Verindu and Jythra were quick to step in as soon as Muttu raised his hand in submission. They must have been expecting the fight to end in blood, and Klane had no doubts that Muttu’s murderous axe would have finished the combat in a more fatal manner if things had gone the way of the Southern Pralannian leader. “Alderon is the winner!” the Master of the Flame declared loudly, using Klane’s alias. He was grateful for this instant, loud and public declaration, although he did not relish the public attention. There were mixed currents of unease running through the crowd. On the one hand, the majority of local Pallish Riders had enjoyed the humbling of the braggart Muttu, a view which they shared with the Nykwin and the Thranish tribes. On the other hand the dangerous Southern Pralannians were not at all happy and whilst they might be in a minority they had the better forged weapons, and more worryingly they seemed to be losing the taboo against using them. By making such a decisive statement, Verindu revealed that he was more than the drunken, good humoured buffoon Klane had taken him for because this was a shrewd crowd controlling assertion. Jythra’s backing was vital too and carried the day. For a nasty few minutes, Klane wondered if a general brawl or something worse would break out, but now the Riders retired to their tents under the hearty direction of the Master of the Flame. “Big day tomorrow, lads”, he boomed. “We burn Ironhope down! Now get some rest and we all assemble on the game field in the morning. Nothing starts until I say so and then we’ll all do our duty and make this a Great Burning to be proud of!” At last, Klane was able to slip away from the crowds patting him on the back and congratulating him. In the darkness away from the fires, he made his way to the forge.