‘I’d agree with that,’ Tenna said, having only four to spend. She gave the skin one more pat and, smiling courteously at Ligand, walked off, her companions hastily following her.
‘You won’t find better quality anywhere,’ Ligand called after them.
‘It was good quality,’ Tenna murmured as they walked away. ‘But four marks is my limit.’
‘Oh, we should be able to find a smaller hide for that much, though maybe not the same green,’ Rosa said airily.
However, by the time they had done a third circuit and seen all the green hides available, they had not found either the same green or the same beautifully softened hide.
‘I just don’t have five. Even if we could bargain him down to that price,’ Tenna said. ‘That brown at the third stand would be all right. Shall we try that?’
‘Oho,’ Rosa said, stopping in her tracks, her expression alarmed.
Cleve, too, stopped and Tenna couldn’t see what caused their alarm when suddenly a man appeared out of the crowd and stood directly in their path. She recognized the tall, white-haired man from the morning’s ceremony as Lord Holder Groghe.
‘Runner Tenna?’ he asked formally. But the expression in his wide-set eyes was pleasant.
‘Yes,’ she said, raising her chin slightly. Was he about to give her what-for for punching his son, Horon? She certainly couldn’t admit to having hit the wrong one.
‘Shall we sit over here, with your friends?’ Lord Groghe said, gesturing towards a free table. He put a hand on her elbow and guided her gently in that direction, away from the stream of folk.
Tenna thought confusedly that neither his expression nor his tone was peremptory. He was unexpectedly gracious. A heavyset man with a full face and the beginning of jowls, he smiled to everyone as they made their way to the table, for there were many curious glances at the four of them. He caught the eye of the wineman and held up four fingers. The wineman nodded and hastened to serve them.
‘I have an apology to make to you, Runner Tenna.’ He kept his voice low and for their ears alone.
‘You do?’ And, at Rosa’s startled expression, Tenna added courteously with only a short hesitation, ‘Lord Groghe?’
‘I have verified that my son, Haligon, ran you down four nights ago and you were sufficiently injured so that you were unable to run.’ Groghe’s brows met in a scowl which was for the circumstances, not her part in them. ‘I confess that I have heard rumours of other complaints about his use of runner traces. Station Master Torlo informed me of several near-collisions. You may be sure that, from now on, Haligon will leave the traces for the runners who made them. You’re from Station 97? Keroon Hold?’
Tenna could only nod. She couldn’t believe this was happening. A Lord Holder was apologizing to her?
‘My son, Haligon, had no idea that he had nearly run you down the other night. He may be reckless,’ and Groghe smiled somewhat indulgently, ‘but he would never knowingly cause injury.’
Rosa prodded Tenna in the ribs, and Tenna realized that she must make as much as she could of this opportunity, not just for herself but for all runners.
‘Lord Groghe, I . . . we all,’ and she included Rosa and Cleve, ‘would be grateful to know that we may run the traces without interference. I had only the briefest warning that someone else was using the path. The hill hid his approach and there was wind, too, covering the sound of his approach. I could have been severely injured. Traces are not wide, you know.’ He nodded, and she went on boldly. ‘And they were made for runners, not riders.’ He nodded again. ‘I think Fort Station would be grateful for your help in keeping just runners on the traces.’
Then she couldn’t think of anything else to say. And just sat there, smiling with nervous twitches in the corners of her mouth.
‘I have been well and truly told off, Runner Tenna.’ He smiled back at her, his eyes dropping for a split second to her bodice. ‘You’re a very pretty girl. Blue becomes you.’ He reached over and gave her hand a pat before he rose. ‘I’ve told Torlo that the incursions will cease.’ Then, in his usual booming voice, he added, ‘Enjoy the Gather, runners, and the wine.’