Shield's Lady

her to the fact that she was being followed. She had assumed in the beginning that it was Gryph trailing her through the streets of Serendipity down to the wharf and she had been angered as well as nervous. She hated the feeling of being hunted.
    But a few minutes ago she had realized her pursuer was not Gryph. She didn’t know how she could be so certain of that but she was. She would know if it was Gryph closing in on her. There was another hunter on her trail tonight.
    Sariana had left the Avylyn household an hour before dawn, carrying as many clothes and personal belongings as she could manage in two large travel pouches slung from her shoulders. The scarlet-toe had been perched on the shoulder of her cloak.
    A lingering sense of duty had forced her to pause long enough to write out a series of instructions regarding the Avylyn household and business finances. She could only hope the Avylyns would have the sense to follow them in her absence.
    Intent on making her way to the wharf where she would be able to book passage on one of the fast little windriggers that plied the coastal waters, Sariana had hurried through the dark streets.
    The realization that someone was following her had hit just as she had reached the deserted warehouse area near the docks. The scarlet-toe had become increasingly agitated and Sariana, who had at first been furious that Gryph had followed her, had begun to feel a trickle of fear along her spine.
    It was then she had decided that it couldn’t be Gryph. She felt a lot of things around Chassyn, but she had never known that kind of fear.
    She had quickened her pace until she was moving as fast as she could with the weight of the overloaded travel pouches. Anxiously she had glanced down the street, hoping to see an early rising sailor or dockworker or guard. There had been no one in sight.
    There was no one visible behind her, either, but Sariana had no doubt the hunter was somewhere in the shadows.
    Impulsively she had begun trying the warehouse doors she was passing. With each locked door she encountered, the fear crawling through her became stronger.
    On the fifth try she had gotten lucky. The handle of a small side door had turned under her gloved fingers. Sariana hadn’t hesitated. She had dashed inside and closed the door behind her.
    She had found herself in a deep, looming darkness broken by the fitful light of a few, dim vapor lamps set in the wails.
    Now she sat huddled in the deepest shadows she could find. She was sitting on a wine cask. Rank upon rank of barrels and casks were piled in front of her and behind her. The odor of wine was heavy in the air.
    Sariana tried to decide how long she should stay in her hiding place. With any luck whoever had trailed her through the streets would grow weary of the search and seek other prey.
    Then she heard the unmistakable sound of the side door opening and closing again. Sariana shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut briefly against the fear that threatened to overwhelm her. The scarlet-toe hissed its nearly silent hiss and clung tightly to the fabric of Sariana’s cape.
    Sariana opened her eyes and gazed out into the darkness. The beam of a small hand-held vapor lamp was reflected briefly from a far wall. Then it disappeared as whoever held it turned down another aisle. She could hear the scrape of boots on the warehouse floor. Whoever was hunting her was conducting a systematic search of the aisles. Sooner or later he would come down this aisle and she would be trapped.
    Sariana came to a decision. She was not going to crouch there until the inevitable happened.
    Stealthily she stood up and set down her travel pouches. Then she removed her cloak. The scarlet-toe scampered from the cloak to her arm and back up to her shoulder. There it sat poised and ready. The little creature seemed to have come to the same conclusion as Sariana. Anything was better than waiting to be discovered.
    Sariana stepped softly out of her slippers and turned to confront the row of casks behind her. The barrels were stacked only four tiers high in the first row. It shouldn’t be that difficult to climb to the top tier. Tentatively she searched for and found handholds and places for her stockinged toes.
    The climb proved harder than she had anticipated. By the time Sariana reached the top tier of casks she was breathing heavily and terrified that the searcher would hear her. Fortunately he was still moving systematically up and down the aisles. It would be