Hunt by Numbers

by Kimberly A Rogers

  “Why not wait?”

  I glanced up at him. His eyes were still colored by dragon gold, but his slit pupils were no longer constricted. He was listening, thank God. “Fight season lasts three months. The Colosseum would be protected for the whole of it, and I dare not linger here so long. By necessity, I can no longer tarry in places. Not even neutral cities like Roma.”

  The woodwose, Atwater, stirred from where he was leaning one shoulder against a wall. His beard seemed to bristle as he spoke in a low, gruff voice, “So you risk smuggling yourself into these games. Where an elite hunter of Weard has shown himself to be. Stupid.”

  I could feel the blood draining from my face, and I barely kept from asking if they meant Mathias. The dragon prince of Venice hadn’t known at first that Mathias was with me . . . as something other than my enemy. Dropping my gaze to the floor beneath my boots, I took a steadying breath. I didn’t dare look at the eastern dragon with fear running rampant. There was no way to know if his dragonish instincts would overlook fear that wasn’t directly aimed at him. So when I looked up once more, it was to meet the woodwose’s steady gaze. “If a hunter has followed me into the games themselves, then I do not have long to remain.”

  “Can’t leave this section until the game is finished,” he responded slowly.

  “I am aware, sir, thank you.” My eyes grew wide as I realized how that must have sounded, but the woodwose merely barked a rusty laugh. Deciding it was better not to draw further attention to my courtesy slip, I risked turning my attention to the dragon. “I was told to seek out Raz Yakov for the purpose of my pilgrimage. However, it is sensitive enough that I did not wish to approach him while there were many patrons also seeking him for their wagers.”

  The dragon slid up his right sleeve and studied his watch. “The heavier wagers will have been placed by now. They are about to begin the elite matches. You won’t find many if any patrons lingering around the seer’s corridor now. If you go now and take care to remain in the back of the viewing room when you return, your absence should escape detection.”

  I bowed politely. “You have my thanks, Prince Tao.”

  “Pilgrimages are important quests and not to be tampered with if possible.” He turned toward the door then paused and looked back at me, his profile sharp even as his eyes returned to black. “A wise woman would not continue to play games when a hunter’s noose threatens her neck.”

  I bowed once more, murmuring, “I understand.”

  Only then did Atwater straighten. The air suddenly smelled less earthy, and I realized he had been using his talents as a woodwose to do something to the earth surrounding the room. Green men were practically earth elementals so I shouldn’t have been surprised. Then again, I hadn’t expected to ever find myself in such close proximity to one . . . or to a prince of the eastern water dragons.

  Another dragon prince who knew me . . . I sagged as my knees gave out and caught myself with both hands against the closest wall. The stone was cool and rough beneath my palms. I could just barely see the dirt sealed behind it. Closing my eyes, I rested my forehead against the stone wall. God have mercy. Oh, I was coming to the attention of far too many powerful paranormals and far far too many dragons. If I never met another royal dragon in my life, it would be too soon.

  Although I was starting to wonder just what the dragon prince of Thrace had put in his messages to convince at least two other princes to leave me alone. No. No, it was better that I didn’t know. I would never get another night’s rest if I knew what the royal dragons saw in me.

  I pushed away from the wall and took a deep breath. My heart was still beating its wings in frantic panic against my ribs, which still felt far too tight. I took another deep breath. The elite matches were starting, and I had seen on one of the boards tracking the competitors that only six rounds had been tagged as elite. The fights had been getting longer in duration as the more skilled fighters were brought out. It would keep everyone here for the games occupied, leaving me the sole opportunity to find Raz Yakov.

  Brushing off my hands, I smoothed my hair and straightened my jacket before ducking out of the room. The tunnel was empty. No sign of either the dragon prince or the woodwose. Not that I minded. After another quick glance to assure myself I was alone, I turned to the left. The red line marking the barbarians’ side of the Colosseum’s structure was threaded with a faint silver line. I followed the line through the tunnels until I came to a room with three exits. The exit to my left was marked with an open eye etched in the same silver paint. The sign of the seer’s corridor, no doubt.

