"Numbers don't matter if they can only reach you one at a time."
***
The flames around her fingers shifted color. Orange to white-hot as she poured everything she had into the stone. The air around her hands shimmered with heat. The smell of superheated rock filled the tunnel. Acrid and sharp enough to make Rhys's eyes water.
Where her hands touched, the loose debris began to flow like thick honey warmed over a fire. The stone lost its solidity. Became something between liquid and solid that responded to her will.
She shaped it with movements that were part instinct and part training. Merged and hardened the molten material into a protective wall around Jorik's upper body. She worked fast. Sweat streamed down her face and cut tracks through the dried blood and dust that covered her skin.
