I conjured up a thread, meaning to slap her with it. It came, a slow, sticky, almost caramel sensation. Hao kept screaming. Why'd she scream at me?

  "Look at you," she said. "Look at you!"

  I looked. I'd been hit. Lots of blood, but no pain.

  Hit in the head, likely. Had to keep fighting.

  No.

  My nose was bleeding again. Nose blood. Migraine. I was burning out.

  Slowly, reluctantly, I let the thread dissipate. It left an empty void where the magic should have been.

  My grip on my rifle weakened and Hao yanked it away.

  In the distance, the roar of engines was drowned out by the roar of guns. The Syndics were fighting each other.

  "Come on," Hao said. "We've got to take the hauler."

  She picked up the Knife, slung him over her shoulder, and reached down to give me a hand.

  I clasped her calloused palm. Together we stumbled toward the port.