Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  Tightening my grip on Lauren’s hand, I tugged her along as I increased my pace to put us more firmly among the tour group. Eventually, the two hunters would come to terms or at the least decide to leave the argument for later and they would resume their search. I listened with half an ear as the tour guide described the aftermath of the Trojan War and its effect on the economy of the region. The Thracians had once controlled Abydos in the immediate aftermath, providing shelter to both the survivors of Troy and their Greek allies who desired a safer port to sail home to from the long war. This was one reason, or so they believed, that the beehive tombs had been erected for both denizens of Abydos and fallen heroes and warriors of the Trojan War.

  Lauren’s grip on my hand tightened slightly as someone in the group asked about the heroes’ tombs. The tour guide didn’t seem phased by the question as he grinned in response and said, “The tombs of the fallen ones are on the far side of the necropolis tucked between the old city walls and the Pillar of Achilles. However, those tombs will not be viewed today as they are closed to the public. And, I do not recommend any daring spirits among you as the griffins who guard the tombs are not at all forgiving to trespassers.”

  I turned to Lauren to ask her if she had spotted any more hunters only to grow still as my gaze caught on a vaguely familiar face. The second hunter, the one who had been arguing with our pursuer, was trailing the group and coming closer. I stepped toward him, intent on confronting the man, but then Lauren was in front of me. She had both hands braced against my chest as she peered up at me and hissed, “No.”

  For the span of a single heartbeat I considered ignoring her, pushing past her in order to confront the current threat. Lauren’s hands pushed against my chest, distracting me from formulating a plan of attack, and I looked down to find dark eyes flashing a silent warning. She was right. It would be foolish to confront the hunter now and under these circumstances. Foolish, yes. But was it necessary?

  I hesitated before I grabbed Lauren’s hands and pulled her off the path to hide in the shadows of a partially intact shrine formed of columns and the remains of a portico. The hunter was still following the group, and no one had noticed our absence. As the hunter drew closer, I knew I needed to hide my face as well as Lauren’s on the off chance he caught a glimpse of us in the shadows. Sliding my grip from holding her hands to carefully cradling her face, I bent and captured her mouth in a kiss.

  The sound of the hunter’s steps drew closer, and then passed us as he followed in the wake of the tour group. I wrapped my arms more firmly around Lauren, pulling her closer, as I deepened the kiss. Lauren’s hands were curled in my shirt, and then they flattened against me and gave a little push. It took far more effort to allow her to break the kiss than it had to not go after the hunter.

  Easing back, I blew out a breath to focus my thoughts. Lauren was still looking up at me, her lips slightly parted and looking very kissable. I forced myself to ease back a little further although my hands still linger on her hips as I risked a peek around the column we were standing next to in an attempt to locate the tour group and the hunter. I could see the guide’s flag, but the group had already moved further down the winding path leading to the newer tombs.

  Taking a steadying breath, I turned back to Lauren and forced myself to lower my hands to my sides. “We won’t have much time before the hunter realizes we’re not in the group. If he’s a shifter, he could follow our scent trail. So we need to—”

  “Move fast,” she said. “I know.” Her hand drifted up to touch her sleeve where it covered her tattoo, but I doubted she was even aware of the act as she asked in a low tone, “Do you know where to find Penthesilea’s tomb?”

  “Stories say it’s the one closest to the Pillar of Achilles.”

  “Okay. Lead the way.”

  I offered a curt nod and then strode toward the far side of the portico. The beehive tombs formed an uninviting pathway to the far side of the necropolis. Their guardians did not perch on top of the stone tombs as they had in the Thracian valley of the kings, not during the daylight hours at least. No, the guardians would be sheltering inside the tombs themselves until night fell and their presence was warranted outside again to ward off potential looters.

  The Pillar of Achilles was a simple stele that had been broken some time in the past. Its top half now lay at an angle pointing toward one of the surrounding tombs, so close the tip nearly touched the wall. The bottom section still stood upright marking what had once been the outskirts of the necropolis just outside the walls of a former fortification. One that legend said had been built when the Thracians came to Troy’s aid. I stopped in front of the bottom half, studying the now faded markings etched into the stone’s surface.

