“You really wanna hash this out here? Now?” Corva looks around. They shouldn’t be wasting their time here. She isn’t a fighter, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t seen her fair share of raids. They’re not anything to take lightly. Her mind flashes back to the attack on Fareburne. Sure, that was ten years ago, but it’s not like much has changed since then. Doesn’t matter if the raid is Umbrati, Karui, or other people. When a raid comes, you run and hide. She knows that better than most.

That said, folks in this town seem to be on the same page. Even though nearly everyone here is heavily armed, they’ve all piled into the security of their caves. Even the militia. She sees two guards duck behind the closing siege doors. The only one left up there is that Harris guy.

And then there’s this kid, Jack. Unarmed. Standing out here without cover. Looking for a monkey. Trying to argue with her about whether or not she’s skilled at fighting. How in the world are you not dead?

Uncharacteristically, he hasn’t spoken. The little brat is actually considering an answer to her question! She snaps her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Hey! It was rhetorical. The answer is no. You don’t want to hash that out here and now. Not if you have any sense.”

She grabs his arm and starts dragging him to the steps. “Come on. We’ve got to get in the cave before your not-friend closes the door on us.”

He doesn’t pull his arm away this time, but he’s still dragging his feet. “What about Zeke?”

The question gives her a moment of pause. Only for a moment, though. She can’t put her finger on why, but she knows that Zeke is near. “Something tells me that your monkey is pretty good at taking care of himself. Even if he’s not already in the cave, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Neither side of the war has any interest in pets.”

That makes Jack yank his arm back. “Zeke ain’t no pet! He’s—he’s family. An’ he’s the …”

Jack’s words trail off and his eyes focus somewhere behind her, farther up the stairs. All of the color drains from his face.

Corva doesn’t need to turn around. She already knows what’s standing there. An eerie collision of clicking and growling fills her ears, like a small group of people trying to clear their throats at the same time. Nothing else makes a sound like that.

It’s an Umbrati grunt.

The thing is close. She can feel its body heat on the back of her neck. The putrid smell of it overwhelms her senses. She can even taste it. Her eyes start to water, and she can barely breathe. Every attempt to inhale gets caught in her throat.

Choking, only one word repeats in her mind. Escape.

She ducks as low as possible while remaining on her feet and charges at Jack. There’s a crashing sound behind her, but she ignores it. She sticks her arm out and hooks it around Jack’s waist, pulling him with her.

Jack keeps trying to say something. Corva isn’t sure if it’s shock or the fact that she may have knocked the wind out of him, but there’s only one sound coming from his mouth.

“Fffffffff—”

They make it a few paces before she spins around to face their attacker.

This creature is grotesque. There are signs that it used to be a person. A man, perhaps. But the tattered scraps of clothing are the only hints remaining of its former life. Maybe it once had a smooth, even complexion and a regularly proportioned body. Now the grunt’s dark green skin looks like it’s been stretched over its gaunt frame and elongated limbs. A dark, greasy mane of hair extends down its back to its waist and a mottled layer of dirt, grime, and dried blood covers it from head to toe.

The thing looks like it spends its off-hours just standing in a room of exploding pigeons.

Crouching in a pile of rubble at the base of the steps, the grunt rotates its head to face them. The metal plate riveted over its mouth would be bothersome enough, but … its eyes. One of the empty sockets is surrounded by deep scars, evidence that at some point in the past, the grunt had clawed the eye out on its own. The second eyeball is still in place, but it doesn’t function as an eye at all. It doesn’t even move. The gray, glassy orb is skewered into the socket with a nail jammed through the grunt’s temple. A glint from the tip of the nail reflects from within the empty hole where the other eye once was.

Still clicking and growling, the grunt raises from its crouch. The creature’s abnormally long arms remain on the ground, but even so, it towers two or three heads taller than Corva. The thing extracts its arms from the pile of rubble. One arm is noticeably heavier than the other. As the dust and pebbles roll off, it’s easy to see why. The hand on the heavy arm looks like it’s been replaced with a weighted metal ball of some sort. The opposite arm moves more freely, not burdened by a weight. However, the free forearm is a veritable pincushion of spikes and long knives that have been stabbed through, all the way to their hilts.

The grunt stalks toward them on all fours, shoulders raising and lowering with each step like a big cat.

Corva slides a foot back and keeps Jack behind her. Desperate, she scans the tiny courtyard for options. There has to be something, anything they can use to protect themselves or get away.

Nope.

Their best choice is to turn around and make for the narrow alley they’d used to get here. Not wanting to telegraph her plan, she takes a sidelong glance at the alley. There’s a small cart that they’ll need to run around, but other than that, the route is clear. She cuts an eye over at Jack, still behind her. He’s not paying attention to her at all. His eyes are glued on the grunt.

He doesn’t look afraid, though. More like he’s coming up with his own strategy. One hand is wrapped tightly around the bottom of his vest.

What’s he holding there?

It doesn’t matter. There’s no time to clue him in on her plan. She reaches back and grabs his free wrist. He’ll just have to improvise and keep up.

Now or never. The grunt lowers its upper body, ready to pounce. Corva waits a beat, letting the thing commit to its attack. The second it bolts forward at them, she spins, springing toward the alley. She yanks on Jack’s arm and feels it pop out of socket as he struggles to turn and follow. He screams out in pain, but he doesn’t stop moving. He’s right there with her.

There’s a smashing sound behind them as the grunt collides with a street vendor’s cart and shelving. The cacophony continues as it tries to untangle itself. But she keeps her attention in front of them. They’re almost back to the alley.

Almost.

She hears a familiar clicking, throat-clearing noise. However, it’s not behind them, where she expects it. It’s somewhere up ahead. They’re a mere two or three steps away from the alley when a second grunt rounds the corner, blocking their exit.

Corva and Jack skid to a stop, sliding just out of the grunt’s reach.

“Filho de uma puta.”