Trials by Numbers

by Kimberly A Rogers

  Lauren narrowed her eyes at me and pointedly raised her right hand. She didn’t point to the death mark, she didn’t have to, as she stated simply, “I do have the right and we both know it, so don’t get all huffy with me. We need a different way out of the city. A back door.”

  “There may be a way,” Ilia interjected. “Niseans are swift and can go by ways closed to motored vehicles. Before the dragon princes came to Perperikon, eh, a secret path was made by a satyr seeking to woo the sylph who lived above Perperikon. She was guarded by those in the lower village, eh, so this path cannot be found without a satyr to guide. Not even by dragons and dragon-born.”

  “How fast could you get us to Seuthopolis,” Lauren asked.

  “Two days, eh, faster maybe with pushing.”

  Lauren turned to me, her gaze beseeching. She reached across the corner of the table to grasp my right hand. “Mathias, I think this is the only way. We don’t have to fight Weard, we just have to avoid them. And if Ilia can get us out using a path they couldn’t possibly know about, then maybe we can get ahead of them again. Especially if they expect us to stay holed up here.”

  Galina spoke to her husband in Bulgarian and the satyr slowly voiced his agreement. I did not think it was a wise plan, though.

  At Lauren’s bewildered look, I explained, “Galina has volunteered to act as though we are still guests here. I do not think it wise, not with Weard’s new habit of killing anyone who gets in their way.”

  Lauren frowned, looking from the satyr to the dryad. “Are you certain about this?”

  “Only a day. Two days,” the dryad responded. She placed a hand on Ilia’s forearm and added, “We know Weard.”

  The look shared between them was one I had seen before. The look of people who had come into contact with Weard’s cruelty. Perhaps more than once, given the anger of the dragon prince over the hunters’ presence. I did not ask for details. In truth, I was a bit of a coward. Ever since realizing that something had gone horribly wrong within Weard Enterprises with the change in management, I had dreaded learning of how often Weard had gone after innocent targets . . . of learning I had gone after innocent targets before meeting Lauren. The weight of that possibility still hung over me, but I had nearly forgotten it in the clouded perceptions of a world covered in ice.

  And now . . . Now it would only distract me. Putting the regret and dread aside, I focused on the most important task at hand. Keeping Lauren safe, and getting us both to Seuthopolis. Raiding a royal tomb would be difficult enough without adding in the difficulties of dealing with hunters. We would need as much of a head start as possible to achieve such a feat.

  I sighed and nodded to Lauren. “I don’t see that we have much of a choice. All right, let’s work out a plan. Ilia, do you have a map of the route between here and Seuthopolis? Possibly of Seuthopolis as well?”

  * * *

  Lauren

  True to Ilia’s word, we reached the outskirts of Seuthopolis in the late afternoon of the second day. It seemed too good to be true as we approached the winding trail that led from the mountains around the lake and over a river to reach the island city. We hadn’t even reached the foothills before Eulalia stopped in her tracks. Ears flicking, she shuffled nervously and ignored my attempts to get her moving again. Ilia was walking toward me, brow wrinkled as he spoke to the mare in his native Bulgarian, when he looked up sharply. I followed his gaze a moment too late, looking up in time to see a dark shape coming down.

  My startled scream was cut short as I was knocked to the ground, all the air leaving my lungs in a rush as we tumbled down the mountainside. I managed to kick my way free of the attacker’s hold and half-crawled, half-scrambled back up the grassy slope. I hadn’t quite reached the lower loop of the trail when a hand wrapped around my ankle and yanked me off my feet. This time I got a better look at my attacker. The man was lean and pale like he hadn’t had enough sun in too many years. His oversized black hoodie and jeans combined with greasy black hair made him look more like an overly angst riddled teenager than anything else, which would have been comical if not for the fact that his number blazed a bright 8 and when he opened his mouth, I had a good glimpse of sharp canines. Dhampir? Vampire? I didn’t know and quite simply didn’t care as I kicked at him, managing to hit him in the face.

