A Gift of Dragons - Anne McCaffrey [35]
Running into the end of night, the dawn behind her, was not as much a pleasure as it could have been, and that annoyed Tenna even more. Just wait till she found out who that rider was! She’d tell him a thing or two. Though common sense told her that she was unlikely to encounter him. He was outbound and she was inbound. If he’d been in that much of a hurry, he might be a relay rider, bound for a distant location. Lord Holders could afford such services and the stabling of fast runnerbeasts along the way. But he shouldn’t have been on a runner trace. There were roads for beasts! Hooves could tear up the surface of the trace and the station manager might have to spend hours replacing divots torn up by shod hooves. Traces were for runners. She kept returning to that indignant thought. She just hoped any other runner on the trace would hear him in time! That’s one reason you keep your mind on your run, Tenna. Even if you’d no reason to suspect you weren’t alone with the night and the moon on a runner trace.
The runner station was just below the main entrance to Fort Hold. History had it that Fort had started runners as short-distance messengers, hundreds and hundreds of Turns ago, even before drum towers were built. Fort Hold had utilized the skills of runners for many tasks, especially during Threadfall, when runners had accompanied all ground crews, vital as couriers in emergencies. The installation of the drum towers and the development of runnerbeasts had not put an end to the need for the runners of Pern. This main connecting hold was the largest ever built just to house and care for runners. Three levels high, she’d been told, and several back into the Fort cliff. It also boasted one of the best bathing facilities on the continent: hot running water in deep tubs that had eased centuries of runner aches and pains. Cesila had highly recommended that Tenna try for Fort when she got that far west. And here she was and right ready to appreciate the accommodations.
She was very weary and not only out of pace but jarring herself with every step down the broader avenue that led to her destination. Her hands stung from the sap and she hoped she hadn’t any slivers left in them. But hands were a long way from the feet.
Beastholders, up early to feed stock, gave her cheery waves and smiles, and their courtesies somewhat restored her good humor. She did not care to arrive petulant as well as scratched, not on her first visit here.
Almost as if the manager had a special sensitivity to incoming runners, the double door was thrown open as she came to a rough, gasping halt, hand raised to catch the bell cord.
“Thought I heard someone coming.” The man, a welcoming grin on his face, put out both hands to steady her. He was one of the oldest men she had ever seen: his skin was a network of wrinkles and grooves, but his eyes were bright—for this hour—and he looked to be a merry man. “New one, too, at that, for all you look familiar to me. A pretty face is a great sight on a fine morning.”
Sucking in breath enough to give her name, Tenna paced into the large entry room. She unbuckled her message pouch as she eased the tension in her leg muscles.
“Tenna passing Two-Oh-Eight with eastern messages. Fort’s the destination for all.”
“Welcome to Three Hundred, Tenna,” he said, taking the pouch from her and immediately chalking up her arrival on the heavy old board to the left of the station door. “All for here, huh?” He passed her a cup before he opened the pouch, to check the recipients.
With cup in hand, she went out again, still flicking her legs to ease the muscles. First she rinsed her mouth, spitting out that first mouthful onto the cobbles. Then she would sip to swallow. Nor was this just water but some sort of fresh-tasting drink that refreshed dry tissues.
“You’re a mite the worse for the run,” the man said, standing in the door and pointing to the bloody smears on her bare skin. “What’d you run into?”
“Sticklebush,” she said through gritted teeth. “Runnerbeast