Rogue Spotter Collection

by Kimberly A Rogers

  My heart started beating faster as panic rose anew. A 9, and it was coming out of the palace. That could not be good. The little voice in my head started yammering about how I needed to get out of there as fast as possible. Before the 9 could reach me because there was no doubt in my mind that the 9 was coming for me.

  Something brushed against my arm, and I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. But, I still jumped. The touch turned into an arm wrapped around my shoulders and then Mathias leaned down, his breath making the edge of my shawl move as he asked in a low tone, “What is wrong?”

  “Th-there’s a 9. Came out of the palace.” I watched the glowing number vanish briefly as its owner reached the streets. Instinct drove me to try to back up, but I couldn’t move with Mathias’ arm wrapped around me holding me in place. Panic beat faster, hammering its wings against my ribs. “Mathias, please. We have to go.”

  “We can’t. Not yet.”

  I closed my eyes at the words. Something brushed against my cheek and then Mathias whispered in my ear, “Tell me if more than one appears, and I’ll get you out of here. I promise. But for now . . . Lauren, you need to trust me.”

  Opening my eyes, I met his steady gaze and offered a faint nod. When his arm slipped away, I bit back a protest. As silly as it sounded, I was much more comfortable with the physical contact assuring me that I wasn’t alone. I blew out a breath and adjusted my shawl so the edges better framed my face and my hair wasn’t completely exposed. Scanning the crowd, it was of little comfort to confirm there was only one number above a 7 since the 9 was headed straight for us. Everything in me screamed at me to run and hide before the 9 could see my face. But, what did it matter?

  I snuck a peek at Mathias and he looked as calm and unruffled as he did when sitting down to afternoon tea. Ilia joined us, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when he spoke to Mathias. “You wish a room for the night, eh, I know two establishments here. They are very good.”

  Mathias started to say something, but stopped when I grabbed his arm. The 9 was nearly on top of us now and I could see two 7s following close behind, possibly flanking him. The few remaining spectators chose that moment to go back to whatever they had been doing before coming to gawk at the Golden Hind. As they drifted away, a clear line of sight was established between us and the 9.

  He was old. His head completely free of hair and speckled with liver spots. Time had bent his frame slightly, rounding his shoulders, but he was close in height to Mathias. There was an alertness to his dark eyes though, and his gnarled hands were wrapped around the haft of an ornately carved spear. The way he eyed us left me with no doubt that the spear wasn’t just for show nor was its use limited to acting as a type of cane. The old man’s face was scarred with a jagged cut across his forehead that now splintered his wrinkles and a chunk was missing from his nose along with a narrower scar that ran from ear to jaw on the left side of his face. He was dressed in dark clothes, much like the old woman we had met at the ruins of Nebet Tepe.

  His dark gaze seemed to cut through me. Then, it dropped to where I still held Mathias’ arm before his mouth twisted as though he had tasted something sour. The old man tapped the butt of the spear against the stones forming the street, then spoke in the same language the old woman had. I still had no idea what he was saying, other than he was most definitely not attempting to flirt with me.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Mathias

  Lauren’s grip on my sleeve tightened, nevertheless, she stood still as the elder gruffly pronounced in accented Myrmidon, “So the son of Dii and of Myrmidon has come this far. You think the first task is complete?”

  I bowed slightly without taking my gaze off of the elder or his two attendants. They bore no weapons, but that only made me more certain that they were associated with the palace and possibly one of the dragon princes. One kept his attention on Lauren and the other met my gaze with challenge glinting in his own eyes, but neither moved now that the elder had stopped moving in favor of leaning on his spear. Answering in Myrmidon, I quietly stated, “We would not have come to Perperikon without first accomplishing the task.”

  The elder studied me before dropping his attention to where Lauren still held onto my arm. As his attention shifted fully onto her, it took everything in me to keep from stepping in front of her to shield her from the too calculating eyes of the elder and his attendants. The elder sniffed and turned back to me, a thread of coldness seeping into his craggy voice as he stated bluntly, “We will put you down if she fails. Or if the Biting Ice freezes your heart entirely.”