  This was it. I took another steadying breath and wiped my sweaty palms off on my jeans. Then, I entered the archway on my left. It immediately opened into a set of narrow stairs descending at a sharp angle. The ceiling changed to carved limestone and dropped lower as I descended until the stone brushed against my hair. Mathias would’ve had to double over in order to keep from hitting his head. The tunnel walls also narrowed until I wondered if I would need to turn sideways in order to keep going. Turning back was not an option. Not after everything we both had already been through to get here.

  I rounded a bend, and the walls opened back up although the ceiling remained low and the stairs steep. I kept moving. Then, the stairs ended and I ducked through another archway into a much larger room. It was lit only by a single lantern at the far end of the long room with a much wider door. I took a step forward and then stopped as I heard something scrape against stone. “Hello?” I called, lapsing back into English. After conversing with the dragon prince in English, it was surprisingly difficult to remember to use Turkish. So I didn’t bother to do so as I called again. “Hello? Is the seer here?”

  “Why do you seek me?” came a soft voice barely above a whisper.

  I looked around, barely making out the faint outlines of more archways emptying into this corridor. Large and small, wide and narrow, they all emptied here. “I was told to seek you by another seer. I was told you held answers to the hunt I am on. Please, I am looking Raz Yakov, and I mean no harm.”

  There was a long silence. It stretched until I feared he had vanished somewhere in the shadows. Finally, I heard a whisper of movement from the large bank of shadows to my right.

  “Come into the tunnel then.”

  “All right.”

  I caught a glimpse of a glowing number, but it was a faint smudge in the darkness for some reason. It cleared as I crept closer. A 3. Sweet relief rushed over me, nearly sending me to my knees, at the thought of speaking to another low number. It felt like ages since I had seen someone that low, especially when I couldn’t see my own number.

  I bit back a too enthusiastic greeting, however, as I crept forward. I held my hands out in front of me as a precaution. I didn’t want him to know I was a Spotter just yet. Unless . . . Unless Venice repeated itself.

  My relief shriveled at the mere contemplation of another incident like Venice. The 3 came closer, and I could vaguely make out the shadowy outline of a man who wasn’t much taller than me. A worn and calloused hand touched my outstretched one. I stopped in my tracks. “Raz Yakov?”

  “Yes, come. We could use privacy to speak, yes.”

  He tugged on my hand and I followed, keeping an eye on his number. It held steady, healthy and glowing, at 3. The sense of relief returned, and I found myself relaxing. We only walked a short distance before he turned to the left, and we ducked through a glamour. Thankfully, this one didn’t hurt.

  I blinked at the sudden light as the seer released my hand. His grey head of hair testified to age, though I thought Seers aged more slowly. It made me wish I could borrow Mathias’ book on paranormal species to refresh my memory on the seers. The man before me was not very tall as I’d guessed, but his lack of height seemed to derive more from his pronounced stoop. Still, he had a solid build. He turned to look at me, light brown eyes curious as they peered at me from beneath wild eyebrows. His grey hair was short cropped, but still stuck out wildly on top. He must’ve
been in his fifties if life had been unkind or perhaps he was in his sixties or even seventies.

  I glanced at his number once more. It remained steady. When I looked back at his weathered face, however, I realized he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the space above my head. He pursed his thin lips and gave a sort of nod. I didn’t think it was aimed at me, though. With his dark olive complexion and simple garb of a long sleeved white shirt combined with dark pants and vest, he looked like a native to the area. But then, so could I if I tried.

  The 3 remained steady. I hesitated a moment before asking, “Where are we exactly?”

  He waved a gnarled hand at the room’s simple furnishings of a table and low seating. “Call it my sitting room or parlor if you prefer. There’s some food. I thought the last of the patrons had returned to watch their blood games.”

