“That’s not going to be possible. My master instructed me to allow no one inside.”

The Guard officer frowned. “I don’t give a damn what your master said. Open this door or we’ll have you on the Spike!”

“I suggest you leave the premises at once. And tell your men to withdraw.”

The officer spun on his heel and stalked back to his three men. “Break the door down!”

The trio, obviously unaware of how many weapons were trained on them, moved up to the front door. They all carried heavy axes, which Marcus recognized from his brief time in the Armsmen as weapons designed for exactly this situation. A few well-aimed blows would open most stubborn portals, but in this case he doubted they’d get the chance to even wind up. It was hard to watch anyone, even the enemy—how did they become the enemy?—walk into certain death. Go back, you stupid bastards . . .

The Patriot Guards raised their axes, the officer watching from a few yards back.

“That’s it,” Giforte shouted. “Fire!”

The crunch of breaking glass came from all over the house, as one Mierantai in the pair at each window slammed his rifle butt against the windowpane. His companion leveled his rifle through the gap in the curtains, took aim for a moment, then fired. A staccato series of cracks echoed weirdly through Willowbrook’s rooms.

The three men at the door, who’d lowered their axes at the sound of breaking glass, collapsed instantly. Behind them, the officer’s head snapped back, spraying blood and brains, and he took a single involuntary step before collapsing nervelessly to the gravel. More balls raised splinters from the wagon, and at least one found one of the horses, who started to rear and thrash desperately in its harness. Shouts from the sides and rear of the house indicated the volley was having an effect there, too.

“Fire! Fire!” someone outside screamed as the rifle shots died away. The Patriot Guards obeyed, sliding their muskets out from behind the wagons and blazing away at the house. Balls pattered and thocked into the facade, like hail falling into stiff mud. As they loaded, the second man in each pair of Mierantai leaned out and fired, and Marcus saw several men fall drunkenly away from the wagon and sprawl in the street. Smoke boiled from most of the windows of the house and around the hedgerows that surrounded it.