“Right.” Giforte took a deep breath. “I’ll give you the word when we’re ready.”

Raesinia was talking quietly to Feor. A bit belatedly, Marcus realized that all this business of combat and musketry, to which he’d long since become accustomed, represented a new world for her no matter how many clandestine exploits she’d had. He looked over her face, and found no trace of fear there. Maybe being immortal makes it easier to get used to.

“We cannot just leave them,” Feor said. “You don’t know what was sacrificed to get the archive here.”

“We can’t ask Giforte and his men to die to no purpose,” Raesinia said. “We have to—”

Marcus was interested to know whether Raesinia had come to the same conclusions he and Giforte had, but she was interrupted by shouts from the front of the house. A sudden increase in the volume of rifle fire was followed by screams, and the splintery, rending crash of shattering wood.

The main hall, where they were standing, looked through an open foyer onto the front doors. Marcus saw them bow inward, wood cracking and sagging in its metal frame as though it had been hit by a battering ram. Or a cannonball. For a mad moment he thought the Patriot Guard had already gotten a gun in place, but they’d have heard the report—

Another blow tore the doors apart, fragments of wood spinning away and metal bands peeling back. They shuddered open, and through the battle smoke a huge figure loomed. Four Mierantai, who’d backed away from the windows and shouldered their rifles, all fired at once; at such close range they could hardly miss, but the figure didn’t flinch. Two huge strides covered the distance separating it from the soldiers, and it grabbed the closest rifle, tore it from the owner’s hands, and swung it into the next man like a club. The impact snapped the weapon in two and sent the soldier flying across the hall.

It was a huge man, all in black. Smoke clung to the giant, blowing off him like steam. When he turned to regard Marcus and the others, his face was hidden behind a dark mask, covered with glittering fragments of black glass.

“Abh-naathem,” Feor said. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Giforte,” Marcus roared. “Break out now!”

Giforte shouted orders at the Mierantai. More men appeared on the stairs, and more rifles fired. Marcus could see the balls striking home with little puffs of dust and torn cloth, but they bothered the giant no more than flea bites. He snatched up another soldier in one hand and squeezed, the crunch of breaking ribs audible even over the firefight, then flung the spasming victim aside. As the rest scrambled out of the way, he focused on Raesinia, and the glass on his face shifted as though he was grinning under the mask. The floor shook as he stepped forward.