  At his words, one of the attendants raised a hand. Five burly satyrs armed with spears and shields ran up behind them. A glance over my shoulder confirmed that another ten satyrs, similarly armed, and several dryads armed with bows and full quivers now surrounded us from behind. The crowd from before had completely vanished, abandoning this section of the city for the safety of the innermost wall surrounding the palace. The only one who had not fled was Ilia, and he had a tight grip on the lead reins of his horses while glaring at the elder’s attendants.

  Lauren shifted, moving a little closer to me, and I could feel her tremble as her breathing quickened slightly. I had no doubt the numbers of almost all present had moved. It didn’t matter, though. I met the elder’s steady gaze and lifted both eyebrows as I replied, still in Myrmidon, “Is this what you think will stop me? If my heart were frozen, I can assure you it would take far more than this to put a stop to my rage. Count your blessings, old one, that ritual combat is forbidden despite the insult you offer my betrothed.”

  “Perhaps it is your brain that has frozen first, boy,” he spat, a new edge of annoyance entering his tone. Then he pointed a finger at Lauren as he demanded, “This is the bride you bring? Who is she to stand here?”

  I glanced down at Lauren’s shawl covered head and translated the second question for her. She gave my arm a squeeze and then stepped forward, squaring her shoulders as she did so. “I stand here by the virtue of completing the first task given to me by an elder.” Raising her left hand, she gestured blindly toward the corral and the Golden Hind within its confines as she continued, “As required of me, I searched for and captured the Golden Hind, to bring her here to Perperikon.”

  The elder harrumphed, his dark eyes keen despite his age, as he traced his thumb over one of the bands of carvings on his spear. He heaved an exaggerated sigh before asking in rough English, “By what means?”

  Lauren raised her chin, her tone turning a touch pert, as she responded simply, “Apples and a great deal of patience.”

  For the briefest moment, humor gleamed in the elder’s eyes. But it vanished, leaving only a hard skepticism, as he looked Lauren over once more. His attention never wavered from her even as he addressed his next words to Ilia. “Satyr, did the woman harm the creature in any manner?

  “She brought no harm to the Hind, eh, her luck very good.”

  “She used magics?” the elder questioned, still watching Lauren closely.

  No doubt he noted the sharp intake of her breath and the way she shifted on her feet, grinding the soles of her boots against the cobblestones, before she stilled once more. No doubt she realized that arguing against the question would be the foolish thing to do. He was testing us both now. Offering insult after insult and watching how we reacted . . . and how we did not react. I maintained my position, keeping a wary eye on the men in front of us and the . . . reinforcements, but I could not move to shield Lauren. Not if I wanted to keep the situation from getting out of hand. As much as I hated inaction, I had no choice but to stay still and allow Lauren to face the elder’s challenge.

  Ilia gave a snort and waved a hand toward Lauren as he retorted, “She is gentle and wise, eh, knew to use apples.”

  The elder scowled at him. “Those are no magics.”

  The satyr drew himself up and folded his arms over his Deirdre Ahearn concert shirt. “This I know. She tamed Artemis’ Hind, eh, no cheating or ha
rm done. My testimony you will take, eh, or the old one offers insult to his hosts.”

  The elder made a disgruntled sound close to a snarl but then he waved his hand, switching to Old Greek, as he bade everyone depart. Ilia gave me a curt nod before he led the horses away, following the additional warriors who had been summoned. When none remained save for the elder and his two attendants, he returned his attention to Lauren. He spoke in accented Myrmidon once more, asking, “Your desire has brought you this far, are you certain you wish to continue?”

  At his impatient gesture, I translated for him. Knowing the rules, I could do no more than that, but cold threatened at the thought of his attempted trick. If she misspoke now . . . Forced to stand by and watch, I could only pray she saw through his trick.

  * * *

  Lauren

  The old man was insane. Even listening to his question was making my skin burn as though a thousand tiny needles had brushed over the length of the tattoo. He was completely insane, especially if he thought I was actually going to fall for that oh so innocent question. There was no doubt in my mind that if I even considered turning back, the death curse would do more than warn.

