The Luck of Brin's Five by Cherry; Wilder

the grass like wounded birds, and the Leader, who had twirled and gestured close to the burning stake, began to cry out.
    â€œAvert!”
    The twirlers, in ecstasy on the bruised grass, took up the cry in echoing tones. “Avert! Avert! Avert!”
    â€œAvert the Demon!”
    Again the shout went round. “Avert the Demon . . . who comes from the Void . . . who flies on Hingstull . . . who flies in the night, encased in metal . . . with claws for hands!”
    The crowd hissed with fear. The Pentroy vassals, I saw, had an officer, a grim figure in a leather mask-helmet, who was drawing them together.
    â€œAvaunt!” screamed the twirlers. “Devil came down! Descended on Cullin! The devilish Silver Ship was shipped through the town! Here! Where is the Devil! The Devil! The Devil! The Demon with claws! The Devil is here!”
    The Leader’s voice was high and chilling; I wondered, how did the twirlers know? I shivered and clutched Diver’s arm, to reassure myself that he was no devil. Roy led the way through the edges of the crowd, heading for Side-street Four, where Beeth Ulgan’s house stood.
    Suddenly the Pentroy officer made a booming blast on his roarer and the vassals moved in. The twirlers, disturbed in ecstasy, fought and screamed like mad things. A panic spread among the poor wintry citizens; a few ran to help the twirlers or beat feebly at the vassals who were hustling them out of the way. The burly members of the Town Watch waded into the fray, striking—I saw—mainly at vassals and calling aloud for the townees to clear the streets.
    Through an opening in the crowd came two vassals struggling with a poor naked twirler, wide-eyed and streaked with blood. I tried to dive out of the way, but a movement of the crowd bore me to the ground. I remember flailing about and screaming like a twirler myself before Diver hauled me up again. We tried to continue on our way, but the vassals and their prisoner were behind us, pressing against the frightened, angry bystanders. Some of them, including the Harper, set up a shout.
    â€œLet the twirler go! Shame! Set down the spirit-warrior! Out Pentroy! To blazes with the vassals!”
    The vassals came on, grim-faced.
    â€œThey’ll dump the twirler in Street Four,” said the Harper, in my ear. We struggled out of their path; and when the crowd drew back, we followed the vassals and their shrieking burden into the dark mouth of the street.
    Diver had taken the lead. My heart was pounding; I thought I knew what he was about to do, but I was wrong. He had no need for a weapon. When we were out of sight of the crowd, he threw back his cloak and downed one of the vassals. Diver had an extraordinary way of fighting. I have seen no one to match him save Blacklock himself. He chopped the vassal across the back of the neck with the side of his hand, and the creature dropped like a stone.
    â€œOne for you!” he shouted to Harper Roy.
    The Harper, nothing loath, did a hip roll on the other. I got into position, crying, “Tree trunk,” and together we took the staggering vassal by the arms and ran it headfirst into the nearest wall. The tree trunk, which is the oldest mountain wrestling trick in the skein, works even better in a town, there are so many walls. I was trembling with excitement and fear; the experience of using the tree trunk to bring down a person, instead of practicing it in sport and stopping long before the head hit the tree, was too much for me.
    We turned to the twirler, who was propped upright against a wall. The Harper moved in, uttering soothing words, but the twirler was still mad. A hand laid on the shivering brown arm caused more shrieks, more kicking. Already the mouth of the street was full of townees.
    â€œCome on!” said Diver. He seized the slight figure of the twirler, trying to pinion those flailing arms and sharp shells.
    â€œQuiet!” he said in his clumsy Moruian. For an instant the