Legends: Stories By The Masters of Modern Fantasy

by Robert Silverberg

  “Oh.” Tenna slumped weakly against the back of her chair. “I hit the wrong man?”

  “Uh-huh,” Rosa said as both she and Cleve nodded their heads.

  “Oh dear,” and she made a start to get up but Rosa hastily put out a restraining hand.

  “I don’t think apologies will help.”

  “No? Who did I hit?”

  “His twin brother, Horon, who’s bad enough in his own way.”

  “Quite likely, with the lewd look he gave me.” Tenna was halfway to convincing herself that she had at least hit someone who needed a put-down.

  “Horon’s a bit of a bully and nice girls won’t have anything to do with him. Especially at a Gather.” Then Rosa giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. “He was sure looking you up and down. That’s why we thought you’d hit him.”

  Remembering the force of her punch, Tenna rubbed her sore knuckles.

  “You may have done someone a favor,” Cleve said, grinning. “That was some punch.”

  “My brothers taught me how,” Tenna said absently, watching the group across the Square. She was a trifle relieved when Horon was helped to his feet. And pleased that he staggered and needed assistance. Then, as the group around Horon moved about, she saw Haligon’s figure striding up to the station. “Uh-oh. Why’s he going to the station?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about that,” Rosa said, standing up. “Torlo would love to remind him of all the harm he’s been doing runners.”

  “Even if they weren’t as pretty as you are,” Cleve said. “Let’s see about your leathers.”

  They took their empty glasses back to the refreshment stand. Tenna managed one more look at the station but there was no sign of Haligon or Torlo, though there was a lot of coming and going. There would be, on a Gather day. Would she have to knock Haligon down, too? To satisfy runner honor? It wouldn’t be as easy, for he had been wary enough of her when he had caught up with her on the dance floor.

  After a second round of the Gather stalls, they all decided to find out what prices were being asked. At the first tanner’s stall, Cleve did more of the talking so that the real buyer was protected from the blandishments of the tanner journeyman, a man named Ligand.

  “Blue for a harper singer?” Ligand had begun, glancing at Tenna. “Thought I saw you eyeing the stall earlier.”

  “I’m runner,” Tenna said.

  “She just happens to look her best in blue,” Rosa said quickly in case Tenna might be embarrassed to admit she wore a borrowed gown.

  “She does indeed,” Ligand said, “I’d never have guessed her for a runner.”

  “Why not?” Rosa asked, bridling.

  “Because she’s wearing blue,” Ligand said deferentially. “So what color is your delight this fine Gather day?”

  “I’d like a dark green,” and Tenna pointed to a stack of hides dyed various shades of that color in the shelves behind him.

  “Good choice for a runner,” he said and, with a deft lift, transferred the heavy stack of hides to the front counter. Then he moved off to the other end of his stall, where two holders were examining heavy belts.

  “Not that trace moss leaves stains,” Rosa remarked as Tenna began flipping through the pile, fingering the leather as she went along.

  “We go for the reddy-browns in Boll,” Cleve said. “So much of the soil down in Boll is that shade. And trace moss doesn’t do as well in the heat as it does in the north.”

  “Does fine in Igen,” Tenna said, having run trace there.

  “So it does,” Cleve said reflectively. “I like that one,” he added, spreading his hand over the hide before Tenna could flip to the next one. “Good deep emerald green.”

  Tenna had also been considering it. “Enough here for boots. I only need enough for summer shoes. He wouldn’t want to divide it.”

  “Ah, and you’ve found one you like, huh? Good price on that.” Ligand was obviously aware of all that went on at his booth. He flipped up the hide to see the markings on the underside. “Give it to you for nine marks.”

  Rosa gasped. “At five it’s robbery.” Then she looked chagrined to have protested when Tenna was the prospective purchaser.

  “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, was stopped, and Tenna couldn’t see what caused their alarm until 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 wideset 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 toward 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 not his tone were 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 that was for the circumstances, not her part in them. “I confess that I have heard rumors 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 Ninety-Seven? 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. 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 trul
y 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.”

  With that he rose and walked off, nodding and smiling as he went, leaving the three runners stunned. Rosa was the first to recover. She took a good swig of the wine.

  “Torlo was right. You did it,” Rosa said. “And this is good wine.”

