Magic in Ithkar by Andre Norton, Robert Adams (ed.)

wall of the warehouse and moved along it, she blessed Old ’Un for giving her the knife; still, she had to have a plan or the piper would take it away from her and use it on her. She had no illusions about opposing her strength to his. A knife. A plan. And Tanu.
    Her mother said: She takes that beast to bed with her, she even talks to it. What is it, Miles? Is it dangerous?
    Her father said: Looks like a cross between a coon and a cat. Dangerous? Even-tempered little beast. Don’t bite even when she pulls its tail. Besides, you’d have trouble getting him away from her, and what’s the need? Let them be. He’s teaching her what responsibility means, teaching her to finish what she starts.
    Jezeri said: What is Tanu? Old ’Un said nothing.

    The crippled direwolf they were tracking from its latest kill cornered Jezeri between a cliff with an unstable slant of scree at its base and a river plunging through rock-filled rapids. Tanu wriggled away from her, ran up the scree, and launched himself at the wolf, his overlarge hind legs sending him arcing over the intervening distance onto the back of the beast. He drove heelspurs Jezeri didn’t know he had into the wolf’s sides, leaped away. The direwolf fell dead. And Tanu came singing contentedly to her, the poison spurs retracted into their sheaths, his soft, small hands patting her to comfort her.
    They buried the direwolf and tacitly agreed not to tell her parents how it died.
    Jezeri said: What is Tanu? You’ve got to tell me now.
    Old ’Un said: Better you don’t know. Safer. He’ll never hurt you, that’s all you need to know.
    Tanu was stiff and angry; caught by the music, he couldn’t move or make a sound, but rage was pulsing through him. He understood as well as she that they were under attack. Jezeri could hear in her head, though not in her ears, the hissing whistle he’d made when he’d struck at the direwolf.
    The music changed. It built a box about her that shifted her around and pushed against the stone. She stood with her back tight to the wall and saw for the first time the face of the shadow.
    The odd man on the wharf. Old ’Un’s kind, she thought, and was surprised to find herself so unsurprised.
    He lowered the flute.
    She thrust her hand inside her tunic to quiet Tanu. “What do you want?” she said, remembering almost too late to speak gruffly, like the boy she was pretending to be.
    He ran his thumb along the flute. It was bone white in the dusty shadow. Someone’s legbone, she thought. Gahh, how sickening. “Kneel, boy,” he said. His voice was so soft she had to strain to hear him. Boy, she thought. Good. That means he’s not as smart as he thinks he is.
    She knelt, her mind going very calm, very clear; she knew exactly what she was going to do. On her knees, trying to look passive and frightened, she waited for him to make his next move, baiting her trap inside his, stalking her stalker. Artna guide me, she thought, make my throw straight.
    The odd man reached inside his tunic and drew forth a black bag of some heavy material that hung in stiff folds when he held it out. “Put the beast in this,” he said, and threw it at her. And turned too quickly away, twisting his head to look over his shoulder at the dark bulk of the temple rising above the trees.
    She fixed her eyes on the bag, struggled to suppress a grin when it fell short.
    The odd man swung his head back around, started cursing. ’Tick it up, fool,” he snarled at her, his voice held to a whisper in spite of his anger. “Get a move on. Why does it have to be the village idiot!” Once again he looked over his shoulder. Jezeri began to worry a little herself. Stories she’d heard said that the priests of the temple could see anything, anywhere, any time they wanted. Aieea send they’re much too busy with the pilgrims, she thought. Now that it was a fight between her and the piper, she wanted no priests snooping into her business, especially if they’d take Tanu