Not if he ran into the woods. The forest floor was covered with leaves that would crackle underfoot. If they didn't see his tracks, then they'd be sure to hear any step he took.

Talen looked up. The trees here were massive giants. All the lower limbs had been cut by clan road gangs, and the closest branch towered more than a dozen feet overhead.

It was an impossible height for him. Except, he knew he could reach them. His limbs ached to jump. What did he have to lose?

Talen stood on the wagon seat and eyed the limb of a towering elm in front of them. The branch was as thick as his leg and hung almost twenty feet above the trail.

The tree limb was too high. He knew it. But he couldn't help himself. His legs cried out for a sudden burst of power. He had never imagined his growth would come upon him in this fashion.

He stood on the wagon seat and held his hands out to the side for balance. He would jump a bit to the side just in case he missed.

"You'll never make it," said Nettle.

"Maybe my legs are as quick as my hands."

"That wasn't quickness back there with Fabbis," said Nettle. "That was you grabbing a snake that was just about dead."

No, Talen thought. It had been as live and wriggling as any serpent he'd ever held. Not to mention that he'd moved quickly enough to take both Fabbis and Cat off guard. Talen steadied himself; he was still a bit light-headed, but the itch inside him had built. He could feel the power.

The sound of the horse hooves beating the ground sped from a canter to a full gallop.

"They're on us!" hissed Nettle. "Sit down!"

Talen focused on the branch. "Tell them I struck out on foot after leaving the gate."

He was almost there.

The galloping sounded as if it were right behind them.

The wagon passed underneath the branch, and Talen leapt.

He soared.

He must have got a bounce from the seat, because the branch was suddenly within reach.

He grabbed it with one hand, and the wagon passed below him.

Talen reached up with his other hand and swung over.

It was impossible that he'd made the jump. He looked down. The distance between him and the ground yawned below. Lords, a fall at this height would break his leg.

He wanted to whoop. Such a leap.

Nettle turned in the wagon seat and stared up at him, his mouth hanging open. Then Nettle's attention snapped to the bend in the road.

Talen got to his feet, and in one, two, three balancing strides, worked himself to the far side of the trunk and flattened himself against it. Nettle was now on the other side of the tree.

The first rider rounded the bend.

With a thunder, the others followed. By this time Nettle had pulled the wagon to the side of the road, as if giving faster travelers the right of way as courtesy demanded.

Please, thought Talen. Let them ride on by. Let them ride on by.

But the horsemen did not. They pulled their horses to a stop and commanded Nettle to hold.

Talen dared not move, dared not even attempt a glance below him. He tried to meld into the trunk. He couldn't see what was going on, but he could hear.

"Where's the Koramite?" one of the men asked.

"And who are you?" asked Nettle. "I haven't seen you before."

"You've seen me me," another man said, the anger clear in his voice. "Now where is he?"

"I don't need to answer your questions," said Nettle. "You can address your concerns to my father."

"It appears," the second man said, "that your father has made the wrong friends. And he's not here to protect you."

"What do you mean?"

Metal scraped against metal-a sword being drawn!

"Where is the Koramite?" the man demanded.

"Don't threaten me," said Nettle.

A pause. A scuffle.

"Stop," said Nettle, his voice distressed. "He left on foot the first chance after we passed through the gate."

Talen wished he could see what was happening. All he could see was the bark before him and the rumps of three horses.

"We saw two sitting on this wagon seat."

"That's what we meant for you to see," said Nettle.

"You lie."

Nettle cried out in pain.

Talen almost leaned out to get a better view. What if they had found the hatchlings back at the farmstead? If they had, Nettle was in terrible danger.

"Fool," said Nettle. "I rode with that barrel and sack of potatoes next to me, all covered with cloth. He's gone, flown!"

"You're lying," the second man said. He raised his voice. "Search the woods."

A SHORTNESS OF BREATH.

T.

alen could hear the men fanning out in the trees below him, their boots crunching to the leaves. One man called out to the others, telling them to look for spoor in the leaves. Another told Talen to reveal himself or face harsher consequences.

He pressed himself further into the rough bark of the elm. He could not see any of them at first. Then one man with a black-and-gold-checkered scarf tied at the back of his bald head walked into view in front and below him.