  The man started swearing in a mix of English and French as I rolled away from him. Getting back to my feet, I scrambled up the steep incline. I could just barely make out Ilia using a cudgel against a second figure before they disappeared from my line of sight. And Mathias . . . I didn’t know. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Not that it meant much.

  A heavy weight landed on my back and then threw me down the mountainside. I didn’t stop tumbling until I slammed side first into a rocky outcropping. A low cough escaped me as I struggled to regain my bearings. Pain radiated from my ribs, and my hands and face stung where I was scratched on the way down. I pulled myself into a sitting position with my back propped against the rock as I struggled to breathe freely. My head was still spinning from the latest tumble, and I must have missed the man’s approach because suddenly he was crouched in front of me grinning wide to show off his fangs. “Weard Enterprises sends its greetings to you, little Spotter. You shouldn’t have rejected the generous offer.”

  “Are you here to offer a new bargain? Because I’m still not interested,” I gasped.

  His grin sharpened in response. “No. We’ve new instructions. Kill the Spotter and send the traitor into a destructive spiral. He’ll destroy hundreds of live before his frozen heart gives out. Perils of being a Myrmidon.”

  His smug laugh turned into a choking gurgle as we both jumped when a sword pierced through his chest. I looked up, past his flickering number as it dropped from an 8 to a 1, to meet Mathias’ horribly cold gaze as he wrenched his sword free. I looked away when the sword came down again to finish the job. When Mathias didn’t say anything, I risked a glance. He stood with bloody sword in hand and he was breathing hard, his free hand was shaking slightly as though he were fighting himself.

  Ilia was making his way toward us, but stopped short when I frantically signaled him to do so. Then I focused on Mathias. Despite my wooziness and all over soreness, I slowly pushed myself into a standing position. “Mathias, are you with me still?”

  When he didn’t respond, I stumbled forward barely avoiding tripping over the body. I caught his sword hand with one hand and then wrapped my other arm around his waist, pressing close to him. “Mathias, give me the sword. It’s done. Do not let the cold win.” I felt more than heard his shuddering breath, but his grip on the sword remained tight and he was standing so stiffly it would’ve been insulting under different circumstances. Desperate to reach through to him, I switched to Myrmidon and once more struggled to wrap my tongue around the words. ‘Stay with me, heart-love.’

  After a long moment, his grip on the sword slackened and I was able to pry it away. His arms came around me in a tight hold as I dropped the sword. Then he stepped back, but still kept hold of my shoulders as he looked me over. “All right? Did he hurt you?”

  “Just bruises.” I offered a trembling smile before I touched his hands. “Are you okay? For a moment, I was afraid I’d lost you.”

  “For a moment,” he muttered. He shook his head as though he were trying to clear it, then he grabbed his sword and wiped the blade clean before searching the body. He pulled out several crumpled sheets of paper from the hoodie’s pocket. Two photos and the other some type of instructions. I tensed as I recognized one of the photos as us outside the airport at Sofia when we were being mobbed by taxi drivers. Mathias turned to the other photo, the one of me that had been playing across the news releases before the PR incident with the minotaur in Vegas took attention off my so-called crimes, then to the piece of paper. “He’s an outside merc that someone in Weard’s local sources gave instructions too.” Mathias shoved the papers into his coat pocket and then added, “Come on, Ilia is waiting.”

  “Wh
at about these hunters? Did they follow us from Perperikon?”

  “No, they were lurking around here, no doubt watching the crossroads. Someone hired cheap help probably as a result of the restrictions being faced by Weard’s official hunters.”

  “8s are not what I would consider cheap help,” I grumbled. I brushed at my jacket and jeans trying to make myself look a little more presentable. As I adjusted my shawl so it settled on my hair and framed my face like it should, I asked, “How will we avoid drawing more attention in Seuthopolis?”

  “By not going into the city itself.” Mathias didn’t bother to explain further until we rejoined our guide. “Ilia, change of plans. We’re not going to cut through Seuthopolis proper. We need to stay out of sight and out of mind.”