  Lauren came up beside me, also studying the stone, before she broke the silence. “Can you read this? It’s not Turkish.”

  “No, it is Myrmidon. A warning relating the tale of Penthesilea and Achilles.” I walked around to the other side of the stele and pointed to a section. “This speaks of Achilles’ attempt to honor the fallen Amazonian Queen. Of how he brought her body here to Abydos so that it would rest undisturbed by the continued conflict of Troy. He paid Thracians to build and guard her tomb, but still he stole from her. The bottom section here speaks of how Penthesilea now lies in rest next to the memory of the one who slew her and of how she alone of the two of them has a tomb.” I paused, reading the faded script, before I added, “It ends with a warning that none should attempt to trespass into the Tomb of the Amazonian Queen with the intent of stealing further treasures. The guardian will strike down all who dare enter.”

  Lauren didn’t respond right away. Instead, she seemed almost lost in thought before she rubbed her right arm again. She turned in a circle, observing the tombs around us, before she stopped beside the fallen portion of the stele. She looked from it to the tomb it nearly touched, then turned back to me. “Do you think this is it?”

  “It is the closest one,” I offered.

  She nodded. Tugging her satchel forward, she didn’t wait another moment before walking toward the tomb. I followed in her wake pulling a torch out of my go bag as we walked around to the front of the tomb. As much as instinct and habit urged me to step in front of her, to protect her from whatever lay inside the tomb, I forced myself to stay behind Lauren as we entered the long narrow entry tunnel. I shone the light over her head, illuminating the simple undecorated stone walls. There was no sign of a guardian. Still, I kept as close to Lauren as I could manage without stepping on her.

  The tunnel reached another door, this one framed with the carved reliefs of grapes and lightning. Shining the torch through the doorway, I could just make out the shadowy outline of a long rectangle in the middle of the room. Lauren stepped through first and I followed. There was the rush of air blowing down on us and then a griffin landed in the space between us. Its wing slammed into me, nearly knocking me off my feet, as it forced me back against the wall.

  “Mathias, don’t do anything!”

  I straightened at Lauren’s call. I could just see her as the griffin turned its full attention onto her. It crouched slightly, wings flaring, in readiness to attack. With its head lowered, it only came up to her waist, but that didn’t make it less deadly. My grip on the torch tightened as I fought the impulse to draw the sword I had left in my go bag or to simply attempt to stun the beast with a well placed blow from the torch. Lauren stood perfectly still holding one hand out as she dug in her satchel. The torchlight caught on the jewels interspersed throughout the knotted fiber of the Girdle of Hippolyta as she pulled the looped ribbon out of her bag.

  She called to the griffin in Turkish, saying, “We do not come to disturb Penthesilea’s rest nor to rob her tomb. We come only to return that which was wrongfully stolen from the Queen of the Amazons so very long ago. Allow us to do so, and we will leave in peace.”

  The griffin rose out of its half-crouch, furling its wings tightly against its body, but it didn’t move out from between
us. I caught Lauren’s gaze and offered a silent nod. It was her task, and I didn’t know whether drawing attention to myself would help or hinder at this point so I remained silent. It was unlikely the griffin had forgotten my presence, though, since it continued to cut me off from Lauren.

  Lauren glanced from me to the griffin, and then slowly lowered her hand. Gathering the Girdle of Hippolyta so it now rested in both hands, she turned her back on the griffin and walked toward the simple stone sarcophagus. She placed the Girdle on top of the stone lid and then rested her hand on the stone as she murmured in Turkish, “What was always yours has now been returned. Though you are long gone from this earth, your story will be remembered and the honor of your warriors will be preserved even though they too were lost to time. The girdle of your sister will lie with you from this day forward, although I do not have the means to open your sarcophagus. Rest in peace, Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons.”

