The dried lichen creaks and crumbles under the touch of my trembling fingers, messing with my grip on the cracks between the granite slabs that form the castle wall. I haven't even climbed halfway up the tower, and I can already feel every bone in my hands, fragile and brittle like chalk. I can feel every burning muscle in my arms, tense like wires. Numbness is spreading through my thighs, my shoulders, my back. My forearms are starting to bleed, slowly accumulating lacerations from rubbing against the rough stone.

The sun starts shining. My hands begin to sweat. I try to wipe them dry on the hem of my shirt before continuing, still dangling precariously high above the waterless trench.

Explain to me again why it always needs to be me who gets the hardest jobs and not one of those two bumbling idiots who wait for me down in the shadows, chatting between laughs in a low voice.

Imbeciles, if they alert the guards and reveal my position, I will kill them. I'm going to cut their throats in their sleep and watch them fade away, drowning in their blood, gurgling for air. Is it too much to ask to stay quiet while I'm suffering my way up here?

My right foot slips on something slick. Suddenly I'm hanging just from two fingers jammed into a tight gap. My heart rate spikes, drowning out everything else in its galloping madness. My vision narrows. I can see the stones down there calling my name, distant and menacing.

I need to calm down. Stop looking at the faraway ground and breathe. Calm down and breathe.

I raise my other arm and try to find some hold on a millimeter-wide ledge, the best way up on my improvised track. I tilt my torso, slowly, trying not to lose control. Breathe, never forget to breathe. The muscles need oxygen. Now, fit the toe of your rubber-soled boots where you used to have your hand and continue. These rubber-soled boots are an astonishing invention. I hope The Crow will let me keep them if we finish this assignment successfully. They are probably worth a fortune, but a girl can dream. Maybe I can improvise something similar by smearing my old leather boots with pine resin—something worthy of a tin-grade gutter rat like me.

"That isn't a legal move for a fire mage. Don't fuck with me!” whines a hoarse voice somewhere above me. Someone else murmurs something unintelligible in response. I roll my eyes. The lookouts of this castle turn out to be useless idiots who play while on watch. I would never believe it if I couldn´t see it with my own eyes. Maybe they have grown too comfortable because nothing has ever happened. Who would dare to enter a mage's castle in his sane mind? Maybe they are expecting to be able to see every possible threat long before it reaches the walls. Something like columns of horsemen or hordes of barbarians emerging from the forest in the distance, a floating ship on the horizon, real threats.

I'm just a crazy spider climbing the unscalable. Seriously, that's what they call me in the gang. Kivi the spider, the crazy girl, the spider girl, or similar things.

At least their ineptitude will make my job easier once I get to the top. I feel like I only meet incompetent people wherever I go. Apart from The Crow, of course. It's not like I've ever seen our boss doing anything himself. But he is always able to find someone who does it for him, whether they want to or not. He always has leverage over everybody he needs to. And that is a form of competence you should respect, or you won't survive long in the streets of our city.

I finally reach the top and poke my head between the battlements to take a look at the fighting terrace the guards are sitting on. Some pigeons coo at me, offended, before lifting and flying down towards the courtyard. The guards don't look up. One of them has his back towards me, not even watching in the right direction. His head is bent over a small table focused on the cards in his hands, and the ones spread over the table between him and his colleague. The other one is nibbling on an apple while watching his companion with a smile of superiority and satisfaction. Juice and drool run down his shaved chin. They are both wearing their chainmail, but their helmets and pikes are lying on the ground. A third guard wanders lazily on the barbican walkway close to another tower in the distance. He turns around and looks in our direction for a moment. I hold my breath reflexively, but he turns and walks away into the distance again. The sun is still low, and my gray rags blend well into the shadows. I'm just one more stone of the wall.  Even so, having to neutralize two lookouts could be a problem. But I rarely get simple jobs, and I'm used to it.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I lean against the battlement to regain my strength, and to be able to access my backpack. I take out my small crossbow, place it between my legs, tighten the string, and load the first poison-coated bolt. Then I slowly point it up, remaining in the shadows to not cause any reflections, and aim carefully. The tiny projectile flies through the air with an almost inaudible twang and hits the neck of the guard that has its back turned towards me. The man smacks himself as if he had been stung by a wasp. He sways while I reload my crossbow and collapses unconscious on the table. Dragons and Sorcerors game chips spill out all over the floor.

