In the evening, bathed and changed, Klane visited the blacksmith’s family at the forge before retiring to his lodgings. They took stock of the days events, and he set out his trophies on the kitchen table where they sparkled in the lamp light. Some arcane property of the hard crystal they were made of seemed to phosphoresce in the yellow glow and the trophies gave back more light than they received. “You’ve done exceptionally well”, Clara said, congratulating Klane. “Yours was the most successful individual performance today. There’s an additional bonus prize for the athlete who wins the most over the two days if you are able to retain first place tomorrow!” “Even so”, Klane said, “I cannot hope to amass as many faces as the other tribes are winning.” “But they will be spreading their spending out over the entire population of Ironhope when it comes to the auctions”, Gillan pointed out. “All you need to do is to keep all your tokens back and bid everything for my family and the forge. The books will be stowed with my equipment and the library will escape with us, under the cover of my trade tools.” Ethan was not so sanguine though, and cautioned them in troubled tones. “Yet we all know the Southern Pralannians have come here to win the forge for themselves, to gain more control of weapon making and to arm themselves in ever more dangerous ways. Muttu and his friends will also hold back plenty of tokens to bid for what they see as the main prize. They have done well in the endurance events and in archery. These winnings may not be enough.” “But what else can we do?”, Zandra asked. “I have an idea”, the Rider replied, “but I had best not say more until I have found out if it is possible. For tomorrow, our friend must continue his good work and see how much more can be won. It is to be contests with horses tomorrow, the true pride of the Riders which we value more than anything.” He turned to Klane. “I hope your steed is a good one!”