Trials by Numbers

by Kimberly A Rogers

  The name of the dragon prince of Thrace was the only thing that made me feel certain she wasn’t lying. That and the knowledge that the dragon council had officially broken from Weard. I gathered my things quickly, nearly dropping the bags twice before I got them settled. I moved toward the door then paused. “I meant to leave payment for the supplies used.”

  “I will take care of it as well as disposing of the rest of the evidence.”

  I hesitated a moment longer debating whether to say anything further then asked, “Do you know who has taken over Weard? Is it a rogue dragon?”

  The woman’s movements stilled, and she stared at me for half a heartbeat before she shook her head. “I do not know. No one outside of management’s inner circle has ever seen him. Not knowingly at least. You must go now. I killed the hunter tracking you, but the others went after Mathias. When you see him, tell him that Asra has repaid her debt in full. Now, you must go. Hurry.”

  “Thank you.” The words had barely dropped from my lips before I forced myself to hurry out of the building.

  Wrapped, my ankle felt a little better but I was still uneasy about running. I settled for a fast walk as I headed back toward the market. It was only a mild relief to emerge into a sea of people whose numbers were all 6s. I wasn’t certain where to go so I went in the direction I had last seen Mathias. I had just passed by one of the cloth merchants’ stalls when a hand landed on my shoulder. I jumped and spun around to find Mathias looking down at me. He placed a finger to his lips, and I bit back the flood of words that wanted to escape.

  We didn’t linger in front of the stall. Instead, we quickly made our way to a field on the other side of Troy. A dozen airships and planes were moored there. Mathias prodded me toward the airship hovering beside the city wall with a long gangplank stretched between the wall and the airship’s gondola. The gondola was a two deck construction with the option of cabins or seats in the main compartment, and we ended up in the seats nearest the engines. Almost as soon as Mathias finished stowing our go bags and we had taken our seats, the airship dropped its moorings and steered out over the sea gaining altitude as we went. I closed my eyes against the sun’s bright rays piercing the gondola’s many windows. At this point, I could only pray that the hunter Asra had been telling the truth and that the others didn’t figure out that we had switched our travel means again.

  * * *

  Mathias

  It was a few minutes until midnight when the airship moored at the platform outside the city of Chalcis. Lauren had been leaning against my arm, but she sat up as the captain’s mate announced our arrival in Greek and Turkish. She didn’t say a word as she looked around the main compartment and then peered out the windows. If anything she looked tired, almost as if the eleven-hour flight had drained her further. That made little sense, though.

  I timed our departure from the airship so we would be in the middle of the disembarking passengers, positioned nicely between the others who had shared the main compartment seats with us and those who had been tucked away in the private cabins. Lauren was watching the other people but didn’t react as though she saw any high numbers, at least none high enough for her to consider them a threat. After paying one of the porters an extra fee, we were directed to a private boat charter operating out of the city’s south side port. I kept a firm hold of Lauren’s elbow, steering her to one of the taxis lingering at the platform. As soon as we got in, I directed the driver to go to the port while keeping one eye on Lauren. She had grown pale and her eyes were closed again.

  The driver glanced back at us then said quietly in Greek, “Perhaps a doctor visit is in order? I know a clinic, good one where they do not question too much.”

  “My wife is merely tired from the journey. We don’t need to see the doctor again.” I paused, wrapping an arm around Lauren’s shoulder and pulling her close, then added more softly, “The doctor’s advice is why we’ve come to Greece.”

  “I understand, sir. There is a nice hotel by the port. I can drop you there. Airship travel doesn’t always fare well with some people. Much like becoming accustomed to the sea I find.”

  “That certainly seems to be the case,” I murmured in reply. I tugged the sleeve of Lauren’s jacket up and bit back a coarse oath as I stared down at her tattoo. Thin jagged lines of black now splintered the red and orange. The changes were coming much faster than I had expected.

