She clung to him, sobbing, her whole body shaking.
Overhead, the discs still hovered almost motionless, making no move to land.
Anger flared in Craig. Instead of releasing the whip, he surged up suddenly, jerking on it with all his might.
The disc from which Narla had been suspended tilted sharply. The whipman pitched off, arms flailing, and sprawled spread-eagled in the grass.
Craig dived onto him before he could even catch his breath—pinning him, gouging at his throat.
But already the other discs were plummeting. Sinewy, work-worn hands dragged Craig back.
Then a bronzed young giant who wore a high ceremonial helmet that must once have belonged to some baron's guard came striding forward. "Hold, friend!" He was laughing.
Craig stared. "Bukal!"
"No other." The strapping Baemae gripped Craig's hand.
"But—the guards—I thought you dead."