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.”
Mathias rested his hands on my shoulders as he added, “We know where to search and what we are looking for, but we must use caution when approaching Troy.” His gaze searched mine as he pressed, “Lauren, we must be cautious. Do you agree?”
“We can be careful but, Mathias, we can’t afford to wait around another full day. We have no idea where the third task will be. I am afraid of waiting any longer than absolutely necessary to reach Thessaly.” I took a shaky breath and added, “We can’t stall. We can’t. We have no idea how much time we have left, but I would guess that a week is probably a generous estimate. I don’t want to fail now. I don’t want to fail you.”
Mathias pulled me into a quick hug before he stepped back once more. “We can catch a bus to Troy. After that, we will decide what direction to go.”
We were fortunate enough to find one of the buses leaving for Troy almost as soon as we reached the market of Abydos. The two-hour ride had me on edge as I watched the higher numbers on the bus. A bunch of 6s mixed in with a few 5s and three 7s. Mathias was sitting in the aisle seat sheltering me a little more, but even he was being almost too quiet. My mind was left with too little distraction and so quickly circled back again and again to the ticking clock. If Mathias was right about the artifacts we needed to find and where they were located, it might actually work. But, there was always the chance that he was off or that he remembered wrongly. A spearhead, helmet, and shield didn’t really sound like a complete set of armor to me. Nor did they really strike me as proof that I could keep Mathias from giving in to the Biting Ice. Except for the fact that they were three in number and came from three different places associated with Achilles’ life.
I scratched at my right wrist as my mind continued to buzz with different thoughts. As much as I hated this not knowing, I also had to admit that it wouldn’t be much of a challenge if the elders laid out every little detail for me to find. It still wasn’t very fair of them, but I could almost see why they were doing it. If someone wasn’t going to be a fit match to a Myrmidon, this last step’s unexpected delay and condition would certainly weed out those who couldn’t succeed. I understood it on the one hand. On the other hand, I very much despised their methods. Especially, about the time limit. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly as I forced my hand to still. Being angry over this was turning into a distraction.
Turning my attention to the view outside, I watched the countryside and the occasional glimpses of the glittering waters of the strait. Then Troy, fifteenth of that name, rose out in front of us. On the beaches in front of the walls, I could make out a towering figure. A horse formed of dark wood had been positioned on the beach much like the scene described by Homer. A warm presence leaned against my shoulder just before Mathias whispered in my ear, “It is a reminder.”
“Of what exactly?”
“Beware of strange gifts. The paranormal community decided the norms living in Troy needed to be reminded of history’s lessons here. And so . . .”
“Another Trojan horse was built.”
“It was a gift from the Greeks,” he muttered. “Athenians have always had a very odd sense of humor.”
“And a firm grasp of irony, it would seem,” I murmured.
The bus entered Troy’s walls, and I couldn’t even pick out a direction to go for the ancient ruins of the former cities bearing the name of Troy. The only good thing was that there were plenty of people around and the numbers seemed to stay within the more reasonable range of 5s and 6s. There were still a few 7s interspersed in the mix. So far, I hadn’t seen any 8s.
Mathias took me by the hand, and we waded through the bustling crowd. We moved from the fringe of one group to another as I kept one wary eye on the numbers. I tugged on Mathias’ hand, slowing my steps, when a blurred mix of numbers separated enough for me to pick out an 8 from their midst. When he glanced down at me, I flicked my gaze in the direction of the 8 and breathed, “Not that way.”
He gave a curt nod and then led the way to split from our current group and join with another heading down a particular narrow side street. The numbers were all 5s with a few 6s. Much easier on my nerves, but almost suspicious in the absence of a true challenge. We repeated the tactic a few more times, doubling back or weaving through side streets and alleyways until we suddenly went down a steep set of stairs and emerged into a noticeably older area. The stones here were worn with time and wear, but there were also areas with a distinct black demarcation almost as though there had been fires burning along the walls long ago. The crowds had thinned out considerably and as Mathias led me down another side street that was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side, we emerged into an area completely devoid of other people.
We went down another set of steep crumbling stone steps and entered a section of ruined houses and walls that towered above our heads with layers of dirt and stone cutting through them horizontally. The sun was nearly at its zenith overhead and so it provided enough light that we didn’t need flashlights, although the temperature was cooler as we continued down the twisting path. Finally, we stopped in front of a small grotto with a plaque that had Greek lettering as well as Turkish. The shrine of Achilles.
We stepped inside the grotto, Mathias was forced to nearly bend in half at the waist to get in without knocking against the low doorframe. There were two torches inside the grotto proper, their dancing flames casting a flickering light across a marble sculpture that was a twin to the larger version I had seen in the dragon prince’s palace in Perperikon. 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. I didn’t need to be able to read the Greek letters carved into the base that declared his name. Achilles only differed here in size and . . . in the spearhead. The spearhead was not marble as it had been in the Perperikon statue; instead, it was a dark almost black bronze.
