Eventhe, last raider in the gang, jumped off the cliff and landed softly on her back. She tucked her legs under her body and rolled down to the road unscathed.
The captain of the glass-hauler didn’t flinch. Eventhe’s shell was shades darker than Wrest’s grey, the same color as the mask she wore, and never removed in any of their presences. Like Staever’s mask, the loose weave allowed her to see, but was opaque in reverse.
She approached the captain, her expression hidden. The captain rushed her with a jab. Eventhe blocked it and caught him across the face, taking advantage of his stumbling to unleash a flurry of quick blows.
Staever whispered to Wrest and Emaria. “Get the cargo. Stay behind cover.”
The captain tried to get his legs moving, but Eventhe bashed her shell against his. The captain cried out and threw his claws upwards, launching Eventhe onto her back in the sand. Before she could right herself, he advanced.
“Staever, Ev’s in trouble!” Emaria scurried to catch up as he hurried to the wreck.
“Is she?” Staever asked. “I never know who’s winning when they don’t have swords.”
“We have to help her.”
“Right, because this is the first time Ev’s been in trouble. Most valuable pieces first. Double-time, like we drilled.”
Emaria kept after him. “She’s not invincible.”
Staever pointed Wrest to a hatch in the deck. “She knows the job. She’s doing her part. We’re doing ours.”
Wrest pummeled the hatch, shattering it with two blows.