  I couldn’t repress the shiver at his chosen name for the games. Although, it was certainly accurate enough. I caught him peeking at the space above my head again. Curiosity and even a little hope suddenly loosened my tongue. “What is it you see when you look at me, sir?”

  Raz Yakov did not react. He poured some steaming tea and offered me a cup. I took it out of politeness, but the equal parts excitement and fear twisting my stomach into origami kept me from even considering drinking it. When Raz Yakov had poured his own tea and taken a seat on the cushion across the table from me, he glanced at me. “I see things, but not in the manner of most Seers.”

  My heart started beating faster, and I leaned forward. If I hadn’t been clutching the tea cup, I might have reached across to grab his gnarled hand. “Please. Will you tell me?”

  When he did not answer, merely pursing his lips in clear internal debate, I set my tea cup down. Keeping my voice light even as I lowered it to a barely heard whisper, I rested my hands on the table as I said, “Perhaps . . . Perhaps, I should tell you what it is I see first. I think you may be able to understand better than most.”

  At his nod, I started talking again, still in the same quiet whisper, “I see things, but not like Seers. It is more a matter of . . . spotting.” I traced out a three on the table between us. “Perhaps, this is similar to what you do as well.”

  For a long moment of tormenting silence, I feared he hadn’t seen or recognized what I meant. Then, he reached out and placed the tip of his index finger on the table. He traced out a three. When I met his gaze, he nodded. “I did not think the younger generation had survived. I thought our enemies had finally succeeded in capturing or eliminating our kind.”

  I shook my head even as a tremulous smile curved my lips. Our kind. I wasn’t as alone as I’d believed. Reaching out, I lightly touched the back of his hand as I murmured, “No. At least two of us still survive.”

  “How could one so young as you escape the tightening noose?”

  Mathias. But, I didn’t dare say his name. Not yet. “I have a protector.”

  “Where is he now?”

  My smile dropped as my eyes went to the stone ceiling. Somewhere above us Mathias was once again putting his life on the line for my needs. No matter what he said about being practically invincible as a Myrmidon and 10.

  * * *

  Mathias

  The common room was almost empty now. Only Xanthe and myself remained. The fight between two demis had just ended, and the mirror glamour showed only the raking of sand to smooth the arena’s floor once more. It was nearly time for one of us to be summoned, but neither of us moved to stand up. Instead, we waited.

  The gong sounded and then the all too familiar voice echoed through the room. “Competitor Alexander of Sparta, prepare for battle.”

  I rose, settling my sword between my shoulders once more. Xanthe’s keen gaze watched every movement but when I glanced down at her, she merely nodded. “May victory guide your sword, warrior.”

  The Amazon blessing was one I hadn’t heard in years, but I welcomed it. “May swiftness and strength give you victory against all foes, Amazon.”

  Her eyes widened at the traditional response, and then narrowed. “It is you.”

  The corner of my mouth twitched up into a half smirk. “What can I say? I got bored and came looking for some excitement.”

  No sooner had the flippant words left my mouth than the door at the far end of the room swung open to reveal a long hall and a pinprick of light at the end. The glamour shimmered, then fell as I approached. I felt only the lingering brush of its presence as I stepped into the long tunnel. I reached up to loosen my sword in its sheath and strode forward. The light at the end of the tunnel grew larger, and I could hear the shouts of a crowd. “Sparta! Athens!”