  “Mathias, I have to find the Girdle in Seuthopolis.”

  “No, Teres wasn’t buried in Seuthopolis proper. His tomb like most of the other royal burial sites is in the necropolis at the Thracian Valley of the Kings.” Mathias pointed at a smudge beyond the city. “It is not far past the city outskirts and going around, instead of through, the city will be the safer choice. Less noticeable.”

  I studied the smudge that was the necropolis. “How long will it take us to get there if we don’t cut through the city proper?”

  “We will arrive, eh, after night falls,” Ilia observed.

  I closed my eyes, and then opened them with a sigh. “Wonderful. All of the guardians will be awake.”

  “It will be fine, Lauren.” Mathias’ hand wrapped around my shoulder and gave a light squeeze. Then he said softly, “We can’t afford to wait until morning.”

  That might have been true. I mean I knew it was, especially given the way Mathias was already struggling. And, the fact that Weard was apparently hiring out for hunters only added to the ticking clock. I still wasn’t looking forward to having to deal with the guardians of the tombs, especially the ones that only stirred in the night.

  * * *

  Lauren

  The sprawling expanse of the necropolis was peppered with beehive tomb s. Winged shadows perched on their crowns, griffins most likely, and wolves howled in the distance. The Nisean horses did not seem to pay much mind to the guardians of the tombs, although at times Eulalia would snort and toss her head until Ilia came over to pet her nose. We’d left the pack pony behind when we snuck out of Perperikon, hoping that traveling with slightly altered numbers would help further disguise our trail should anyone stumble across the secret path.

  I kept a wary eye on the griffins whenever our path through the necropolis took us a little too close to the tombs. The griffins would crouch, wings flaring, never making a sound other than their talons scratching against stone. Griffins were the biggest threat tonight. As guardians of the kings’ tombs, they would not look kindly on anyone attempting to actually rob a tomb under their protection. Archeologists from the paranormal community found ways to get around the griffins’ protection, but I never paid close attention to how they achieved such a thing. Something I was now regretting since it seemed very likely that I needed to know some sort of trick for this task.

  Somehow, I doubted the first king to unite the different Thracian tribes into a proper kingdom would not have a proper guardian for his tomb. Especially when he was buried with the Girdle of Hippolyta. A famous king and a treasure of the ancient world that had a history of being stolen? Oh, there would definitely be at least one griffin guarding the tomb.

  As we rounded another bend, Ilia broke the tense silence even though he stuck to a low whisper. “When you find what you seek, eh, you must offer a replacement. Exchange one treasure for the other. Understand?”

  I hesitated then whispered back, leaning low over Eulalia’s neck as I did so, “I don’t have anything that could possibly equal the value of the Girdle.”

  “If precious to you, eh, treasure. Irreplaceable, eh, it is better.”

  “Thank you, Ilia.”

  Sitting upright in the saddle again, I eyed the beehive tombs once more. In the dark, even with no moon and only stars for light, some were still lighter in color than the rest. Their rounded sides coated in a type of whitewash while their fellows were formed of plain dark sandy stones. Once I thought I glimpsed smaller shapes moving around the tombs. The thought made me tense before I forced myself to relax as Eulalia grew antsy in response to my anxiety. After that little incident, I stopped looking as closely at our surroundings. Whatever creatures made their homes here, I truly did not want to know or invite an encounter by making eye contact with any of them.

  Finally, we stopped deep in the heart of the necropolis. In front of us was a much larger beehive tomb, its whitewash exterior had flaked off with the passage of time leaving a darker stone façade with the occasional peppering of pale splotches. The entrance was set just inside two stone columns that were carved into the tomb’s exterior wall. Swinging off Eulalia’s back, I took a shuttered lantern from Ilia and slowly approached the entrance. Mathias let me pass through first and the moment my foot crossed the threshold, something changed. There were no warning shrieks or cries. One moment we were about to go into the tomb together and the next, well, the two griffins now blocking the entrance seemed determined to refuse the men passage.

