Basil's valiant effort was rewarded with a cry of pain. His victim crumpled down, holding tight onto the damaged shin. The other guards, alerted by his shout, spun around to face the unexpected threat. Some still stared towards the darkness, weapons at the ready as if waiting for another attack. As the stream of presumed curses spilled from the mouth of their wounded comrade, one of the women finally caught on.
She spoke in curt, simple sentences, likely not wasting any words. Basil's target finally rose, his movements slow. While his expression couldn't be visible through the wrap on his head, his anger was bubbling in his eyes. He raised an arm, but before he managed to bring it down upon the attacker, the woman grabbed it. The others, now informed of the situation, began to cast glances at the boy, no longer seeing him as a passive cargo to be conveyed from one place to the other.
The guards began to tighten ranks around Basil, cautious not to let him escape or attack again. The victim moved to the rearguard, unwilling to take any more kicks. His fist was still tightened and twitching, but he took no more swings at the boy. Apparently they were forbidden to do him unnecessary harm.