  Everything in me screamed that I should do something, anything to avoid this mad question. I resisted glancing at his two lackeys. Their numbers were still blazing with the intensity of the change to an 8, but at least they had not turned a sickly shade like what had happened with Harry Smalls. No, this slight change was completely natural. Not that the thought was much comfort when one of them was watching me like a slow roasting turkey at Thanksgiving. The other . . . He worried me. There was a, well, it was an eagerness as he watched Mathias. That one, he wanted a fight.

  It was enough to make me equally determined to deny him. I met the old man’s dark gaze. “I am not afraid,” the words came out low and soft, but I sank every ounce of my determination into them all the same. “I will not be cowed or threatened into breaking my oath or abandoning the Trials. I will not abandon him.”

  The pain in my wrist started to fade even though my heart was pounding against my ribs and my hands threatened to tremble. Ignoring the other men, I focused on this elder. I liked the old woman a lot better; she hadn’t been trying to trick me into killing myself and signing Mathias’ death warrant. The anger at that thought fueled my courage as I stated with a calm I didn’t feel, “As I have completed the first task, I would have you give me the second so I may press on in the Trials.”

  “You think you are strong enough to be a Myrmidon bride?” The old man’s question translated by Mathias gained an extra edge, but I fought back the doubts. When I didn’t respond right away, the old man huffed then spat, “You wish to press on, but you don’t know what you ask. You passed the first task, yes, but gentleness will not serve you well in this next task. The second task is both more difficult and more arduous than the first, for now you must atone for both the pride of the Myrmidons and the faults of Achilles.”

  I spread my hands wide as I replied, “Then tell me of this task, so I might know what I face.”

  Perhaps it was impudent, but at this point I was too angry with him for the last trick he tried to pull. No, for the attempt he made on our lives, to care about appealing to his ego. It was no doubt quite big enough without any help from me. Wood scraped against stone as the old man straightened swinging the butt of his spear across the stone paved road. The etchings from the wood continued spiraling over the tempered head, something I now saw much more clearly given he had levelled his spear toward my heart.

  The attendant who had been itching for a fight bared his teeth in a snarl, and I quickly held out my right arm. “Don’t do it, Mathias.” I couldn’t make myself look away from the elder’s eyes, and I prayed my words would still have an impact on Mathias. “Don’t. We need the information.”

  I didn’t hear anything, but I caught a glimpse of disappointment in the attendant’s eyes. Halfway confident that Mathias was listening, I met the old man’s measuring gaze. “Will you tell me of the second task, grandfather? And what it is I must atone for?”

  “Why do you wish to know?”

  “How else am I to appreciate the significance of the task if I do not also understand what failures of the past I am atoning?”

  My prayer that the phrasing was close enough to the looked for indication of submission and willingness to change seemed answered when the old man raised his spear once more and settled it back on the ground so he could resume leaning on it. Now I was no longer in immediate danger of a skewering, I could focus as the old man spoke and Mathias translated. “You have shown respect for other species and for what is deemed sacred. Now, you turn your steps toward Achilles’ road and his legacy of shame and of pride. In the war for Troy, the Amazons gathered themselves to fight with the Trojans. For what reason Penthesilea led her army, there is a debate for the storytellers. What they agree on is she fell at Achilles’ hand only to be mocked by him in a manner unfitting to a Myrmidon warrior, for the queen of the Amazons had been a worthy opponent. Eventually Achilles was convinced to bury the queen as befitted her, but not before he stole from her body the famed Girdle of Hippolyta, her sister, as a prize.”

  The old man reached up and traced two fingers over the scar running from his left ear to jaw before he continued with Mathias still translating, “Achilles fell at Troy and doomed his people to a life of hiding because of his unfettered rage and spoilt tantrums. The surviving Myrmidons offered his prizes to the Greeks to purchase safe passage away from Troy’s shores. The story of these great prizes reached even Thracian ears, especially as more Myrmidons fled among their people, and so they sought Achilles’ treasures when they raided Greece. Teres I was the first to unite the Thracian tribes into a single kingdom, and he convinced Myrmidon youths to steal the Girdle of Hippolyta from its resting place in Sparta. He so valued the Girdle that his son, Sitacles, buried him with it in Seuthopolis.”

