cada mago tiene su propia magia de fuego

The Wardens used the zipping little fireballs from the Roman candles and
my own improvised funeral pyre to target their own spells, and then the real
fireworks started.
Each individual wizard has his own particular quirks when it comes to how
he uses his power.
There is no industrial standard for how fire is evoked into use in battle. One
of the Wardens coming up behind me sent forth a stream of tiny stars that
slewed through the night like machine-gun fire, effortlessly burning holes
through trees, rocks, and grey men with equal disdain. Another sent a
stream of fire up in a high arc, and it crashed down among several grey
men, splashing and clinging to any moving thing it struck like napalm.
Lances of scarlet and blue and green fire burned through the air, reminding
me for a mad moment of a scene from a Star Wars movie. Steam hissed and
snarled everywhere, as a swath of woodland forty yards across and half as
deep vanished into light and fury.
Hell’s bells. I mean, I’d seen Wardens at work before, but it had all been
fairly precise, controlled work. This was pure destruction, wholesale,
industrial-strength, and the heat of it was so intense that it sucked the air out
of my lungs.