The man held a short sword out in front of him. If he turned around and looked up, he'd see Talen as clearly as a pig at a party. And there was nowhere Talen could go. If he moved, if he scuffed one bit of bark to fall below, someone was sure to see.

Lords, this was a bad idea. Talen thought of his experience with Ke in the tree back home just the day before. You couldn't escape someone in a tree. Why had he jumped up here?

The man with the gold-checkered scarf turned around, scanning the brush around him.

If they saw him, what would he do? Not climb higher. He'd tried that with Ke. He'd have to go lower. Or, like a squirrel, he could run along the limb of one tree to another until he had put enough distance between him and his pursuers to drop to the ground and run like a madman.

The man in the checkered scarf examined the ground. He turned his back on Talen, squatted and examined the forest floor more closely. Then he looked up at the trees in front of him.

He began to turn about, to scan the trees.

Talen couldn't spring to another limb of this tree. It would rustle the leaves.

He looked about for any escape. To his left he saw a small stub sticking out from the trunk. It was barely enough to stand on.

The man continued to turn.

If he could use that, if it didn't break under his weight ...

Talen quickly stepped to the stub.

It held, and he gripped the rough elm bark to steady himself.

The move hadn't taken him totally from the man's view. But Talen couldn't go around to the other side of the tree because that was in full view of the road. He looked up. The next branch was too fat to grab easily, and far too high above him anyway.

Despite Talen's fear, his limbs felt miraculously full of energy. His legs-it felt as if they carried nothing, as if his entire body weighed no more than a feather.

He could make that leap to the next branch above him. He could leap and hang there if he had to. His arms felt that strong.

Talen could almost see the profile of the man's face. One more turn and he'd spot Talen.

Standing on the branch stub, Talen coiled himself as best he could.

The man began to turn.

Talen sprang.

The power in his legs was immense, but it wasn't enough.

Perhaps the perch had been too small. Or perhaps it had twisted just a bit at the last moment. Whatever the cause, he didn't make the branch. Didn't come close.

He reach out for the trunk of the giant old elm, his fingers spread wide, reaching out with toes and knees, reached out and grasped it in a bear hug. He clung to the rough bark with all his strength.

He expected to fall, to dash his worthless brains on the ground below. But he didn't. His fingers, like his arms and legs, were full of life, and he clung to the trunk like some great, four-legged insect.

It was odd. He had to breathe like he was straining under a great weight, but it did not feel like a great weight. It felt easy and natural.

He looked down. While he hadn't made the branch, he was high enough to be covered by a large block of leaves.

Light-headedness washed over him. He was panting. Hyperventilating. But he couldn't stop. He felt dizzy. The world below began to spin. He was going to lose his grip.

Talen closed his eyes. The fat branch above was not so far away. If he could shinny up to it and rest, he was sure the light-headedness would pass.

He reached up, his arms and legs wide, moved his foot, reached up again. Climbing the trunk was as easy as climbing a ladder. In moments, with barely a scrape of sound, he reached the branch. He dared not open his eyes because he knew the dizziness would take him. With a final move, he pulled himself on top of the branch and straddled it. He would have lain on his stomach, but he was panting, straining, laboring for breath. He was suffocating.

The edges of his vision began to blur.

Talen struggled for another breath, but it wasn't enough. He'd never felt panic like this before. He couldn't get his breath.

The world slid to the side; Talen's vision narrowed. He was passing out, and the last thing he thought was that he'd better collapse onto this branch squarely because he didn't want to fall from this height.

BAKER'S HERBS.

T.

alen found himself face-first on the branch. He was still straddling it, still panting, but not suffocating like he had been before.

He reached up and felt the wetness on his cheek. He'd bloodied his nose. Bloodied a small circle of the branch for that matter.

The men stood below him. "He's not here," one said. "There's not one leaf that's bent out of place."

"Then he jumped out earlier," said the one who had first commanded Nettle to stop. "Where is he?"

"I told you," said Nettle. "He's headed west. They've got family out there."

"Maybe we'll take you along just to make sure."

"Have they arrested my father?" asked Nettle.

Talen heard one of the men spit.

A beat passed.