My breath caught as I realized what it probably was, no, what it had to be. The spearhead wasn’t a part of the statue. It was using the statue to hide in plain sight. Ignoring the warning signs against climbing on the statue, I dropped my go bag on the ground and scrambled onto the pedestal. I balanced carefully to avoid touching the marble statue, not wanting to leave any mars on the white surface, and reached out to grasp the bronze band where the spearhead met the marble haft. I wasn’t quite tall enough to make this an easy thing but since the spear was held at angle, it was better than if I had been trying to pull it out of an upright spear.
I hissed as my hand slipped, and I cut the edge of my palm on the spearhead. Still sharp, after so many centuries. Feeling more pressed for time, I tugged the shawl off my head and then wrapped the cloth protectively around the bronze band before pulling once more. This time the bronze spearhead slid off the marble. So fast that I nearly dropped it before I managed to recover my balance.
It was heavier than I expected. But, I jumped down from the statue without any further issues still clutching the spearhead in one hand. For a moment I could only stare at it as the torchlight flickered across its dark surface. I glanced up at Mathias. “The spearhead from Troy where Achilles fell.” I glanced back at the statue then added, “I’m beginning to understand why nobody ever mentioned anything besides the helmet, shield, and spear. Clearly it would ruin the art.”
Mathias almost choked before he laughed quietly. “Come on. Let’s get going before you decide to make him decent.”
I managed to smile in reply. I wrapped my shawl around the spearhead and carefully placed it inside my satchel. Mathias handed me my go bag and tugged on my hair. “Maybe you should forego the shawl.”
Rolling my eyes, I retorted, “We are in Turkey, dear, and believe me when I say not wearing a head shawl would draw more attention than not.” I tapped the edge of the bandage around my throat as I added, “Especially with this.” My palm stung a little, but the wound had already stopped bleeding so I didn’t bother to get another bandage. Instead, I just pulled out a bright blue shawl and arranged it over my hair and shoulders. I made sure to tug it up enough to cover most of my throat although I didn’t pin it shut. Once I was done, I nodded to Mathias. “Okay, now we should get out of Troy.”
“Agreed.”
As soon as Mathias ducked out of the grotto, I heard a grunt and then the sound of bodies hitting the ground. Heart pounding, I rushed through the doorway to find Mathias crouched over another man. The other man’s eyes were blank and staring, his neck bent at an unnatural angle, and a dagger hung limply from his left hand.
I met Mathias’ cold eyes and shook my head. The man’s number had already vanished, but I was certain that he was another hunter. There were voices from another street, and Mathias turned toward them with a precision that worried me. I lunged forward to grab his arm as I hissed, “We have to go. Now.”
Mathias surged to his feet and grabbed my hand. The contact was mildly reassuring that he hadn’t been completely lost to me with this second close combat encounter with a hunter, but hearing him speak would have been better. We ran in silence until a shout rose from the street behind us. As we turned a corner, I risked a glance behind and nearly lost my footing as a result. Three 8s were charging toward us.
Panic rose, urging me to go faster, and I stopped paying as much attention to where my feet went. A mistake to be sure. We were halfway up a narrow set of crumbling stairs when my left foot slipped, and I would have fallen down the stairs if Mathias hadn’t caught me. My ankle twisted at an odd angle, sending a spike of pain lancing through the tendon, but I didn’t dare slow down. Instead, I forced myself to keep running.
Every step made my ankle ache and throb, but I kept going as we eventually made our way back to the crowded areas of Troy. Mathias dove into the crowds pushing his way through and tugging me along in his wake, but the 8s stayed close on our tail. As much as I hated taking the risk, I finally pulled free of Mathias’ grip. When he swung around, clearly looking for a fight, I caught his gaze. I didn’t dare shout or even talk for fear of the 8s hearing me. Instead, I brought my hands together, forefingers together, then mimed them splitting in two different directions. Mathias scowled, but I didn’t give him the chance to argue as I shoved him one way and I hurried the other.
I didn’t dare look back until I reached a crowd of women chattering with each other about their day. I could see the 8s spread out among the crowd and I couldn’t find the 10 anywhere, which hopefully meant that he had listened to my plan. Moving with the women for a little way, I waited until one of the 8s had dropped back completely before I decided to go down a different street. The other two 8s were headed away from me and nearly out of sight when I ducked down my chosen street.
My ankle gave a warning wobble, and I was forced to slow my pace to a more sedate limp. This was exactly what I had been dreading would happen at some point in the Trials. I didn’t have the walking cast anymore and didn’t have the brace either. As I limped down the street, my steps slowed further as I caught a glimpse of a building whose sign was painted with a serpent twined around a staff, the Rod of Asclepius. Oh thank God, it was a medical building. I bit back a sob of relief as I hobbled forward and tapped on the door. Relief wavered when no one answered, but then I pushed the door open and limped inside. “Hello?” I called in Turkish. “Is the doctor here?”
