Sofia warned Duncan to be ready. It was still a surprise when the campfire exploded in a green fireball.

Fire spat upward in a geyser of angry green heat and light. Smoke chased the flames, blanketing the campsite in thick, acrid charcoal gray clouds. Somewhere in the chaos, outlaws either yelled in angry or yelped in pain, trying to extinguish a burning shirt or coat sleeve.

All Duncan knew was that one moment, he had been crouched next to the birch tree, prepared to run at the camp. The next he was sitting on the ground gathering his wits and blinking spots away from his vision.

“Saint’s breath,” he muttered in a hushed tone.

Scrambling to his feet, Duncan squinted at the smoke. Shadowy figures darted around in the churning mess, coughing or rolling on the grass to extingu...

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