  There was a scraping sound on the far side of the tomb, and I braced for an attack. Then, the griffin suddenly moved circling around to the other side of the sarcophagus. Not wasting another moment, I lunged forward. I rested one hand on Lauren’s shoulder guiding her back toward me as I shone the torchlight in the direction of the sound. An old woman dressed from head to toe in black robes and leaning on a cane that shone a dull white, almost as though it were made of bone, crept up beside the griffin. She reached out a gnarled hand to pat its feathered neck as though it were a faithful dog.

  She glared at us before dropping her gaze to the Girdle as it gleamed faintly in the torchlight. Her wrinkled lips puckered as though she had bitten something sour before she grumbled in Myrmidon, “So you have accomplished the second task. A third awaits you, but you shall not learn of it here.”

  Lauren tensed underneath my hand as I translated. “What?”

  The elder continued as though she hadn’t spoken at all forcing me to continue serving as translator, “You have not yet earned the right to compete for the third task. First, you must prove that you are able and willing to keep your warrior from falling as Achilles did by tracing Achilles’ steps from the place he died to the land of his birth, the land where all Myrmidons once lived. Three items, from three places, for you to carry with you on your final task. Now go.”

  “Wait a minute, you can’t just assign a new task,” Lauren stated with more calm than I was tempted to use. She pulled up her sleeve and shoved her wrist into the light. “Look! The mark changed. Can’t you at least tell me how much longer I have left? When is the time due? I have a right to know these things.”

  Lauren was still speaking Turkish, and I translated into Myrmidon on the off chance the elder would acknowledge it. But, she had already turned her back on us. She hissed in Turkish, “I said go. Drive them out!”

  The griffin crouched low. My grip on Lauren’s shoulder tightened as I spun her around and shoved her toward the opening. “Run.”

  * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  Lauren

  The griffin never made a sound as it chased us. Only the rustling of feathers and the faint sound of talons scratching against hard packed soil hinted at its presence. I ran as fast as I could, emerging into the sunlight only to slam into something solid. We went down in a tangle of arms and legs before I fully realized what was happening, and by then it was too late.

  The man I slammed into recovered faster than me, his arms coming up to pin me against him even as I tried to roll away from him. He followed my movement; I caught a glimpse of an 8 blazing above his head before he succeeded in twisting me around so I was suddenly staring at Mathias as he emerged from the tomb. I felt something press against my throat, slowing Mathias’ approach, as the man pressed his face against the side of my head, the thin fabric of my shawl forming a flimsy barrier between him and my hair, and noisily inhaled. He gave a low chuckle then murmured in Turkish, “So that’s what a Spotter smells like . . . fear and weakness.”

  Mathias was watching him with a coldness that should have sent the man to his knees. As it was, the look was enough to freeze me. I clung to the hunter’s arm, but his grip never wavered as the pressure against my throat vanished and he pointed a curved knife at Mathias. “Do not move, Myrmidon. That fool of a dragon-born is hunting in Troy for you now, but I remembered the story of Troy also stretched to Abydos. Now I have your scents, there’s no point in trying to run.”

  “Backbiting is rather uncivilized, don’t you think?” Mathias asked, his accent thickening. “Not a very good hunting strategy.”

  “No need to share the bounty on your heads. Management has made promises to us all. They’ll only keep the one made to the hunter who actually bags you both.”

  “What happened to wanting the Spotter alive?”

  “She’s a liability,” the hunter said simply. He brought the knife back to my throat. “One to be eliminated. Now.”

  Pain and shock warred together as the blade bit into my throat sending warm liquid running over my skin. I gasped and bent my head forward, ignoring the way the blade dug in further, before slamming it back. The knife jerked against my skin as the hunter spewed curses. The knife was still in his hand as I struggled to tangle our feet up, to trip him, anything to keep him from getting that blade close to my throat again.

  I had just hooked my foot behind his ankle when Mathias slammed into us. His hand tightened on my arm as he yanked me free of the hunter’s grasp and pushed me away. I tripped over the go bags and sprawled on the ground. Shoving myself back up, I watched helpless to intervene as Mathias wrenched the knife from the hunter’s hand and cut his throat. The hunter dropped without uttering a sound. Mathias walked a few paces beyond the body, clutching the knife with his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

  Staggering back to my feet, I ignored the pain in my throat as I called in a hoarse whisper, “Mathias. Mathias, we need to go.”

