But now the roller was upon her, striking at her legs even as she tried to spring aside. There was the brittle crack of a femur snapping. A scream—high, shrill, alive with surging terror.
The crowd shrieked its delight.
Only then a new voice slashed through the uproar: "No—! No!"
The roller thudded against the wall; lay still. Heads came round, searching for the shouter.
They found him on the dais, with Vydys and Zenaor. It was the Baemae youth, the downed girl's brother. "Curse you!" he shouted, face white with fury. "Curse you all, you vermin!"
He turned as he yelled; started towards Vydys.
She went rigid. Beside her, the Lord Zenaor brought up his hand in a quick, tight gesture.
Guards lunged forward, weapons drawn and ready.
The youth whipped a knife from beneath his livery. Slashing, he leaped back, eyes rolling wildly.
But there was no escape ... only the closing circle of hard-faced guards with their leveled fire-guns.