The speed bubble went up. Tarson would fire in mere moments. Miles behind him, pointing angrily. Torchfire frozen. It was like watching an explosion in slow motion again. Waxillium raised his Sterrion, and found his arm incredibly still.

It had been still on the day he’d shot Lessie, too.

He’d shot her with this very gun.

Sweating, trying to banish the images from his head, he tried to find a clear shot at Tarson. There wasn’t one. Oh, he could hit Tarson, but not anywhere that would drop him immediately. And if Waxillium didn’t hit just right, the man would shoot Marasi by reflex.

The head was the best way to drop a Pewterarm. Only, Waxillium couldn’t see the head. Could he shoot the gun? Marasi’s face was in the way. The knees? He might be able to hit a knee. No. A Pewterarm would ignore most hits—if the damage wasn’t immediately lethal, he’d stay up, and he’d shoot.

It had to be the head.

Waxillium held his breath. This is the most accurate gun I’ve ever fired, he thought. I can’t sit here, frozen. I have to act.

I have to do something.

Sweat dripped off his chin. He raised his hand with a quick motion in front of him, then pointed the Sterrion to the side, off center from Marasi or Tarson. Wax fired.

The bullet shot out of the bubble in an instant, then hit slower time. It deflected, as bullets always did when fired from within a speed bubble. He watched it go, judging its new trajectory. It moved forward sluggishly, spinning as it cut through the air.

Wax took careful aim, waited several excruciating moments. Then he readied his steel.

“Drop it on my mark,” he whispered.

Wayne nodded.

“Go.”

Wax fired and Pushed.

The speed bubble fell.

“—ee!” Miles called.

A small shower of sparks exploded in the air as Wax’s second bullet, propelled with incredible speed by his Steelpush, clipped the other one in midair and deflected it to the side: behind Marasi, into Tarson’s head.

The Pewterarm dropped immediately, gun slapping to the ground, eyes staring dully upward. Miles gaped. Marasi blinked, then turned about, raising her arms to her chest.