The Right Bitch by Doranna Durgin
Sabre whooped with enthusiasm, barreling through the woods' thick undergrowth, his nose full of magicsmell and his ears full of Taliya's distant encouragement, with his brain too hot on trail to think. So hot he almost missed the answering trail cry to the south, a slightly clearer voice than his own and closing in fast. It made no sense; he didn't care. Not with the quarry so close, his sweaty, unwashed humansmell strong with forbidden magic.
But suddenly the trail doubled, adding more humansmell to the magicsmell, and Sabre understood. Two smugglers, joining forces, both being trailed.
Sabre called out, wild and strong. Confident.
The second dog sounded again, nearly in his ear, and charged onto his trail, cutting him off. He got a glimpse of flying black ears, smelled the blood of bramble-torn skin, and then saw nothing but dog butt, right in his face.
Bitch-butt.
Shiba, he realized instantly, checking his speed so he wouldn't plow right into her. Shiba, whom his linewoman mentioned far too often, and with far too much attention to the discriminating nature of her nose. And when would everyone forget about that vaunted critter episode?
She might have a nose, but she couldn't match his speed. "Oowh! Oowh!" he bellowed, demanding and impatient, finally-and rudely-shoving her aside to fly by at top speed.
Show-off speed.
The kind of speed to run him straight into trouble. Into-
Sabre yelped as a whip lashed across his head, popping a welt on one sensitive ear; he flung himself aside, yipping like a pup as the lash landed again. "Git on, you cur!" the man jeered, and Sabre tumbled down, rolling aside, hearing Shiba gone wise and silent-in retreat-leaving him to-
"Watch out!" the other human cried, too late for his partner to respond to the black and silver blur heading his way. Shiba uttered not a sound as the lash fell across her back, but leapt up to grab the stout leather whip handle, as intent on it as on any trail-prey. Beyond her, the other human took flight again.
"Shiba-call!" commanded her lineman-not so far away, now-and Shiba barked treed for him, dropping the whip.
"Sabre! Call!" Taliya shouted as Sabre climbed to his feet and shook off, sending bits of leaves and dirt and grit flying. He managed a half-hearted bark and ruefully pawed his stinging ear.
Shiba made enough noise for both of them. He got his first good look at her, then, as the linemen approached from their separate directions. Beautiful, she was-well-muscled, long-limbed, a graceful neck and lovely arch to her tail. Where Sabre was heavily marked with black-his blueing so thick it looked mottled instead of ticked, his head and chest heavy and masculine-Shiba stood a sturdy but clean-lined bitch, her back and head glossy black, her ticking so perfectly distributed that it appeared silver-blue from even a short distance.
Sabre felt an immediate and intense dislike.
And she was the one standing on tree, backing the man against a stout oak, while Sabre stood spraddle-legged and dazed as the linemen arrived, more or less simultaneously. She wore bramble-guard, a leather chest plate and canvas body jacket. She probably hadn't even felt the whip.
Sabre gave a small sneeze of frustration and pawed his head again. He never wore bramble-guard… because he could never stop himself from chewing it to bits.
"There should be two," Taliya said breathlessly, leaving Shiba's man to handle the magic smuggler as she kicked the whip well out of reach and dropped to her knees beside Sabre. Her long, tawny braid fell over her shoulder to brush the top of his head. "There, now, son. Got you a good one, didn't he?"
Despite himself, desperately wishing Shiba's sharp brown gaze pointed elsewhere, Sabre whined in response. Hurts. And when Taliya soothed him, he wagged his tail in silly submissive little jerks and whined again. Couldn't help it. Never could, where Taliya was concerned.
Shiba looked away as though embarrassed for the both of them.
"Well, there's only the one," Shiba's man-Tallon, that was his name-said, sounding frustrated. "The other must've gotten away. Sons of bitches, taking a whip to him-"
Taliya looked up from Sabre, who'd managed to insinuate himself into her lap, even though she was kneeling and had no real lap of which to speak. "How'd you train her for that? These dogs don't have an aggressive hair on their bodies, not when it comes to people."
Tallon shook his head, still pensively looking off in the direction in which the smuggler had escaped. "Didn't train her. Ever since the critter-based magic smuggling ring last fall, she's been impossible to keep off dangling things-laundry, ropes, hair, you name it. She's got a real grudge against the ugly things-and you know the way their tails hang down when they're treed. I don't hang my socks out to dry where she can reach them anymore."
The other side had concocted their scheme knowing that the linehounds were trained off critter trail, and had used the critters to carry minor magics and amulets, hoping to confuse the hounds. Only pups took a second sniff at critter trail-and any adult dog caught chasing them was retired. It had nearly happened to Shiba, Sabre knew.
"They all hate the critters," Taliya said mildly, which was true enough-no polite linehound would even think their true name, but used only the nickname commonly applied by humans.
"Shiba more than most, these days." He looked after the escapee and shook his head. "Damn."
Taliya nodded at Shiba. "Is she sound? Send her on."
Tallon shook his head. "We've near reached the border already. I won't send her into that alone."
But she would have gone. Even Sabre could see that. And he would have joined her. That's what they did, the linehounds-patrolled the border between Ours and Theirs, sniffing out magic smugglers who wanted to contaminate Ours with Theirs.
"Smart man," said the captive, derisive despite the newly applied restraints. "You be smarter, you'll give up on those damn curs right now. They do you no good, soon enough."
Tallon silenced the man with an intense look; Taliya swapped her appraisal from Shiba to her lineman, impressed. Sabre lifted his nose to the subtle scent of new magic, a strange, rich magicsmell he'd not encountered before. He couldn't sort it out.
He looked at Shiba, but she'd rediscovered the whip and snatched it up to administer a kill-the-rat death shake. The tolerant affection on Tallon's face gave Sabre a funny itchy feeling-except he couldn't quite figure out where the itch was, only that it was subtle and as invasive as a tick creeping across belly flesh.
Whipped. Embarrassed. Itchy.
More than a good linehound could take. Sabre hid his aching head under Taliya's arm.
Rumors flew. Sabre heard them when Taliya brushed him down-curried him, actually, massaging him while bringing the dirt up on his short, slick coat.
"Something big going on," Taliya told him, knocking the brush clean against the side of their well-appointed log cabin. The line cabins ran along the border between Theirs and Ours, all more or less identical dwellings-if you didn't count the personal touches the linemen added.
Taliya had added plenty. Nice curtains-even if there was no one in these woods to close them against-a special platform for Sabre's food bowl, a niche below the raised porch for his cool summertime bed. He slept in the cabin with her, anyway.
Sabre applied a hind foot just behind his ear, still looking for that itch, not concerned with Taliya's gossip; the sound of her voice was enough. He paused, examining his foot-yep, still his-noted the continuing presence of the itch, and tried again, this time on his cheek, careful not to poke himself in the eye.