  How much this recent change was affecting her and how much was truly the fact we had been running nonstop with little opportunity for true rest since leaving the Dardanelles, I couldn’t begin to guess. It worried me. I suspected that we would run out of time when the mark changed to completely black, but the fact that it had only been just over twenty-four hours since the last change was . . . concerning.

  When the taxi dropped us off in front of the hotel, I gave serious consideration to stopping there. In the back of my mind lingered the thought that perhaps she just needed a chance to rest. Yet the far stronger voice of instinct was urging me to move faster, to get her to Skyros and then to Thessaly. A trip that would be difficult enough but if Lauren was weakening, then she was right and we didn’t have time to wait.

  I crouched in front of where Lauren sat on a bench in front of the hotel and took her hands in mine. Her skin felt cool to the touch, and she watched me with a weariness that made me tired simply looking at her. I squeezed her hands once then rubbed them gently, trying to warm them. “Lauren, we are on the island of Euboea. In Chalcis. We can stay here in the hotel or we can walk down to the port and find a boat to take us to Skyros. It is your choice.”

  Lauren slipped her right hand out from beneath my touch only to place it on top of my hands as they covered her left. She gave a little nod. “Let’s keep going.”

  “Are you sure you don’t need to rest?”

  “I’ll rest on the boat. Or when the Trials are over.” Somehow she summoned a glimmer of a smile as she added, “Your people’s sense of timing is rotten, by the way.”

  I smiled in response then took her go bag before I wrapped my arm around her once again. Midnight had come and gone by the time we made it to the port. I found the charter boat and paid an obscene fee to convince the captain to take us out. It was enough to deplete my available savings. At least until we found our way to another safe house. Unfortunately, I didn’t have one on Skyros.

  Lauren laid down in the bedroom below deck while I sat up with the captain casually probing his knowledge of Weard’s movements in the area. The captain was a solid fellow, son of a nereid if I had to guess, and he was willing enough to talk. A fight in Athens and in Sparta was being reported by the local paranormal news outlets. A fight between dragons and hunters employed by Weard, big enough to draw the PR firms of Halliman as well as Carith and Krall into the mix. No one seemed to know how they were going to address the matter. The only good outcome of these fights was it meant the hunters hadn’t traced our exact trail yet.

  A little after three in the morning, we docked in a natural port off Achilli Bay on the east side of Skyros. I went below deck to wake Lauren only to find her limping up the stairs. “All right?”

  She nodded to me, still looking rather pale beneath her creamy tan complexion. “I’m fine. How long do we have to look?”

  “The captain is going to go below deck for the next four hours and sleep. He intends to sail to Thessaly from here whether we’re back on board or not.”

  “Then I guess we better take our bags with us, just in case.”

  Lauren waited until we had disembarked and walked up the beach a good bit before she asked, “Do you have any idea where we should look?”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t.” Noting the way her steps slowed a little, I wrapped my fingers around hers as I added, “There’s a reason the bay and beach are named after Achilles. The helmet will be here somewhere. Don’t worry.”

  It took three hours before we finally stumbled across a ruined temple directly north and west of the bay that the forests had recla
imed. As we walked around the temple, Lauren noticed a stone arrow that was twisted in the wrong direction for the bow clasped by a headless statue. She tugged the arrow back into the proper position and the stones in the center of the temple floor receded with a groan. She didn’t even wait for me to pull out a torch before she stumbled down the crumbling steps.

  “Lauren, wait.”

  “Shine the light over here,” was her only response.

  I followed and the light from the torch panned across a pedestal with a bronze helmet atop it. The long nose guard and closed proportions the cheek plates meant only the wearer’s eyes and part of his mouth would be visible. It also sported a high crest that likely held a fancy plume of dyed horsehair in its heyday. “The helmet of Achilles,” I muttered under my breath as I moved the torchlight slowly over the helmet checking for anything that might have been rigged to react to the helmet’s removal. “It looks clean. Let’s take it, and get out of here.”

