Read Skeen's Leap for Free Online Page B

of movement along the top of the left-hand wall. She tried for more than a glimpse of the thing, giving half an ear to Telka. “She is a slave,” Telka said, using that neutral monotone that seemed to leach the life out of her words; with Skeen’s attention distracted to the ravine wall, a lot of those words were lost on the wind; when she tried to listen, she had to forget about the shadow up above. “… the Poet’s concubine,” Telka said, “until he tires of her, then.…” Cat, Skeen thought, a black hunter. “… because you can get into Dum Besar without alerting the Skirrik and through them the Casach, Dum Besar’s ruling council keeps a strict watch on the gates.” Skeen unsnapped the holster and engaged the lanyard; the cat was getting bolder. “… and bring her out to me, I am sick at the thought of her there, slave, used by him.” The hairs stirred on the back of Skeen’s neck; the thing’s watching me, hating me. “Think about it, please,” Telka said.
    They rounded a bulge in the left wall. The ravine opened into a long narrow valley between the mountains.
    A black mountain cat came bounding down the slope and stood in the center of a rutted road, tail jerking back and forth, a great dark creature with glowing pale eyes, mouth gaping in a silent snarl. Skeen had the darter out and ready, but Telka rode between them.
    â€œNo, Rijen.” The Min’s voice was sharp, commanding.
    Skeen waited, darter held out of sight by her thigh.
    The big cat took a step to one side, glared past Telka at Skeen.
    â€œThis one is Pass-through, not Pallah,” Telka said, anger breaking her calm and shrilling her voice. She stood in the stirrups, fury in her body like the fury in her voice. “Are you challenging me, Holavish? I am Odats m’kuz. I am Z’naluvit. What are you?”
    Tail jerking, the beast sank into a crouch, snarled, the angry sound increasing almost to a roar.
    Skeen glanced from cat to Min, but didn’t move to dart the beast; Telka seemed very much in control. She relaxed enough to puzzle over the titles the Min had claimed. Odats m’kuz. Min(female) with seven skins. Huh? Holavish. Runner in the high places. She thought about that some more. Appropriate as it was to that snarling cat, there was something more, word-fringes that suggested one(male) who walked alone, throwing off the constraints of community life, one(male) committed to the old ways. Z’naluvit. Speaker for Min(female, plural). Can you pick ’em, eh Skeen, hah! can you pick ’em! She blinked. Talking to a beast. Huh. Don’t be parochial, woman. It’s listening, Djabo bless.
    Telka sank down into the saddle as the cat’s tail stopped twitching and drooped into a dejected arc. Submission. He didn’t quite roll onto his back and wave his paws in the air, but there was that feel about him. He pushed back out of his crouch and dissolved into a cat-shaped shimmer. Half a breath later he was a naked man, dark and glowering.
    Skeen gasped. “Which is impossible,” she whispered.
    Unconcerned about his nudity, the Min male took a step to one side, looked Skeen over with no softening of his scowl, then stalked off down the road. Handsome creature. Grinning, she watched his buttock muscles shift and clench; he had a rank maleness that made her stomach flutter. She giggled under her breath. From the expression on his face he wouldn’t touch her with a ten-meter claw. Which was all right with her; for contact sports she preferred them little and agile and intelligent. Like Tibo that baster. But that didn’t stop her from enjoying the view. She watched the Min disappear into the shadow under the trees. Formidable as you look, you handsome hunk, I’d bet my stash on Tibo, come to a fight between you.
    Telka waited until he was out of sight, then clicked her tongue, urging her mount into a quick walk. She