Augin whirled around. Four forest creatures – dark skin tinged green, black eyes slanted downward, noses small but spread – leered at him from crouched positions, two-digit hands lifted into claws, sharp teeth exposed in silent snarls.
The first and second went down via daggers – he always kept a blade in each boot – and the third had his teeth knocked out before he even had opportunity to look down upon his fallen companions. The fourth rushed forward and took a hit in the jaw that laid him out cold.
Swift they were, but small and easily knocked about. He felt bad about killing two of them, but four against one? Even a priest might offer absolution for those odds.
Torrullin whistled. “Palace Guard, indeed.”