It took most of the morning to finish clearing the town. The Master of the Flame had the duty to ensure every citizen was safely out of the way and anything that was to be taken to their new homes was packed into carts which were gathered at the far end of the game field. At last Verindu declared that the Burning could begin. 

Now the Riders moved in with every form of flammable and explosive substance that had been readied for the occasion. They spread this around the town, finding the weakest spots where wood supported stone and packing it with dry tinder and kindling. This preparatory stage took another two hours and so it was early afternoon before torches were finally set to the buildings in a score of places all at once. 

It was a dry day and perfect for a Great Burning. Ironhope went up in a fierce conflagration that would leave little behind, punctuated by the occasional explosion of flame and sparks when the more combustible material caught light.

To the west of Ironhope, the Pass of Larks winds through the Hills of Lochan. Klane and his party of exiles had pushed on through the darkness and into the morning hours at the fastest rate their carts, horses and peoples could manage. Before sunrise they relied on a few lanterns and a cold blue light from the klane to show their way. It had been slow going to begin with but the plan was to make the most of their surprise night time departure. They travelled faster in the dawn light and did not stop until a halt was called in the early afternoon. 

Klane did not trust Muttu and he feared that the Southern Pralannian Riders might pursue them and try to take by combat what they had not won fairly in the formal contests at the Great Burning. It was important to get as far from the town as possible in these early hours so that no swiftly mustered troop of riders would find them within easy reach of the lowlands. So far, so good. They could not disguise their route, however, and if there was to be an organised chase, the following Riders would surely catch them eventually, whatever they did. So, they should rest and eat now, since the journey would be a long one and endurance more important than speed at the end. 

A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, the first fall of the season, leaving a thin white covering between the trees. From this crest in the pass, the exiles had a good view back over their route which switchbacked in the hills below them. If anyone was following them, they could be identified from a long distance. If necessary, an ambush could be prepared - a defence possible in the high valleys where the speed of hostile Riders did not offer them the same advantages they had on the open plains. Ethan and Klane discussed this option again as they sat and broke bread. It was not a conflict that either of them wished for, since the outcome must be uncertain and many would die. But only the wind followed them through the Pass of Larks and after an hour they decided they would continue their journey, higher into the hills. 

“We’ll leave a sentry here for a little while on a fast horse, to give us an early warning of any pursuit,” Ethan said. “If he sees nothing, he can catch us by nightfall if he leaves an hour before sunset.” As the exiles got to their feet and prepared to resume their travels, a column of black smoke rose into the sky in the east. No one needed to say anything. They all knew it came from the burning of Ironhope.

Dark clouds had gathered in the afternoon as if in sympathy with the black smoke that rose from the ruins of Ironhope. The golden light of evening found a scene of desolation, but the townsfolk had been marshaled into their Rider governed marching groups, ready for departure to the lands where they would begin again. Jythra spoke with Muttu. 

“I know that you wish to pursue the young man who you think has damaged your honour,” he said, “but you must not do so. You have a responsibility to the people you are now charged with bringing to Pralannia. You are no longer a reckless youth, you must think of the needs of your tribe. Your father sent you here as his ambassador and you must do your duty.” 

The thin sound of a baby crying came on a gust of wind as Jythra finished speaking. It made the case more eloquently than the leader of the Nykwin Riders could do. Muttu nodded stiffly.

“Are you going to preach to me as well?” Muttu sneered as he was about to depart. His caravan of human prizes, claimed at the games, had already set off with his fellow Southern Pralannian riders. The Nyhkwin and the Pallish riders had made tracks to the north and south with their own acquisitions. Who knew how far “Alderon” had progressed and whether he was returning to the far west from which he professed to come? 

Only Thorawn remained at the still smoking site of Ironhope’s end. Muttu was impatient to leave and he had grown tired of the company of the enigmatic Conclave representative. A sharp look quelled him. 

“Return to your people,” Thorawn said contemptuously. “But be ready if I ever need to summon you and your riders. There is something disturbing about the boy who bested you in battle. That I will grant you. You can be sure the Conclave will be watching him. If the Vow of Earth is threatened we shall not hesitate to act as we acted against Kalonia. You understand me?” 

Muttu understood. He had taken part in that burning - a burning that was on an altogether different scale to the tiny affair at Ironhope. He shivered, sensing colder air and a hint of strange conflicts to come. Then he turned his horse’s head away from the dead stones and galloped into the growing gloom.