  “What else would they serve Lord Groghe?” Cleve said, and surreptitiously eased the glass left at the Lord Holder’s seat closer to his. The level of wine had not been much reduced by the sip that Lord Groghe had taken. “We can split this one.”

  “I can’t believe that Lord Holder apologized to …” Tenna shook her head, hand on her chest. “ … me. Tenna.”

  “You were the one injured, weren’t you?” Rosa said.

  “Yes, but …”

  “How did Lord Groghe know?” Cleve finished for Tenna, who was puzzling such an answer.

  “We all saw Haligon go up to the station,” Rosa said before taking another sip of the wine. She rolled her eyes in appreciation of the taste. “But Lord Groghe’s a fair man, even if he usually thinks women are half-wits. But he’s fair.” Then she giggled again. “And he said how pretty you are, so that helped, you know. Haligon likes his girls pretty. So does Lord Groghe but he only looks.”

  The three runners had been so intent on their own conversation that they did not notice Haligon’s approach until he unrolled the green hide from Ligand’s stall in front of Tenna.

  “In apology, Runner Tenna, because I really didn’t know there was someone on the curve of the trace the other night,” Haligon said, and gave a courteous bow, his eyes fixed on Tenna’s face. Then his contrite expression altered to chagrin. “The station master gave me what-for in triples. So did my father.”

  “Oh, didn’t you believe Tenna?” Rosa asked him pertly.

  “How could I doubt the injuries she showed me?” Haligon said. Now he waved for the wineman to serve their table.

  Cleve gestured for him to be seated.

  “Is … your brother all right?” Tenna asked, a question she hadn’t quite dared ask Lord Groghe.

  Haligon’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “You have taught him a lesson, too, you know.”

  “I don’t usually go around knocking people down,” Tenna began, and received another surreptitious jab in her ribs from Rosa, sitting beside her. “Except when they need it.” She leaned forward, away from Rosa. “I meant to hit you.”

  Haligon rubbed his jaw. “I’m as glad enough you didn’t. When Master Torlo told me that you’d been kept from running for three days, I knew I was very much at fault. Then he told me of the other near-misses. Will you accept this leather in compensation, with my apology?”

  “Your father has already apologized.”

  “I make my own, Runner Tenna,” he said with an edge to his voice and a solemn expression.

  “I accept, but …” She was about to refuse the leather when, once again, Rosa jabbed her. She’d have sore ribs at this rate. “I accept.”

  “Good, for I should have a miserable Gather without your forgiveness,” Haligon said, his expression lightening. Lifting the glass he had just been served, he tilted it in her direction and drank. “Will you save me a dance?”

  Tenna pretended to consider. But she was secretly thrilled, for despite their first encounter, there was something about Haligon that she found very attractive. Just in case, she shifted in her chair, moving her upper body away from Rosa to avoid another peremptory jab.

  “I was hoping to be able to do the toss dance,” she began and, when Haligon eagerly opened his mouth to claim that, she added, “but my right leg isn’t entirely sound.”

  “But sound enough surely for the quieter dances?” Haligon asked. “You seemed to be walking well enough.”

  “Yes, walking’s no strain for me …” and Tenna hesitated a little longer, “but I would enjoy having a partner.” Which allowed him to ask for more than one dance.

  “The slow ones, then?”

  “Beveny asked for one, remember,” Rosa said casually.

  “When does the dancing start?” Tenna asked.

  “Not until full dark, after the meal,” Haligon said. “Would you be my supper partner?”

  She heard Rosa inhale sharply but she really did find him an agreeable sort. Certainly the invitation was acceptable. “I would be delighted to,” she said graciously.

  It was so arranged and Haligon toasted the agreement with the last of his wine, rose, bowed to them all, and left the table.

  “Yo-ho, Tenna,” Rosa murmured as they watched his tall figure disappear in the Gather crowd.

  Cleve, too, grinned. “Neatly done. Do hope you’ll be back on another Cross soon in case we have some more problems you can help us with.”

  “Oh, run off, will you?” Tenna replied flippantly. Now she allowed herself to finger the dark green leather hide. “Was he watching us, do you suppose? How’d he know?”

  “Oh, no one’s ever said Haligon was a dimwit,” Rosa said. “Though he is, riding runner traces like he has.”

