Trials by Numbers

by Kimberly A Rogers

  The air turned cool as I entered a long stone tunnel and then I emerged into a vast chamber filled with carved statues of the Greek pantheon, dragons in their proper form with their human forms standing directly in front of them, and other local paranormals including satyrs as well as dryads and sylphs. There were even stone reliefs of unicorns that shone faintly as the mix of natural and created light caught on precious jewels decorating the reliefs. Horns of sapphire, ruby, and even topaz or amber, while opals and diamonds interspersed with silver formed bodies and tails. In a few places, collars of gold set with stones to match their horns wrapped around the unicorns’ necks.

  As fascinating as the choices in architecture, I didn’t linger in the chamber. There were only a few people in the chamber aside from the guards, and all of them were 7s heading in the same direction . . . through the door set in the far left corner of the chamber, the door guarded by twin statues of dragons. Most likely the door would lead to the audience chamber, and the resident dragon prince. Suppressing a shudder, I quickly made my way to the arch formed by two unicorns, one with a horn of sapphire and the other with a horn of ruby. Passing through a smaller tunnel, I noted an increasing number of unicorns interspersed with griffins as well as Golden Hinds decorating the walls. I could only pray that following the Hind would lead me the right way once again.

  When I came to the end of the tunnel, I was immediately dumped into a sort of conservatory. Flowers in bloom were everywhere, probably helped along by dryads even though I saw no one nearby, and their scents hung heavy on the air. I walked beneath a weeping willow then passed rows of roses spiraling around a carved unicorn before emerging into another chamber or, rather, a continuation of the same one. Only this chamber held the plants native to the Fertile Crescent, including those that should have been extinct years ago. The sweet heady fragrance of jasmine flowers in full bloom filled the air without distracting from the bright yellow flowers atop thick green stalks marking silphium or the pale blue flowers of Hera’s Tears, which the norms called verbena. Two statues marked this section, one a Golden Hind and the other . . . a dragon.

  The sound of footsteps sent me scrambling to hide behind a shower of jasmine. The plant’s fragrance was nearly overwhelming in such close quarters, but it didn’t distract me from listening. The steps were coming closer, one quick and echoing like a satyr’s hooves while the other two were paced with deliberate care, and one set carried more weight. I could hear a few whispered words before another running set of feet clattered up to them. Then, the taste of power settled over the garden with a heaviness even I couldn’t ignore. Whoever had entered this conservatory was definitely one of the powerful paranormals. A panting voice spoke in Turkish, “The hunter still lingers in the village at the foot of the city’s hill.”

  The sense of power rolled through the air and a quiet voice replied, “By whose authority?”

  “They say—”

  “They?” The word was spoken in a hushed tone, but it still sent a shiver down my spine. The man speaking was quiet, but I could feel his anger mounting.

  The man reporting the situation seemed to realize the same thing as his tone turned more diffident in response as he said, “There are three of them today, and only one has approached the gate.” There was a pause before he added, “They sent a dragon-born to speak today.”

  “The same message as before?”

  There was no answer so I could only assume there had been a gestured reply. Then another voice entered the conversation, also male. “There was a confrontation when the Hind was brought to the corral between Dobri and the ones sought by Weard’s hunters. They were not seen leaving the city before the gates were closed against the hunter. Perhaps . . .”

  “Turning them over to the hunters would put us in opposition to the will of not only the draconic council but also the Fae courts,” interjected a soft, feminine voice. “Weard has trespassed across so many treaties that dealing with them would make all of Perperikon a target.”

  “I do not suggest we officially turn them over,” the gruffer of the three males replied. “An anonymous tip given by one who is not among the dragons would suffice.”

  “No. Acantha is correct.” The threads of anger still lurked beneath the man’s quiet words as he continued, “Weard wishes to hunt any who might oppose them now. Their attack on a dragon who worked for them has proven that, and it is because of Royal of the Carith clan’s report that Weard as well as its hunters will no longer be welcome among any paranormal community ruled by Fae or dragon. All of the western and eastern dracon courts have agreed to the council’s will.”

