That was a mistake, he saw almost immediately. With his arm at full extension, he wasn’t in a position to attack, and one of the smaller men lurking behind the leader sprang forward before he could recover. He got both hands on Marcus’ wrist and pulled him sideways, slamming his hand into the stone wall of the corridor. Marcus’ fingers exploded with pain, and his saber slipped away, clattering noisily on the floor.

“Get ’em!” the leader shouted.

The rioters rushed forward. Marcus, still clutching his hand, managed to stick his leg out to trip the nearest, sending him sprawling to the flagstones. Then the man who’d grabbed his hand was on top of him, wrapping his arms around Marcus’ shoulders and trying to bear him to the floor. It was the move of someone who’d been in more drunken wrestling matches than honest-to-God street fights, and Marcus let him come close before driving a knee up hard into his groin. All the strength went out of his assailant, and he folded up like a damp cloth.

Andy, standing in the center of the corridor, met the rioters’ rush head-on. The leader came after her with his chair leg, a clumsy overhand swing, and she moved neatly out of the way and cracked him on the back of the head with the end of the broom handle as he went past. The next man hesitated, pulling up short, but misjudged the distance—he ended up stopping at the perfect range for her to swing the broom into his face with all the leverage of three feet of solid wood. The crunch of his nose breaking was audible, and he tumbled bonelessly backward.

The last two rioters were big men, and they moved as though they’d fought together before. They spread out , one going left and one going right, and when Andy wound up to hit one of them, the other moved like a snake, grabbing her arm with both hands and locking the her elbow behind her back. She gasped in pain and let the broom handle fall.

Marcus’ right hand still hurt, badly enough that he was certain he’d broken something. He stepped up behind Andy’s attacker, ready with a kick to the back of the knee that would have sent him sprawling, but something snagged his foot. He looked down to find the man he’d tripped grabbing his ankle, hanging on like a drowning man clutching a log. Marcus spun and kicked him in the side of the head, once and then again when he didn’t let go.