Then a new, wild shout roared up from the crowd.
Haral shot a quick glance back across his shoulder.
The yelling mob was parting. Two more crewmen drove through the throng, dragging along another prisoner.
A lovely prisoner.
Kyla.
Or did her beauty now lie only in his own eyes?
Blood ran down her face. Her features were drawn to a mask of anguish. When she stumbled, one of the raiders caught her by the hair and jerked her upright.
In the stand, Sark rocked with laughter.
Then she was standing, swaying, in the crewmen's grip, beside Haral.