  He paused for breath, eying me. I fought hard against showing any dismay at where I was certain this task would lead. Somehow I kept silent, and the old man gestured to me. “Your second task is to seek out Teres’ tomb and retrieve the Girdle. Then, you must carry it back to Penthesilea’s tomb and lay it to rest with the queen for it never should have left her possession.”

  At least he hadn’t asked me to find the Amazons. Now that would have been an impossible task. Knowing what was expected of me, I offered a slight bow. “I understand the significance of this task and accept it.”

  The old man harrumphed and then he turned his sharp gaze onto Mathias. He surprised me by switching to English as he stated, “The second task begins. Though none of the Satrae were known to survive until you.”

  His words may have been in English, but they made absolutely no sense to me. The old man seemed done with us as he turned his back on us and walked with surprising speed toward the palace. One of his attendants, the one whose number had returned to a 7, followed on his heels but the second one . . . His number was still an 8 and he still watched Mathias with a predatory gleam. I glared at the man as I closed the short distance between Mathias and myself slipping my arm around his waist and pressing close to his side. “Come on, let’s find Ilia.”

  Mathias’ arm settled around my shoulders, but I knew he was still meeting the 8’s challenging stare. The old man and his other attendant had paused in their movement, looking back at us. The old man barked something that was probably Greek. I turned another glare on the 8 and surprised myself by retorting crisply, “Your master calls you to heel. Does your honor not demand you obey?”

  His attention finally dropped to me, and a cold smirk formed on his lips before he turned on his heel and marched toward the waiting pair. His number didn’t change back to a 7 until just before the trio vanished inside the palace. It was only then that my courage deserted me, and I leaned heavily against Mathias holding onto him to keep my legs from giving out. Mathias’ arm tightened around my shoulders and then he pressed a kiss to my temple before m
urmuring, “Well done, love. You told off a high number.”

  “I signed my death warrant,” I protested a little breathlessly as the realization of what I had just done struck me hard.

  “He won’t move against the elder.”

  “I am more concerned about his moving against us,” I muttered.

  Mathias chuckled. How he found it funny, I had no idea. This was a disaster waiting to happen. What had I been thinking?

  “His number changed to an 8,” I murmured. Walking more on autopilot than anything, I barely resisted craning my neck to look back at the palace and search out the threat again. “What was he?”

  “Not of my people,” Mathias stated as if that was going to be much comfort to me.

  It wasn’t, by the way. I took a shaky breath, then another, trying to stem off a panic attack. Mathias suddenly ducked down close to me and whispered, “It is all right, Lauren. If he decides to come after us, I will stop him. And, I promise to do so expediently and in as much privacy as can be afforded.”

  “I do not want you to fight him,” I protested. Visions of Mathias locked in a cold fury danced through my brain and I shuddered. Absolutely not an option. Forcing cheer into my voice, I made a show of looking around the depressingly empty square. “Where, uh, where do you think Ilia has gone?”

  As if summoned, the welcome sight of Ilia appeared as he stepped out of a door and waved to us. He was grinning again, smile splitting his beard, as he waved but he didn’t call out. Probably the smart thing to do given how many people had seen the initial confrontation. We started toward him, but something grabbed me by the back of my jacket and yanked hard, sending me stumbling. Mathias whirled, icy fury filling his eyes, before I was spun away from him and pinned against the base of a statue of Artemis with a Golden Hind. The 7 was back, his number flickering dangerously as it threatened to change to an 8. His hand against the base of my throat held me in place while he grabbed my right arm with his other hand and yanked the sleeve down to expose the golden tattoo. He spat something and then let me go as swiftly as he had grabbed me. He backed away a few feet, turning as he did so, and I suddenly knew why he had come back. He was trying to get to Mathias.