The crowd roared; strained forward.
Up on the dais, the Baemae youth surged to his feet—fists clenched, face working.
Vydys laughed aloud ... a throaty chortle, somehow hideous, more befitting fiend than woman. "Ah, Zenaor! Was that not well turned?" Her features shone with strange, evil radiance.
The chief of barons shrugged, face wooden.
Down in the ring, the roller came to rest. Panting, shaking, the Baemae girl scrambled to her feet.
Vydys' smooth brow furrowed. Slowly, the roller began to move again—in a spiral, this time, circling and converging on its fear-straught prey.
Sobbing, the girl tottered backward.
Swiftly, the roller changed course ... spun towards her.
The girl fled, running off wildly at right angles, not even pausing to look behind her.
Veering once more, the roller raced to intercept her. Too late, the girl threw a mad glance back over her shoulder.