A last evening descended over Ironhope. The dawn would bring the climax of the festival of the Great Burning, consuming this breeding ground of history under the new day’s sun. But before the Riders could do their duty, and unleash the cleansing flames, there was a final feast in honour of the life of Ironhope and there was the settlement auction. Now at last it would be decided just how the former citizens of the town were to be divided between the tribes so that they could build new villages on their lands. 

There was much eating and drinking in the civic hall. Verindu presided over the allotment of the Ironhope residents. One by one, or in family groups he called them forward to a balcony where all the Riders could see them. Their talent rings were hung from a post, marking out their skills for those that weren’t paying attention as he announced names and abilities. Then the bidding process began, interested representatives from each tribe staking sporting prize tokens from the day’s games to compete for the services of the men and women they would soon be making homeless. 

It was a long slow process because Vernidu took his own sweet time to indulge in platters of venison, iced dumplings, fried eels and pots of strong honey mead between each round. The temperature in the hall rose with the press of bodies, and the consumption of meat and ale. There was an atmosphere of celebration, for certain but also an undercurrent of fear and even an edge of violence. Klane was not enjoying it. The blacksmith and his family were the last of the residents to be auctioned. Klane has been trying to keep track of the earlier bids and how much the lavishly triumphant Southern Pralannians were spending, for in truth as the game’s major winners they had taken the major share of the town’s residents. 

Klane had spent none of his winning tokens. He hoped that he might catch Muttu by surprise and by stacking everything on this last bid, outmatch the Southern Pralannians to win this final assignment. He wasn’t sure of the sums. He knew his rivals were keen to claim the blacksmith and it was going to be close.

Two tables under two spotlights. The tables and the lights, both artifacts of Conclave technology, just as the blue crystalline faces, placed on each table also came from the Conclave; just as the idea of the Great Burning, and the practical philosophy of the Season of Innocence also in their own more subtle ways emanated from the Conclave however so often as the Riders might choose to forget it. The Riders were the primary beneficiaries of the Season of Innocence but they were not the Lords of the Earth that they oft times fancied themselves to be. 

The final bids were too close to call at once, arithmetic not being Verindu’s strongest skill. Much beer had been drunk and the totals of the faces ran to numbers that he could not hold in his head without the physical presence of the prize tokens themselves. Klane sensed at the outset he did not have enough, yet he was honour bound to press his claim to judgement. 

Then something extraordinary happened, unprecedented in all accounts of previous Great Burnings. Ethan emerged from the shadows with additional faces to add to Klane’s bid. In the midst of the feasting he had been working the crowd of his fellow Riders, politicking between the tribes. His pitch was simple, to the Thranish and the Nykwin alike. Can we allow the Southern Pralannians to win the blacksmith for themselves? With skillful words, playing on flattery and fear alike he had persuaded just a few to donate some small tokens. It was only two cylinders and a tetrahedron but when added to Klane’s existing stash it caused consternation. 

Naturally the counting had to start again. And then again. And it had to be checked by both parties and double checked. Finally, though, there could be no doubt. The bid was tied.

“Well Alderon, the self confessed Dragon Slayer, you are full of surprises!” After Verindu withdrew in some confusion, there was a brief low voiced exchange between Muttu and Thorawn before the Conclave’s representative stepped forward to take charge. Now Thorawn was addressing Klane directly by the alias under which he had announced himself at the Anvil and Hammer only three days earlier. What long days they seemed now! 

“Never before have we seen an athlete so skilled across the field of games and never before has there been a pooling of prizes. Now we have a tie for the final bid so what are we to do? How will you keep your workers should you be awarded their stewardship?” 

“Ethan and his tribe have thrown in their lot with me. I shall not be alone,” Klane answered simply and respectfully, but he had no trust in Thorawn’s mandated impartiality. 

“Hmmm… Well unprecedented problems call for unprecedented solutions.” Thorawn spoke more loudly now so that the assembled company of tribal witnesses to this drama could all hear him.

“On behalf of the Conclave I declare that a new game must settle this impasse. Alderon and Muttu shall fight until one falls or yields! The blacksmith and his family shall pass to the winner and for the loser whatever quarter the victor grants.” 

A murmur of indignation arose. It seemed obvious that, fit and agile as Klane was, he was yet no match in a fight for the battle hardened brutality of Muttu, whose skills in close combat had soured the festival even before the races began. 

“This has never been the Rider way!” Ethan protested. 

“And yet it is the Rider way that the Conclave declare what is lawful and what is not,” Thorawn said in sharp rebuke. 

“Peace!” Klane said holding his hand aloft. “I agree on condition only that we may each chose our own weapons.” 

Muttu grinned with predatory glee, his eyes on his favourite axe. “But of course”, he said.

Ethan got the word out to Zandra. 

“We need to be ready for a sudden departure if necessary,” he said urgently as the excitement of the unexpected contest spread rapidly through the revellers. “Get the children and finishing loading up everything we’re taking. Watch the weight, we can’t load too many. You’re going to have to make some hard decisions and abandon some books. It can’t be helped. I want you to destroy the ones you’re leaving. Burn them, pulp them in a tub of water, bury the remnants, do whatever you have to so they are unrecognisable. And do it quickly!” 

Zandra looked shocked. 

“We can’t leave evidence of the library behind,” he said gently but simply. So whilst everyone else was spilling out of the hall and heading for the festival grounds to see the fight, Zandra, Ben and Hannah worked swiftly and quietly to complete their preparations to leave Ironhope for the last time. 

“What if Alderon loses the fight?” Zandra had asked, still using Klane’s alias. 

“Then we’ll have to make sure the books on the wagon are disposed of as well before morning and before Muttu and his gang see them. My friends will be able to help after the fight. This is a big risk. But what else can we do?”