“No more than our duty to trace letters,” the old man replied with a careless flick of his hand, “especially after all that dirty business at the Healer Hall.” Then he cast a shrewd look at his early morning guest. “Too early, too, for you to be looking for Tenna, bearing in mind you should know by now how long it takes her to make a run back. You got to spend most of Turnover with her.”

Haligon cleared his throat, not sure how to state his real business of the morning.

“Oh? Something else, is it?” Torlo, who was a perceptive man under a brusque manner, pointed to the corner of the empty hall of the Runner Station. “Fresh klah, Lord Haligon?”

Maybe this should have been done more informally, but Torlo had called the tone by using his title. Hiding his chagrin, Haligon accepted the hospitality and slid onto a settle seat at the end table while Torlo filled cups and brought a breadboard with some of the morning’s bake on it. Everyone would have known about the meeting in the Hold’s private dining room. That Batim had been questioned. Certainly the fire-lizard traffic out of the Harper Hall last night would have been noticed. The Runners had never objected—in so many words—to fire-lizards carrying messages. They appreciated that speed could be a critical factor that had not, yet, interfered with their craft. In the very early days, while clutches were still being found on the beaches of Boll, Ista, and Keroon, Runners had used fire-lizards, too.

The young Lord sipped the klah—it was always excellent here—and deliberated exactly how to approach Torlo. He had several very good reasons for not antagonizing either the man or the Runners and for carrying out last night’s request, not the least of which was his firm regard, although his brother called it an obsession, for Tenna.

“The Abominator who led the vandals let drop some information,” he began, choosing his words carefully.

“He’s one of them?” Torlo’s contempt was deep. “Same as who abused Master Robinton?”

“Similar but this time turning their spite on the Healer and Glass Halls.”

“Glass Halls, too?” Torlo’s spiky brows shot up on his lined forehead, his deep-set eyes fast on Haligon’s face. He leaned forward slightly across the tables. “What about SmithCraftHalls?”

Something in Torlo’s manner suggested to Haligon that they would have been legitimate targets. Haligon wondered why.

“SmithCraftHalls set up tighter safeguards after the first raids on their Halls ten or more Turns ago,” he said.

“Hmm. Yes. Recollect now.” Torlo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That Aivas guarded itself, didn’t it?”

“A Hall shouldn’t have to protect itself,” Haligon said.

“True.”

“Especially Healers, the one Craft that’s benefited most from the knowledge Aivas left behind.”