  I smirked. Well, now I knew exactly who I would be facing although I had already guessed as much from the competitors who had already participated on the side of Caesar. A faint glamour shimmered in front of me, preventing me from entering the arena. I listened as an announcer began shouting in Italian and then Latin, “Ladies and gentlemen, royals and nobles, the second to last fight in the Colosseum round will determine the first of two champions who will appear at the Jupiter Games here in Roma in two months’ time when the circuit ends. We all know the rules. Wounding and maiming are permitted as long as no one cheats. If your competitor cheats, you will pay the price. Death or severe injury ends the match unless a forfeit is called. Now for a match we’ve been waiting to see since the Forum round! The rivalry goes back as far as civilization in Greece. Homer spoke of it as did Nereus. Time and time again it led to battle between two great city-states, one the birthplace of philosophy and democracy and the other a place where strength ruled over all. A rivalry that could bear the tales of heroes even to this day. And, now, tonight at the Colosseum we shall all bear witness to this famous feud adding another notch to its belt. The only question is which side will prevail this night. Athens? Or Sparta?”

  The glamour in front of me fell as the announcer kept talking. “We watched him impress with his speed and skill at keeping up the fight even when he took hits. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Alexander of Sparta!”

  I stepped out onto the sand as cheers rose from the viewing boxes around and behind me. But, I couldn’t see the people. Instead, I saw only the glamoured façade of the crumbling stone rising in tiers above me. Interesting. They were determined to maintain the atmosphere and prevent any visual cheating by keeping us from seeing the spectators.

  “And, now, the lion whose fight was tragically interfered with before we could see much of his prowess. His reputation as undefeated in fair fights precedes him. A shifter of strength and fury. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Atlas of Athens!”

  Atlas stepped out on the sand. Like me, he had eschewed the gimmick of old armor in favor of practical clothing. Unlike me, his idea of practical clothing was a pair of loose hanging pants and nothing else. Shifter logic. We met in the center of the arena, and I realized the moment he recognized me. His eyes changed to gold, but he said nothing.

  The gong sounded and we both retreated backwards, never taking our eyes off each other. The announcer was still speaking, but I ignored him. Instead, I settled into the cool precision of instinct as I assessed Atlas. He shifted into his half-form, becoming an anthropomorphic lion. He raised a fur covered hand and made an obscene gesture.

  I raised an eyebrow at him. Really? We were going to behave like unruly teenagers. A ripple of laughter mixed with cheers drifted from the area behind him. No doubt where the Caesars’ sponsors and fans sat. Lauren was either somewhere behind me watching or she was finding information. Either way, I wouldn’t be of help to her until after the fight was finished. I unsheathed my sword and brought it up in a mocking salute. Time to work.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Lauren

  The room was silent and rather cozy. It seemed as though we were miles away from whatever was happening with the games. I toyed with my tea, but still couldn’t bring myself to drink it. Licking my lips, I cleared my throat nervously. “I know what I’m saying sou
nds crazy. I do. But, it’s true.”

  Raz Yakov rapped a crooked knuckle against the tabletop. “Do you even know the risks you are taking? You married a Ten. Of your own free will. And have revealed to him what you are, even though Weard is actively hunting you.”

  “I know.” I raised a hand. “Please, believe me, I have . . . I know these arguments quite well. I used them myself in the beginning, but my husband is not our enemy. He is the only reason I survived Weard finding me. I couldn’t have gotten this far without him.”

  “How do you know he won’t turn against you? Turn you over to Weard?”

  I brushed my hair back from my face as I debated the best way to answer. “He won’t betray me. He is an honorable man, and he loves me.”

  “Did paranormals learn nothing from the idiocy of Helen and Paris? Guinevere and Lancelot? Love is a very foolish emotion and has a habit of failing when push comes to shove.”

  I shook my head. “Those two unfortunate couples were in lust, not love. Love is stronger, and it does hold out or have you forgotten the story of Auberon and his queen, Titania? Their history carries its own complications, but also depends on their love. The high elves make quite the noise over it.”

  “Yes, and convinced the shifters outside of dragons to share mate bonds with select high elves because of it. Foolish.”

  “Shifters need the stability offered by their mates. Everyone knows that,” I stated firmly.

  Raz Yakov snorted. He waved his hand in front of him, nearly knocking his tea over as he did so. “Weard will find you, and they will make your husband an offer that he won’t be able to refuse.”