Shortly afterward, a shadow blotted out the filtered light, and the spurline tensed beneath me. I pressed in closer to its body, stroking a hand over its skin as though to soothe it. In truth, I think I was soothing myself.

  As suddenly as it had come, the shadow was gone, overflying us without stopping. I felt the spurline relax, but not by much. It made the clicking sound again, and curved its head back to nudge me. I took the hint, and clambered back into the saddle, gathering the reins and crouching low. I watched as the spurline tilted its head from one side to the other, the fan-like ridge behind its jaws lifting and falling as it listened.

  I listened, too, hearing the silence of the forest pressing in around us. It took a few heartbeats for me to realize that it was the silence the spurline was listening to. I settled in the saddle and waited. Twice more, the shadow passed, and it was not alone. Whatever, or whoever, hunted us had company.

  I do not know how long we waited in the shadows, but the light through the leaves had changed from the soft tones of morning to the intensity of full day, before the spurline moved. It wove its way out of the thicket and back to the cliff, and then it halted, and turned its head to me.

  I looked down at the road, and decided it would be more prudent to follow the clifftop. If the flyers returned to see if they had missed us on the way to Kaskadir, we would be easy to see on the road, no matter what the traffic was; spurline were not the mount of choice for most travelers. It turned out to be a good decision.

  The spurline moved into the shelter of the tree line several times over the course of the afternoon, and I began to wonder how it could tell what was above. I didn’t know enough of them to know if they were hunted from the sky, but it would explain the creature’s caution. Whatever it was, we were overlooking Kaskadir by dusk in spite of the delays.

  We’d travelled most of the way parallel to the road, guided partly by the sound of travelers, or glimpses of the pathway through the trees, and partly by the shadows flying overhead. I figured they knew our destination, and would be travelling toward it…at least for some of the way. They were both a comfort and a worry.

  We came upon the town from a different direction to the road, and I was alerted to the ambush that waited there, as I gazed back along the way we should have come. It made me wonder who had known we were on our way—and what I had that could be of such value.

  Leading the spurline into a copse of trees below a ridge leading down from the forest, I pulled the bag from beneath my tunic, and stood by the spurline’s head.

  “What do you think?” I asked it. “Do we take a look and see what all the fuss is about? See if we can get a clue as to what to do next?”

  The spurline looked into my face, and then down at the bag in my hand. It stretched out its nose to sniff the fabric, nudging it gently as it snuffed and snuffled its way from the drawstring to the hemline. Once there, it snuffled its way back up again, pausing here and there to draw deeper breaths. About half-way to the top, it drew back its head and sneezed, then reached forward again.

  I watched as its top lip curled, heard the series of low chirring clicks that signaled anger, and then it snatched the bag from my fingers and, with a toss of its head, flung it down the hill.

  “Hey!” I cried, running after it, but the spurline seized my collar as I passed, pulling me off my feet with the strength of its grip.

  “But we’re almost there!” I shouted, sitting up from where I’d landed. “We have to take it to the Maple.”

  Seeing me about to get to my feet, the spurline planted a foot on my chest, pinning me to the ground. It raised its head and made its strange, barking call again. I wondered why, but didn’t wait. The creature wasn’t hurting me, so I tried pushing its foot off my chest.

  It didn’t budge. I tried peeling its claws back one at a time, so I could wriggle free, only to hear the strange growling chur it had made before as it swung its muzzle around. I saw its nostrils flare as our noses touched, and it placed a second foot on me. This one covered my belly, the claws curling around my waist and thighs.

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  It growled again, and looked away. Gazing up at it, it took me several heartbeats to realize the spurline was staring in the direction in which it had thrown the bag, and then it looked to the sky. I tensed, but it tightened its claws, and brought more weight to bear, then it raised its head to the sky, and barked, again.

  I recognized that bark. That bark meant it was calling something…or someone. Seeing the way it was gazing at the sky, I wondered why it had suddenly decided to call in the flyers it had been dodging all day.

  “Let me go!” I said, slapping at its claws, but it ignored me. “You treacherous beast! Let. Me. Go.”

