The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,23

the city was still asleep, even though the first pink blush of predawn light was already creeping up above the building tops. That might not be a bad thing in her current circumstances, however. With luck, she could sneak into the garrison while everyone was still asleep. She certainly didn’t want to wait another day until nightfall. She had no idea what sort of terrible conditions her mother and brother were being subjected to, so the sooner she rescued them, the better.

The imperial garrison was located just outside the city proper, protected by the city’s eastern wall on one side, and by the mighty Sestra River on the other. The river was too cold and swift at this time of year, and the two sides of the garrison without a barrier would be heavily guarded at all times. That left entry by way of the sixty-foot wall the garrison shared with the city. No problem for a Ranger of Marzanna.

Sonya led Peppercorn to the inside of the eastern wall, where she found a place to tie him up.

“You behave yourself, Perchinka,” she told him, and he shook his mane in reply. She wasn’t particularly worried about him being stolen, but just in case, she gave a swatch of soft mink fur to an old woman who sat on a nearby stoop in exchange for keeping an eye on him. Sonya might not have money, but she was not without valuable items to leverage when necessary.

She took out a length of rope, secured her knife on her belt, and slung her bow and quiver onto her back. Then she walked along the bottom of the wall until she found an adjacent building that she deemed tall enough, if just barely.

From where she stood on the ground, she could see a guard’s head peeping over the top of the wall. She waited as he walked slowly along the battlements. When he turned his back, she scampered up the side of the adjacent building.

Once she reached the roof, she flattened herself out in the thick snow and waited until the guard made another pass. Then she pulled the harpoon arrow out of her quiver. It had a heavy pronged tip and the back had a small iron ring behind the fletching. She tied one end of the rope to the ring, then scanned the battlements. She could see a few large crates through the crenels that were too large to fit between the merlons. As long as they maintained their structural integrity, one of those crates could be used as an anchor for the rope.

She waited until the guard made another pass, then fired the arrow into one of the crates and gave it a few tugs to make sure it was secure. Then, holding the rope in her teeth, she cleared some of the snow off the roof and pried up one of the thick, cedar shingles to expose the wooden frame beneath. She tied the end of her rope to the frame so that it was taut.

She tested her makeshift rope bridge with her foot and did not like the vibration she was feeling. The wooden crate at the far end might not be as sturdy as she’d hoped. The safer option would have been to cross hand over hand, but that would take more time than she suspected the crate would provide. So instead, she took a deep breath, fixed her eyes on the crate, and sprinted along the rope.

She was only halfway across when the crate began to splinter.

She was three-quarters of the way when she felt the rope begin to give beneath her feet.

She lunged forward, grabbed the rope with both hands, and yanked as hard as she could. That shattered the crate and destroyed her anchor, but also gave her enough forward momentum to catch the edge of the battlements with one hand.

She hung there for a moment, forcing her breath to slow. She heard the guard making his return trip toward her and she knew she’d have to hang there until he turned back. All she could do was hope he didn’t notice the gloved fingers of her left hand gripping the cold stone edge of the battlements.

She listened to the doltish tread of his boots as he drew near. He reeked of cabbage and cheese.

“What the hell?” he muttered.

For a moment she thought he’d spotted her. But then she heard him sifting through the broken remains of the crate. Her fingers burned with fatigue, but