  “Is . . . Is that the message I shall deliver to the dragon-born?” the messenger asked with a nervous tension I could hardly fault him for given the situation.

  “No,” Acantha answered, “I shall deliver the message in person. Perperikon is closed to all who serve Weard. As is the rest of our territory.”

  “Take a squad of soldiers with you for I do not wish to give one of the dragon-born an excuse to start brawling at the gates.”

  “He will not have a chance,” Acantha responded with a simple confidence I could almost envy. Although it probably helped that she was most likely a dragoness. Then, her steps retreated with the messenger following in her wake.

  Only two of the males were left from what I could tell. The satyr and the other dragon. The gruffer male spoke first breaking the sudden hush over the garden. “I did not intend to disparage your honor.”

  “I am well aware of that, Grigor. I have always valued your practical view of matters and that has not changed, but in this case . . . Weard is rapidly growing out of control. We will not be able to shield everything they do from the norms if they continue on this path, and that puts all of us at risk.” The quiet words were followed by a sigh. “Have the sylphs keep an eye on the dragon-born inside our walls, even the ones whose loyalty is not doubted.”

  “And, the two being hunted?”

  “I have not decided whether they warrant my personal attention yet.” There was a momentary pause before the dragon asked, “Do you know who guided them?”

  “Ilia.”

  “Ilia? Hmm, perhaps we shall summon him first and see why he is helping them.”

  Then they started walking, the dragon’s steady steps and the satyr’s clattering hooves fading from hearing as they moved into the unicorn garden. I waited another five minutes before I dared to move. This was turning into a disaster. Weard had at least three hunters prowling around Perperikon, which was bad enough given I had no idea how they could have learned we were here so fast. Now the dragon prince was aware of our presence and, worse, he might go after Ilia. I had to find the elder, Dobri, and I had to do it fast.

  I didn’t waste any more time studying the garden. All I wanted to do was find another way out before someone remembered I had come this way. Veering sharply away from the dragon statue, I increased my pace to just under a run as I turned down the winding path. I could see the statue of the Golden Hind on the far side of the garden and headed that way. There had to be another way out over there, and I’d rather deal with the old man than with the dragons. The statue of the Hind vanished behind the spiny branches of an acacia tree and I increased my pace a little, knowing I was getting close.

  Turning around the corner, I saw the statue of the Hind looming overhead right before I slammed into a body. The very solidly planted body didn’t give at all, and I found myself lying on the ground staring up at a man. His olive-toned skin was a little darker than my own, but he was as dark of hair and eye as me. He was dressed in a suit without a tie and the top two buttons of his grey collared shirt were undone, which would have looked messy if not for the fact he was easily Mathias’ height and built like a man accustomed to hard work. I went completely still as my eyes caught on his number. A 9.

  The man spoke in Greek and I didn’t understand him. The fear that had gripped me at the sight of his number grew paralyzing as I recognized the voice. This was
the man who said he wasn’t certain if we were worth his attention, the dragon. My gaze still focused on his number, I was barely aware of the way he dropped into a crouch and studied me. Then he spoke in a low tone, “Lauren Hope.”

  My head went back as my eyes widened. He knew my name. Panic beat its frantic wings against my ribs and I could barely breathe, the sweet fragrance of jasmine now choking me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. They didn’t even come to mind. I couldn’t do this. I had to get away.

  Scrambling back, I got to my feet and half-turned ready to run. Then, I stopped and turned back to the dragon who was still in front of me, although he was no longer crouched. He was watching me closely, eyes deceptively normal in appearance, and the feel of his strength was threatening to overwhelm me. Definitely, the same dragon from before. I dropped my eyes, afraid of being caught by the dragon’s hunting gaze, only to have them catch on the bulky ring adorning his right forefinger, the gold surface scored with a mix of hieroglyphs and draconic. Only royal dragons wore those.

  Knowing I had already stepped wrongly with this dragon, I dropped to my knees before him and crossed my wrists over my heart as I bowed my head. “Honored am I to be in your presence, O Prince of Dragons,” I murmured in accented Dracon. “Forgive my trespass and permit me to treat with you, honored one.”