  Lauren picked up the helmet and mumbled, “This is heavier than it looks.”

  “It would be. Bronze forged in a solid piece, and it looks similar to a Corinthian or Spartan style as opposed to the lighter Chalcidian helmet. Of course, the storytellers and military historians always said the Corinthian style came first. Given the limitations this style of helmet rendered to one’s sight and hearing, it is quite impressive that the great warriors fought wearing them.”

  “Mathias, as wonderful as you showing interest in anything is, now isn’t the best time for a lecture on the history of war helmets.” A hint of exasperation edged Lauren’s words as she struggled to carry the helmet.

  “Combat helmets is the proper term, love,” I muttered. “Put it in your go bag or you’ll never be able to carry it and the spearhead and the shield on your own.”

  “My go bag is full. And, do you really think I’ll have to do all the carrying?”

  “Yes.” I set my own bag down and unzipped it. “Here.”

  “I don’t see how letting you carry the helmet is going to make my task any easier.”

  “Move your things from your bag to mine, then you can carry both the helmet and the spearhead in one bag instead of having them spread out.” When she hesitated, I shone the torchlight at her and added, “Unless you have a reason not to put your things with mine.”

  “We’ve never even shared a dresser.”

  “That’s an observation, not a reason,” I retorted, lips twitching with the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of her hesitancy. “We have shared rooms and even a bed a few times.”

  “That’s different, and you know it.” She looked away from me and then made a little growling sound that was rather cute in her attempt at irritation. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”

  I chose to say nothing as Lauren handed me the helmet, and then went to work emptying her bag into mine. She pulled the shawl wrapped spearhead out of her satchel and then placed the satchel in my bag before putting her things on top. Now that she had begun, she made quick work of the task. The only time she truly hesitated was when she picked up the three little figurines that had once adorned her desk at Halliman’s. A jade fox, a jade doe, and a carved wooden loon. Those she tucked with care into the folds of one of her head shawls.

  As soon as she did so, she took the spearhead and placed it inside her own bag. I handed her the helmet and was pleased to see it too fit easily into the bag even though it was smaller than my own duffle bag. Lauren sealed the bag and then slung it over her shoulder so it rested against her back and left hip. She clambered to her feet, brushing off her pants as she did so, and then said, “We better hurry. We don’t want to be stranded on Skyros.”

  We reached the boat just as the captain appeared above deck. He waved to us, calling out a cheerful greeting in Greek. Feeling Lauren’s gaze on me, I glanced down at her. “He wishes us a good morning and asks if we’re ready to go to Thessaly.”

  “I should say so,” came the soft reply.

  Once we were aboard and the captain was steering the boat out of the bay, I found Lauren standing with her hands braced on the railing of the starboard side of the boat. Her attention was fixed on the island rapidly shrinking behind us. Joining her, I wrapped my left hand over her right to soothe the sudden need to touch her in some way. Lauren let out a slow breath before breaking the silence between us. “One more item, and then the final task.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced up at me, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong?”

  “It is nothing to worry about,” I hedged in a vain attempt to avoid her next question.

  Lauren had removed her head shawl, allowing her black hair to whip around her face in the wind. She brushed back the hair falling in front of her eyes and gave me a look that suddenly put me in mind of a queen discovering one of her soldiers had failed in his duty or a teacher finding an errant student. “Mathias, tell me.”

  I looked out over the blue waters before I quietly stated, “Our true difficulties with the tasks will arise in Thessaly.”

  “Because of the hunters? You think they will be able to track us that fast?”

  “No. The hunters in Greece are busy feeling the wrath of the dragons and with Asra laying a false trail in Troy, well, we should be able to enjoy a slight reprieve. At least, for another day or so. My concern is the centaurs.”

