Riders and their Horses! What can we say? Even now when Rider culture is a relatively minor part of the complex of civilisations we have all become, the bond between the human and the equine is still acknowledged everywhere as a sacred sacrament. How much more so in the Season of Innocence when it was perceived as an ideal pattern of the way the Earth must always be, the symbol and the reality of a pure eternity of redemption from history? The origin of the bond between people and horses stretches back long before the Great Forgetting of course, even, some would say, unto those misty ancient ages before the Galactic Compact. Once, it is believed, there was an unequal mastery between men and their mounts. There were such mythic ancient artifacts as tackle, saddles, bridles, bits and reins with which the ancestors of today's steeds were constrained and mastered. But all that was a very long time ago indeed. Many ages before the Season of Innocence even began, horses had been genegeneered into a superior intelligence, a longer life span and a symbiosis with their human partners which removed almost all the need for those primitive instruments of control. There was still a call for a blacksmith’s shoe, it’s true, but Riders rode bare back and they thought of their Horses as equal partners with which they justified a fragile lordship over the desolate plains of the empty Earth. 

So the second and final day of the Ironhope games was considered much the more important, testing Riders and Horses alike. Some measure of good humour had returned to the tribes in the early morning sunshine. This was what they liked best. Klane could see that there were plenty of fine Horses and proud Riders but he knew he had a chance in this competition. Lyr, the foal of his mother’s mare and her husband’s stallion was an exceptional animal. Soon Klane and his Horse would be tested in a way they had never been before.

Verindu declared the format of the day’s competition. Rather than the series of short races which Klane had been expecting there was to be one extended cross country marathon. The Master Of The Flame sketched out a map in the dirt and explained that all Riders would need to pass a series of marked checkpoints where marshals were waiting to confirm their passage. There was no set route. Riders could make their way between the fixed points however they liked and were expected to return to Ironhope in about four hours. 

The winner (once their correct registration at each checkpoint had been confirmed) would be awarded two whole icosahedrons worth forty faces in total, with an icosahedron and dodecahedron for second place worth thirty two faces and a single icosahedron for the Rider placed third. These were higher value awards than anything given out in yesterday’s athletics events. 

There was time for a brief conversation with Gillan before the race started. The blacksmith looked thoughtful when he saw the layout of the checkpoints and he gave Klane some useful advice based on his local knowledge of the surrounding lands. 

It was crowded to begin with. As many as thirty horses jostled for position, waiting on the signal to begin the race. At first it was just a question of avoiding collisions and finding space through the narrow defile that led in the direction of the first checkpoint. Inevitably, the Riders began to separate. A wide grassy slope took them down to the beach and an exercise in early pace as a breakaway group of seven horses galloped over the damp but firm sands uncovered by the retreating tide. It was ideal ground for speed and the horses relished the opportunity to run hard. At one point, Lyr carried Klane into fourth place, and he let the stallion power ahead on instinct for a little while. But by the time they left the beach, Klane had eased his horse down to a trot with soft words, content to slide back down the field. The race would be unlikely to go to the swiftest to reach the first checkpoint. Endurance and marshaling of energy was as important as raw speed. Cunning would play a part too.

Klane reached the first checkpoint about twenty minutes after leaving Ironhope. It was on a bend in a shallow river, where a ford allowed carts to cross via a wide track through the forest. There was a beehive shaped rocky cairn where a fat official from the games team nodded at Klane, then passed over a purple ring for him to use as proof of his passage. By now Klane had fallen to the back of the leading group but was still some way clear of the Rider behind. He was quite alone when, a few hundred metres further on, he spotted the great dead oak tree Gillan had told him about. 

“On the right, just beyond that tree, a narrow track begins which leads high over the shoulder of the hill. A brave Rider with a skilled horse might use it if he dares,” the blacksmith had said. “It ascends rapidly and is a more direct passage between the first and second checkpoints than the safer route which follows the course of the water. Verindu did not mark it on his map and I doubt many Riders know of it.” 

Ten minutes later Klane was leading Lyr on foot across a shallow scree slope where they both had to pick each footstep carefully and wondering if this had been such a good idea. He suspected they had already lost the route Gillan had meant for them to follow. Nevertheless, he pressed on until they reached a windy ridge with great views of the folding land to the North. Here Klane was able to mount again and urge Lyr forwards but before they could find any downward track a sharp cut crossed their path. The horse hesitated and so did Klane. Then Lyr took the decision from his hands with a sudden burst of speed and a heart stopping leap over the rocks. They were clear! And soon they were picking up speed in a downhill canter through the trees.

The risky route worked out as well as Klane could have hoped. When Lyr reached the next checkpoint they had a clear lead and it was a surprised marshal who passed over the verification token in the brief moment before they set off again. Apart from the shorter distance, the nature of the terrain and the enforced walking pace had allowed the horse to recover some energy for the cantering that followed. Now they kept to a steady pace to conserve energy but Lyr wasn’t naturally suited to endurance racing, and little by little the rest of the field began to catch them. The Rider leading the group behind gave a shout of astonishment when he finally saw Klane in front of them all but by this time, they had come within sight of the finish line at Ironhope. Lyr needed no urging to gallop and picked up the pace. Sprinting was his strength. The race finished in a close blur as they crossed between two great stones sunk into the grass which marked the end of the course, cheered by a few dozen spectators on either side in makeshift wooden stands. Klane and Lyr had won!