  The dragon made a noise as though he were stifling a laugh. I felt a touch to the top of my head and then the dragon rumbled, “Sïle mót árïthe et fïle.”

  I was still scrambling to pull my rusty knowledge of Dracon out enough to translate when he switched to Turkish, “Forgiven all, daughter of the number seers.” At my sharp intake of breath, he gave a curt nod. “A Spotter has not presented herself in Perperikon in an age or more. But you are the hunted once more, are you not? Have you come to appeal for my protection?”

  Appealing for a dragon’s protection could be tricky under the best of circumstances, appealing to a royal dragon for protection was an act of the truly desperate since one could never quite know if the dragon would decide you needed protection by being kept hostage until your debt was satisfied. Although if what I had heard earlier had been accurate, it was possible appealing to this dragon would stop any need to fear Weard’s hunters. I dismissed the thought almost as fast as it appeared. Raising my head, I dared to meet his contemplative gaze even though I didn’t risk rising yet. “No, honored one, I have not come to appeal for your protection although I am certain it would be more than any could hope if you granted it to them. I have come here to appeal to the elder, to Dobri.”

  “Why?”

  I hesitated, habit and instinct screaming I shouldn’t reveal anything else, but what else could I do? “You, umm, you know of Dobri’s heritage, honored one?”

  “That he is Thracian or that he is a descendant of Myrmidon?”

  A shuddering sigh escaped me before I swallowed hard. I bowed my head in response then raised my right arm. “I come seeking Dobri’s aid for my . . . betrothed. Please, honored one, allow me to do so and we will leave Perperikon as soon as we are able. We will bring no more trouble to your gates.”

  The dragon looked from my face to my arm. When he grabbed my hand, I forced my muscles to stay lax and allowed him to pull my arm forward. He touched the fox head lying over the center of my wrist and made a low noise in his throat, not quite a thrum. Then he released my hand. “A bride for a Myrmidon. Most unusual.” He stared at me for an uncomfortably long time before he tapped his fingers against his thigh and asked, “How did Royal Carith meet your betrothed?”

  “After he killed the rogue dragon Royal was hunting,” I answered with greater calm than my racing nerves could even hope to feel.

  “What had the rogue done?”

  “He, umm, he had murdered the woman he believed Mathias’ weakness.” I hesitated and then dared to ask a question of my own. “Why do you know these things?”

  “Because Royal stated this was a story that would not be shared with any save the true Spotter.” The dragon studied me a moment longer and bluntly stated, “They killed the decoy.”

  The room spun as the air left my lungs in a rush. Oh no. “But Royal . . .”

  “He managed to escape although he was badly wounded before several other dragons took notice of his plight and . . . interfered.” The dragon leaned in close to me and I could detect just a hint of sulfur in his breath as he added, “Your elusion of Weard’s hunters threatens to bring war among the paranormal community. Tell me why I should not hand you both over to Weard Enterprises and be done with the matter.”

  “Because the council has ruled against it,” the desperate words tumbled out half a breath before I realized what he intended.

  The dragon smirked. “So it was you who eavesdropped in the garden. That was rude. But since you have already asked my forgiveness, I suppose honor demands I must not seek further restitution. Come along.”

  I could only stare after him as he walked away from me. He paused and looked over his shoulder at me. “Do you wish to speak to Dobri?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then follow me.”

  Not knowing what else to do, I followed him. We wove through several more paths and passed under an arch draped in jasmine before arriving in another room. This one was stark by comparison, filled only with statues of the past. I shivered as I took in the numbers of the three other men in the room. The 9 and two 7s from earlier. Even though it felt far closer to days ago instead of only a few hours. The dragon spoke a single quiet word and the two 7s retreated, although the dragon-born kept looking at me in a way that made me feel hunted.