  He dropped the bloodied knife and stalked back toward me, the terrible coldness still lingering in his eyes. Their icy blue color seemed to sharpen as they dropped to my throat. Then, Mathias uttered a low curse before taking me by the elbow and steering me back toward the bags. “Can’t go anywhere until this is bandaged. Did he cut you anywhere else?”

  “No.” I held still while he wrapped a bandage around my throat and then started tugging the ends of my shawl tighter so they would better conceal it. My gaze fell to the body and then skittered away as I forced myself to take a deep breath. “Achilles died in Troy. We have to go there but if the other hunter . . .”

  “It would be better not to move on today,” came the quiet words.

  I stared at Mathias, mouth opening but no words coming out. I shook my head. “N-no. No, we cannot lose an entire day. It’s only, umm,” I checked my watch, “nine. It’s only nine in the morning. We can’t sit around waiting another full day. We can’t take that risk. You know, we can’t afford to waste an entire day.”

  “Lauren, we cannot rush into Troy without a plan.”

  “We can’t just sit on our hands pretending we don’t have a rapidly approaching and extremely literal deadline either,” I snapped. My throat ached and itched beneath the bandage but I ignored it as I grabbed my go bag, hoisting it over my shoulder. “That woman in there couldn’t care less about us. I’ve had quite enough of these so called elders whose only goal seems to be making us jump through hoops that didn’t exist before. I am not a Seeker or a Seer. I’m a Spotter, I can’t just magically absorb new powers and become a Lore keeper who would be even better at finding lost artifacts with as little information as ‘follow Achilles’ life journey.’ But God forbid we provide any sort of helpful information at this point in the Trials.”

  Clenching my jaw shut, I turned away from the silent 10 and hurried back the way we had come. Enough was enough. I had my fill of non-answers and moving blindly in some sort of game that no one bothered to actually fully explain. Thank you very much.

  “Lauren.”

  I didn’t bother to slow keeping up the quick t
rot. If Mathias truly wanted to talk, he would be more than capable of catching up. All too soon he did. Although, he at least had sense enough not to attempt to slow me down or make me stop. We walked in silence for a few minutes before he finally spoke. “Lauren, I know you’ve been under pressure, but being reckless has never been your pattern. You have always been cautious and with good reason.”

  A bitter laugh escaped me at that. “Don’t try to turn this into a speech against recklessness, Mathias. Not with everything I have been through since we left the States. I don’t even know what it is I’m supposed to find at Troy or how to even get down into Achilles’ Troy but if we move too slowly now, I am very much afraid that we will both be damned.”

  “Lauren,” Mathias lowered his voice as we drew closer to the city limits, “we are not damned yet because we are going to beat this. I know. I know that you are frustrated and rightly so, but will you please listen to me?”

  He placed a hand on my arm, and I reluctantly allowed him to pull me to a stop. Looking up at him, I noted with some relief that his gaze was no longer cold. Instead, there was worry in his eyes. Folding my arms over my chest, I waited for him to speak.

  “There was a story both my father and my uncle would share about the lost armor of Achilles. Achilles’ armor was famous because it was believed to be impenetrable, courtesy of the god Hephaestus’ craftsmanship, and it was highly prized by the Myrmidons. But when Achilles was killed, his legacy of dishonor coupled with the ill deeds of his son meant that the armor was not returned to my people’s home territory. Not until the Myrmidons proved we had learned from Achilles’ errors and restored our honor. Instead the armor was divided between three resting places. The bronze spearhead was eventually brought back to Troy where Achilles fell, the helmet was left on the Isle of Skyros where Achilles hid among women to avoid going to war, and finally his shield was said to have been hidden on the coast of Thessaly near where Chiron retreated after being driven from Mount Pelion proper.”