  Catching Mathias’ eye, I nodded to him. “It’s okay. I have to do this on my own. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  From the look of frustration that crossed his face, the idea of me heading into a tomb by myself did not appeal to Mathias. It did not appeal to me either, but what other choice did we have? None. I unshuttered the lantern allowing the small circle of light to illuminate the stone walls of the corridor. The stones were rough and asymmetrical. River rock most likely. Hard packed soil formed the floor and thus far it seemed almost plain.

  As I moved forward, I heard something behind me. I glanced back and met the fierce gaze of a griffin. The second one had entered the corridor with me, its hooked beak looking much sharper now that it was only a scant foot or two away. The griffin’s round orange eyes were practically level with my own and, even with its wings folded against its sides, I felt very aware of my lack of height. If it decided to attack me, I wasn’t going to be able to do anything to stop it.

  Slowly turning back around, my skin crawled with the sense of being watched. I blew out a breath and forced myself to start walking. I had to get into the heart of the tomb . . . with or without the escort of a griffin. As I continued down the corridor, I could only hope there weren’t any booby traps in here.

  * * *

  Chapter Nine

  Lauren

  If anyone tries to claim that being stalked by a griffin was not one of the most disturbing experiences to be had in the world, I would have to disagree with those fools. The griffin behind me was nearly silent save when its wings rustled as it slipped through the carved narrow rectangles forming doorways in the tomb or when it would brush its talons across the stone whenever I lingered too long in one place. So I kept moving. The light of my lantern stronger than a smaller lamp or carrying a flashlight alone, but still weaker than I would have preferred.

  Every once in a while the circle of light would flicker across jewels and precious metal like gold or silver, sometimes on the walls once I entered the tomb proper and twice on piles of treasures stacked at the compass points within the largest room whose vaulted roof was covered with a painted plaster that portrayed a number of murals. They looked like scenes of a hunt or perhaps a battle, a commemoration to the king’s achievements no doubt.

  Something brushed against my back, barely pressing my leather jacket, and I cringed. A moment later I heard the scraping of talons over stone, probably the low block of stone I had just passed. I started walking again, heading for the next doorway. This one was a little different than the previous two. The doorway itself was framed with additional décor, a carved frame that formed into a resting griffin positioned directly over the top of the door.

  When I stepped through the doorway and nothing happene
d, I couldn’t help breathing a sigh of relief. Thank God, the Thracians didn’t seem to share the Egyptians’ love of curses and traps. Of course, if anything in here was cursed, it was likely the piles of treasure that I was trying my best to avoid. The corridor tapered until there was barely enough room for one person. I wouldn’t even need to stretch my arms out to touch the walls on either side.

  I could hear the griffin behind me, its wings brushing against the walls. Just as the corridor started to feel truly claustrophobic, I stumbled over a raised ledge. I caught myself just before I fell into the suddenly open chamber. Straightening, I raised the lantern and my breath caught in my throat.

  I had entered a large circular chamber. Its domed roof was covered with rich murals, a number of which showed a city burning and what looked like a wooden horse in front of the gates. Troy. Elsewhere were a man and a woman fighting, then the woman was on the ground and the man clutched in his hands a long ribbon. Achilles stealing the Girdle of Hippolyta from Penthesilea perhaps . . . Still another set of murals showed warriors in battle and a man wearing a crown taking the same ribbon from the hands of . . . some strange looking beasts. They almost looked like a mix of wolf and bear with man-like features as well. Were they supposed to be Myrmidons? Is that what Teres I and his son thought of the Myrmidons?

  Moving deeper into the chamber, I noted more details. The columns painted blue that framed the left and right sides of the room. More murals. These showed Teres I in battle with a mix of enemies. Others showed him reclining on a bench with three women gathered at one end. The Fates perhaps. Or his wives. It was difficult to tell without context to make sense of it all. I ventured further into the room, noting the number of times the girdle was present in the murals. Teres I had been very proud of his achievement in stealing the girdle, adding his name to those of Heracles and Achilles. A pity he couldn’t take it with him in death.