  Now only Dobri remained. The old man was leaning on his spear with his back to us as he gazed up at a particular statue. Marble had been carved into a muscular warrior wearing only his cloak, which pooled down from his left shoulder, and a crested helmet as he raised a huge circular shield with his left arm while holding a spear at the ready in his right hand. Achilles. I looked away from the marble statue and turned to the dragon that was waiting expectantly. I hesitated then spoke in Turkish, “Would you be willing to provide the courtesy of translation, honored one? I fear I speak neither Greek nor Thracian.”

  “Nor Myrmidon?”

  “No, honored one.”

  “Yet, you still sought him?”

  I swallowed hard at the thought of Mathias. Gathering what little courage I had, I quietly answered, “I have no choice. Please, honored one, permit this conversation. My betrothed’s life is at stake. I cannot lose him.”

  The dragon offered a regal nod and then swept his hand out gesturing for me to precede him. I raised my chin in response as I approached the old man. Dobri seemed preoccupied with the statue or rather the writing carved into the base of the pedestal. The first set of letters meant nothing to me, but the second block was in Latin and the third block down was in Turkish. A script that declared ‘Achilles, son of Thetis and Peleus king of Myrmidons. Once prince of honor, now fallen disgrace. Let his name be a warning to all. Anger brings strength, unchecked wrath brings destruction. Pride lifts the head, unchecked hubris breaks the backs. Power raises spirits, unchecked petulance topples kingdoms. Beware the fall of Achilles. Prince no longer, now lives forever in disgrace. His name a warning.’

  The old man did not turn at my approach, but I still offered a polite half-bow. Sticking to Turkish, I murmured, “Elder, I come on behalf of my betrothed. We need your help.”

  He didn’t so much as pretend to look at me as he rattled off a harsh reply. The dragon translated, “You were given the information necessary for your task. The rest lies on your shoulders. Begone.”

  I stepped forward, shaking my head. “No. I will not leave yet.”

  The old man stiffened, his number flickered for the briefest moment as his grip on the spear tightened. The little voice in my head was alternating between gibbering with fear and screaming I needed to run, but I forced myself to take another step closer as I continued, “Something is wrong with Mathias and I don’t know
what to do to help him. Please. You must help us.”

  A yelp escaped me as the old man whirled, swinging the spear, and my feet were swept out from under me. I landed hard, cracking my elbow and head against the stone floor. I started to get up only to go still as the spear’s point appeared in front of my eyes, and then lowered to touch the hollow of my throat. The old man’s fierce gaze showed neither remorse nor interest as he kept me pinned even as the dragon hissed a low warning. Instead, he spat something.

  “What does he say?”

  How I even choked the question out I wasn’t sure but finally the dragon stated, “He says your Myrmidon’s life is in your hands and if you have failed already, then you will both die.”

  “I haven’t failed!” Meeting the old man’s glare, I continued, “I have not failed the second task or I would be dead. And that is something you already know, old man. Dobri of Thrace, of Myrmidon, you are an elder of the people which means it is your responsibility to preserve the memory of your people. I am seeking that knowledge because something happened to Mathias.”

  “Myrmidons are obstinately resilient,” the dragon interjected, his gaze curious as he studied me. “Is this the rage or something else?”

  “It is not the Biting Ice. I, well, I asked Mathias to drink a calming potion provided by a healer.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the dragon-born that accompanied Dobri. He attacked me in an attempt to provoke Mathias, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t succeed in his actions. Mathias is . . .” I trailed off as the ramifications of revealing Mathias’ current vulnerabilities hit home. I was about to tell two 9s that the only 10 in the world was incapacitated. While one of them was still holding a spear to my throat. But, it was the only way to get him help. I took a breath and then lowered my voice to just above a whisper, “The tea has done something to him. He collapsed, had seizures, and now he is unconscious . . . and it has done something to his number. Something very wrong and unnatural. I’ve known Mathias for the better part of a year and this has never happened before, nothing has ever affected his number. The healer doesn’t know why this has happened because the potion has never affected any of the powerful paranormals in this way, not even the dragons and dragon-born. I know Mathias had an herbal mix he was using to give himself control, so please tell me why this has happened and what can be done to fix it.”