  “He must have told his father, then,” Cleve said. “Owning up to all that shows an honest nature. I might end up liking him after all.”

  “Proper order,” Rosa said. “Though he never admitted using the traces before when Torlo braced him on that.” She grinned at Tenna. “It’s sure true that a pretty girl gets more attention than a plain one like me.”

  “You are not plain,” Cleve said indignantly and realized he had fallen into Rosa’s neatly laid trap to elicit a compliment from him.

  “I’m not?” she replied, smiling archly.

  “Oh, you!” he said with the wordless disgust of the well-baited. Then he laughed and carefully split Groghe’s glass between their glasses. “Much too good to waste.”

  Tenna returned to the station long enough to put away the beautiful leather. And long enough to get many requests for dances and to be supper partner from other runners who congratulated her.

  “Told ya so, dinnit I?” Penda said, catching Tenna’s arm as she was leaving. The woman was grinning from ear to ear. “Pretty girl’s always heard, ya know.”

  Tenna laughed. “And Haligon’s going to stay off the traces.”

  “So his father promised,” Penda said, “but we’ll have to see does he.”

  “I’ll see that he does,” Tenna promised airily and returned to the Gather Square. She’d never had such a marvelous time before.

  The supper lines were now forming down the road at the roasting pits and she began to wonder if Haligon had just been funning her and had never intended, Lord Holder’s son that he was, to honor his invitation. Then he appeared beside her, offering his arm.

  “I didn’t forget,” he murmured, taking her by the arm..

  Being partnered with a Holder’s son allowed them to patronize a different line at the roasting pits and so they were served well before Cleve and Rosa. The wine Haligon ordered was more of the excellent one she’d sampled in the afternoon so Tenna was quite merry and relaxed by the time the dancing began.

  What surprised her, because she’d given the first dance to Grolly—as much because he didn’t expect to get any dances from such a pretty girl as because he asked her first—was that Haligon did not dance it with someone else. He waited at the table for a breathless Grolly to bring her back. It was a sprightly enough tune for dancing but not as fast or complicated as the toss was. The next dance was at a slower tempo and she held out her hand to Haligon, despite the fact that half the male runners at the Gather were now crowding about for a chance to dance with her.

  He pulled her into his arms with a deft movement and they were suddenly cheek to cheek. He was only a little taller than she was so their steps matched effortlessly.
One circuit of the room and she had perfect confidence in his leading.

  Since they were dancing cheek to cheek—he was only a little taller than she was—she could feel his face muscles lifting in a smile. And he gave her a quick pressure with both hands.

  “Do you know when you’re running again?”

  “I’ve already had a short leg, down to the port,” she said. “Enough for a good warm-up.”

  “How do you manage such long distances on your own legs?” he asked, holding her out slightly to see her face in the light of the glow-baskets that lined the dance floor. He really wanted to know, too.

  “Part of it’s training, of course. Part that my Blood is bred to produce runners.”

  “Could you have done anything else with your life?”

  “I could but I like running. There’s a sort of … magic to it. Sometimes you feel you could run round the world. And I like night running. You feel like you’re the only one awake and alive and moving.”

  “Quite likely you are, save for dimwits on mounts on traces they shouldn’t be using,” he said in a wry tone. “How long have you been running?”

  He sounded genuinely interested. She had thought perhaps she had made a mistake, being sentimental about something as commonplace as running.

  “Almost two whole Turns. This is my first Cross.”

  “And I was a dimglowed idiot who interrupted it,” he said in an apologetic tone.

  Tenna was almost embarrassed at his continued references to his mistake.

  “How often do I have to say I’ve forgiven you?” she said, putting her lips closer to his ear. “That green leather is going to make fine shoes for me. By the way, how’d you know that was the hide I wanted? Were you following us about?”

  “Father said I had to make amends in some way more personal than handing you marks …”

  “You didn’t give Tanner Ligand what he asked for, did you?” Her query was sharp, because she didn’t want him to have had to spend more than she felt necessary. And she leaned away from his guiding arm enough so that she could see his face as he answered

  “I won’t tell you how much, Tenna, but we struck a fair bargain. Trouble was,” and now Haligon’s voice was rueful, “he knew just how much I needed that particular hide. It’s the talk of the Gather, you know.”