There was no answer still and when I checked the desk by the door, I found a little sign indicating they were out to lunch. In reality that was probably the better option in the long run. This wasn’t an opportunity I could waste. Mathias had what remained of the medical supplies in his go bag so if I wanted to do anything for my injuries, now was the best time.
I limped over to the doorway leading to the back of the building, breathing a prayer of thanks when I was able to get into an exam room without having to deal with a lock. No cameras either. Trojan doctors were apparently very unconcerned with potential thieves since even the supply cabinets were unlocked. Or the heavy paranormal population here meant they still operated under the customs of leaving supplies and comfort where anyone who needed it would be able to access it. Plus, they were tucked off one of the side streets, so less traffic anyway.
Giving myself a shake, I realized I had been drifting in my thoughts. I needed to stay focused. A quick wash of the hands and then I was checking through cabinets. There was a mirror in the room, and I tugged off my head shawl in order to get a better look at my throat. The bandage stuck a little when I unwrapped it, making me wince, but the wound wasn’t as bad as I had feared. A jagged line down the left side and curving toward the middle on the lower half of my neck. A scab had already formed over the majority of the cut, leaving only the far left corner still bleeding. It must have been where the hunter dug in the knife. I wined as I dabbed disinfectant on the whole cut and then picked out a small gauze pad to place directly over the deepest nick before taping it in place. Hopefully that would be less noticeable than a full bandage wrapped around my neck.
Mindful of the blood’s potential scent trail, I quickly cleaned the dried blood off my lower neck, collarbones, and upper chest. Then, I changed into a fresh pale cream shirt. I tried to ignore the tattoo on my wrist, but every time I glimpsed the mottled red and orange I wanted to stare at it. There was an almost horrific beauty to it now, however, I didn’t have time to indulge in such silliness. I rubbed my aching temple only to flinch when my fingers grazed my skin. What in the world was it now?
A quick check in the mirror confirmed that I had a bruise about the size of my thumb on my right temple partially obscured by my hairline. I couldn’t recall an exact moment when I received it, but it had probably happened when I smashed into the hunter outside of Penthesilea’s tomb. There was nothing I could do about it now. Turning my attention back to the most pressing matter, I rummaged through the cabinets until I found some athletic wrappings I could use for my ankle.
The same ankle that gave a disturbing twinge when I pulled my boot off. Not what I needed. My ankle looked fairly normal as I examined it critically. No discoloration or swelling outside of the scar from my previous surgery. Maybe, it was just a precautionary warning.
I had no idea if that was true or not, but I could hope. I had just started wrapping my ankle when I heard the door opening and closing. Freezing in place, I held my breath as I listened. It couldn’t have been even twenty minutes. I didn’t hear any sort of chatter or the indication that more than one person had entered the building. Maybe someone had only opened the door to see if the doctor was in and then left when they saw the empty front room. And, maybe I would sprout wings like a Sprite or . . . or a Valkyrie.
Moving a little more frantically, my trembling fingers fumbled their way through finishing the wrap and then slipping my boot back on. I hadn’t heard any further movement and cautiously stood, adjusting my head shawl, as I listened. Had whoever entered left? That slender thread of ho
pe vanished when the door to the exam room opened and a woman stepped inside. Like me, she wore a head shawl, but hers was a stark black that blended perfectly with her black leather jacket, pants, and boots. She was a bit taller than me and her olive-toned skin was several shades darker than my own. An 8 flickered brightly over her head and her black eyes were hard as obsidian flakes as she surveyed me. She sniffed once and said quietly in Turkish, “Lauren Hope, the rogue Spotter. I was expecting someone taller.”
A brittle smile curved my lips as I spread my hands wide. “I am as you see me, I’m afraid.”
The woman studied me a moment longer before she scanned the room taking in the evidence of my injuries. She strolled closer to me and snagged my bloodied shirt from where I had tossed it on top of my go bag. “Every shifter who knows how to use their nose is going to follow this scent trail.” She paced in front of me, looking almost thoughtful, as she added, “Management instructed that I make you the offer of turning yourself in and if you do so, they promise to spare your life.”
“Really? That’s quite interesting because all the other hunters were quite clear that my usefulness no longer includes living. Something about unleashing a Myrmidon’s rage.” I clenched my trembling fingers into fists as I added tartly, “I’m beginning to question the intelligence of those who still follow Weard, especially if they have such unswerving loyalty.”
“Not all of us follow without question,” the woman countered. She paused, studying me rather closely, before she nodded to my bags and jacket. “Grab those and keep that tattoo covered.” She raised my shirt as she said, “I will keep this to lay a decoy trail. Your Myrmidon was last seen heading toward the port, but he will have doubled back to find you by now.”
I stared at the hunter. “I don’t understand.”
Her lips quirked into an almost smile before she bowed her head slightly. “Prince Kiril sends his greetings. May you travel with safety.”
Trials by Numbers Page 18