  “The centaurs are scholars and healers and guardians. If we’re stopped by any of them, it should be a simple matter of explaining our business.” Lauren paused and gave me a long look. “Unless there is something you’ve neglected to tell me about your dealings with the centaurs.” I didn’t answer right away, but she still closed her eyes before letting out a slow breath and opening them once more. “What is it?”

  “The centaurs have no love for the Myrmidons. Not anymore.” I hesitated then added, “It is possible they might choose to . . . eliminate us if we meet any of them and they figure out that I am Myrmidon.”

  Lauren stared up at me for a long moment before she turned back to the sea. She braced her left hand more firmly against the railing as she hung her head, then laughed very softly. “Oh Mathias, how any of your people have survived to the modern century is a wonder I can’t even begin to explain.”

  “It wasn’t an especially easy thing,” I mused.

  Lauren laughed again and shook her head. “I bet it wasn’t.” She looked up at me with a hint of amusement mixed with exasperation in her dark eyes. “Tell me something, Mathias, are there any paranormal species that your people didn’t tick off at some point in history?”

  “The Valkyries,” I offered. “But that is mainly because we never were able to get in a fight with them. At least not that I know of, but of the paranormal species living in Greece and Thrace . . . No.”

  “I didn’t think so.” Lauren glanced away, slipping her right hand out from under mine, but then she ducked under my arm. Now she was pressed against me as we watched the fading coastline and the dolphins began to play in the waters beside our boat. Lauren sighed then whispered, “Were you lot involved in the vanishing of Atlantis?”

  Chuckling, I pressed a kiss to her hair. “No. My people were not involved in that disaster.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  * * *

  Chapter Twelve

  Mathias

  “Give me your hand.” Feet braced on two of the steep wet steps, I reached up to grab Lauren’s arm. Supporting her as she climbed down the partially eroded staircase carved into the seaside cliff, I hid my concern over her pale features. It had taken us two days to reach the coast of Thessaly, docking in the port of Volos, and then to make it to this cave down the coast from both Volos and Mount Pelion. In that time the black lines snaking across Lauren’s tattoo had started to grow until the top spiral was completely black and the next spiral half covered as well.

  We were running out of time to even begin the third task. Something that worried me to no end. Lauren never uttered a single complaint even when I caught her tracing over the tattoo this
morning with a look in her eyes that I could only describe as dread and fear. Then, she had noticed me and summoned a smile that banished the visible signs of her own fears. I didn’t waste words trying to reassure her that everything would be all right. There was no point in doing so when we both knew the only way to save her, to save us, was to focus on the task at hand. So I did the only thing I could do, I spoke to the captain about the lost shield of Achilles. He shared a story learned from his nereid mother and aunts about a cave on the coast where Achilles’ shield had been hidden to prevent Alexander the Great, a rumored descendent of Achilles’ son Neoptolemus, from claiming it as he conquered all of Greece. He narrowed the cave down to two along the shoreline, but was unable to provide further details to help us choose one.

  “Do you think this will be it?”

  I kept my eyes on our footing as we continued negotiating the stairs and answered simply, “It must be the right one. We already searched one and found nothing.”

  “What if—”

  “This will be it,” I stated firmly. A single glance at her pale face was the only confirmation I needed to know that this cave had to be the right one. “The one we searched yesterday was far easier to access. If the stories are any indication, then the difficulty in reaching this cave alone tells us it is the right one. We’re almost there.” I paused and then asked, “How is your ankle?”

  “Fine. It’s fine.”

  I didn’t believe her, but she didn’t give me a chance to question her further as she abruptly changed the subject. “I don’t think you should have left the bag up there.”

  “Negotiating these stairs with your bag is bad enough. We weren’t going to make it with another much larger duffle bag. There’s no one around in any case so it should be fine.” I let go of her arm only long enough to hop over the gap in the stairs before reaching back for her. Lauren’s grasp on my fingers felt tenuous but she still jumped, allowing me to pull her to safety. “Almost there, Hope,” I murmured. “I’m afraid our boots will get wet over this last bit.”