  I tried to wrench myself clear, but it had too strong a grip on me.

  A shape swooped overhead, and I realized that I’d been seen from the ambush by the road. This time, the spurline didn’t try to hide. It followed the form as it descended, moving its head to trace its path All the while, its hold on me stayed firm.

  I tried rolling, but this only made it close its grip, and I felt a claw slide into my flesh, as it growled. A shadow passed over us, as I froze.

  “Please let me go.” I could hear tears in my voice, terror and pain, all things we were instructed must never be shown in the presence of these reptiles. “Please.”

  I tried pushing at the claw that held me tightest, but this only earned me another growl, and one of the talons on its other foot bit into my thigh. I stared up at it, and bit my lip, watching as the spurline settled onto its haunches and raised its head. It barked again, and the shadow came in to land—a winged cat, carrying someone on its back.

  I had not known that great cats could fly. I looked from the spurline to the cat, to the rider that dismounted, and I could not move. My mount held me too tightly for that. I felt my breathing turn to short gasps of fear, as I flexed against the spurline’s claws, and tried to contain my terror.

  Cats. Of course, cats would hunt the spurline. Of course, they’d be as big, again, and of course, there would be those who rode them. Now, why hadn’t I thought of that?

  I didn’t know what to do, or say. I had never heard the like. I had only watched the cats hunting skinks in the master’s garden. Trapped beneath the spurline’s claws, I knew just how the skink might feel. I watched the rider come, saw him stop five paces from the spurline and stretch out his hand.

  “What have you there?” the man asked, in gentle tones. “Turned on your rider, did you? Summoned me from the sky, after hiding…her, all day? What would make you do a thing like that, hey?”

  The spurline ducked its head, resting its muzzle briefly in the rider’s hand, and then it turned its head and gestured with its jaw in the direction of the bag. The rider glanced down at me, and then to where the spurline indicated.

  “I’ll come back,” he said, and I didn’t know whether to be grateful, or even more afraid than I already was.

  The spurline watched him go, its neck ridges moving gently up and down. It turned its head to track his movements, as I listened to him walk a few paces, and then stop. There was a brief pause, and then the spurline made the same soft clicking it had used to warn me of the flyers.

  “It’s dangerous?” the man asked, and the spurline clicked again. “How dangerous?”

  This time the spurline’s warning bark turned into a shout.

  “No! Don’t touch it!”

  I felt the claws vanish, but not before one final squeeze, that made me cry out in pain. I felt blood spread down my side, burn through my leg, and knew I wasn’t going anywhere. Not that I could move. I was watching as the spurline vanished, the bulk of its form dissolving into men…or rather, into reptiles that walked upright, one of whom turned to look down at me.

  “Foolish child,” it said, and placed a clawed foot on my chest.

  Foolish child? I thought. I’m not the one who’d been ridden all day.

  I watched as the lizardman who’d appeared in place of the spurline’s head, walked away.

  “Chothra,” it said, and I knew the rider paused.

  “You’re sure?”

  “The smell is quite distinctive, my lord—especially to a spurline.”

  “And the courier?”

  “No more than a pawn. She was to meet you at the Maple…or to be found, and brought to you.”

  The rider gave a short bark of laughter that held no mirth.

  “The old unwitting assassin trick, hey?”

  I listened, but did not want to believe. An unwitting assassin? Me? The master wouldn’t.

  “Take a look. Tell me if you recognize her as one of Jovan’s folk.”

  The rider came back into view, walking side by side with my spurline lizard man. I stared up at them both, wishing they were not so blurred.

  “No,” the rider said, after bending close to study my face. “I have not seen her before. Is she new?”

  “Not for him. We think he trafficks with the rodanion…”

  I could not help it. I remembered the rodanion, had been incredibly grateful to be taken from their claws, incredibly relieved to be free of them—and then I’d felt lucky it was the master who had bought me, and not one of the green men from the plains, or the albinos from beneath the ground. I’d felt lucky to have such a kind master.