Wyrd: Book One of the Witch War Trilogy - WATTYS 2018 WINNER!

Chapter 7: When Rowan Upsets a Little Girl

*Please note that there is some mature content in this chapter.*

Rowan prided herself on being decisive, on knowing how to proceed, on having her tongue ready for witty retorts. She refused to admit that she was in a bind with no clue how to get out. But she was, in fact, in a bind and still short an idea. She didn't know how to get out of it—yet, she conceded—but she sure knew how she'd gotten into it.

She had slid into the barracks upstairs like a ghost assassin, dispatching wayward guards along the long hallway, a poisonous spider dangling from the rafters. No one saw her coming, no one was alive to see her go.

Four FF soldiers had been stationed between the dungeons and the Captain's quarters. One at the top of the steps, one pacing the corridor and two by the entrance to the main area. The first man had bled all over her when she'd slipped behind him and stabbed him in the kidney. Then she had used the window to leverage her way up the brick wall and into the exposed wood beams above. She was moving down the wooden beams built into the ceiling, crawling like a jaguar stalking its prey from a tree branch when she dislodged a heavy layer of dust above the head of the second man. She crouched, stark still and precariously perched, as the specks of dust rained down from the rafters onto the top of the guard's balding head.

He let out a gigantic sneeze.

Dropping upside down, hair dangling, and knees hooked over the cross-beam, now face-to-face with the burly man, Rowan whispered, "Gods, bless."

Before he could even register surprise, a thin red line was drawn along his throat, a delicate ruby choker of blood. He fell to the ground with a thump. Rowan flipped down to the ground, bending her knees for impact and praying for a quiet dismount.

Rowan had been so sure that all the noise would alert the last two guards to her presence, but when she glanced towards them, readying herself to sprint and take them out, she noticed that they were preoccupied with a game of cards. She thanked her lucky stars and squeezed herself into the decreasing shadows, tiptoeing forward. The sun was rising through the East-facing windows and time was ticking away. She took the men unawares, two quick and coordinated stilettos to the backs of their necks severing both spinal cords.

Four fewer rats left in the world. There was nothing to be done about the bodies. It would take too long finding somewhere to hide them away and their absence would be cause for alarm regardless. Rowan had been quick and quiet about it, but there was a little girl somewhere and the longer this took the closer the child would come to ruin.

So Rowan had pushed open the door that lead to a common area, rooms of the elite to the right, bunks for everyone else in a massive room to the left. From here on in, one wrong move, one person sounding the alarm, and she'd be swimming in a see of infantry. The setup wasn't ideal. There were three officer's quarters and she had no way of knowing which one was the Captain's. It was going to be a game of three cups, guessing which one held the girl and what might be behind each door.

Behind door number one was a rotund little man, probably their scribe, snoring lightly in his cot, a desk cluttered with papers, ink bottles and quills, and a bookcase with all sorts of leather-bound volumes the only furniture, other than the bed, in his room. After peeking in, she pulled the door closed again ever so gently. She listened, ear up against the grain of the second door, but heard nothing. Door number three then, she decided. With surprise being her best – and likely only – option, she kicked it in and stormed through.

The scumbag Captain was there and startled, caught with his hands down his pants, rubbing himself vigorously while staring into the big brown eyes of a frail child clutching a teddy bear.