“Huh? Who are you? How did you get here?” asks the second guard. His apple falls out of his hand and tumbles over the mountain of game chips and copper coins. He tries to get up, but his pronounced belly and chainmail weigh him down. He loses balance and falls back on his ass again. Before the man can right himself and position his legs under him to gain momentum, I let my second bolt fly in his direction. A muffled tinkling sound echoes across the tower, a bell drowned underwater.

He looks me in the eyes, mouth half open. I look back at him. Our eyes wander to his forearm where we both observe in shock how my projectile has lodged itself in the thick gambeson, without penetrating too much between the rings of his chainmail. Did it manage to pierce his skin? I don´t know. Fuck!

“Now you´ve done it, girl. You must be out of your mind, don't you?” he starts to mutter. “To come here all alone. Who do you think you are? I'll shove my pike right up your ass!” He manages to stand up with the help of the pole of his weapon before he points the sharp tip towards my face.

I slide back as far as I can get. Until I can feel the stony parapets of the tower's terrace pressing into my back. My hand fishes around frantically in my backpack, searching for another bolt. Finally, I can feel the cold metal burning between my trembling fingers, still tense and almost raw from my feat scaling the wall. Breathe. Calm down. Haste is dangerous, slow is fast. If I prick myself, I'll fall asleep too. It would be a stupid way to end up trapped.

“You have no escape, girl. You have gotten into the wrong place. We are going to have some fun, you and me,” babbles the guard, casting me a leering smile.

He tries to stumble in my direction, still poking through the air with his pike. But his steps are slow and hesitant, and he begins to sway like a drunk.

“I don't think so,” I reply as I let my unnecessary bolt slide back into the special compartment in my backpack.

“What have you done to me?” he asks, leaning heavily on his pike.

“Sleep,” I snort at him. The man sinks into himself. “You should have tried sounding the alarm, you useless idiot.”

I wait a while, inhaling and exhaling without hurry. Letting my heart rate calm down while I observe how the third guard disappears into another tower in the distance without giving any sign of having heard or seen the altercation. I approach the two sleeping bodies. They reek. Clouds of sweat and stale mead permeate the air around them. There isn't much to find in their pockets, just some more copper coins. But in a basket next to the stairs that lead down into the courtyard, there are more apples. I take a bite out of a wrinkled one, letting the sweet juices splash over my chin before licking it up. A soft moan escapes my lips. When was the last time I had fresh fruit down in the slums? They are a bit floury but hardly have any worm holes in them. I even feel the effervescent sparkling tingle of traces of mana. You definitively won't find fruit like this in the slums. There is also half a loaf of bread, a piece of cheese, a somewhat rusty knife, and some type of jerky with the texture of a shoe sole. I throw everything into my backpack, go back to the parapet, and look down. I can make out both of my companions sitting in the trench, barely hidden in the dense morning mist that covers the ground like a blanket. Idiots!

Shaking my head I tie a thin silk rope that I got from another job around a battlement and throw the end over the wall. It uncoils smoothly and starts falling towards the distant ground. I start cutting and chewing pieces of jerky while I wait for my companions to tie the tip of a thicker rope onto it. Once hoisted and secured, it should help them climb up here without problems and provide us with a quick escape route in case something doesn't go to plan.

“You made us wait for ages down there,” complains the idiot called Dogface seconds after managing to climb over the parapet.

“What's wrong with those?” asks Dante, the third of our trio, pointing at the guards.

“I put them to sleep.”

Dogface laughs softly and kicks the one lying splayed out all over his cards.

“Look, he doesn't feel anything.”

“Stop fooling around and put on their coats and mail. It will help us stay unnoticed,” I command, annoyed.

“And what have I done?”

“Who put you in charge?”

“The Crow.” They both grow silent after I mention our boss. I approach the mouth of the staircase and look down into the humid penumbra of the corridor that leads into the eastern wing of the castle.

"Stupid bitch," swears Dogface at my back between his teeth. I ignore him.