A last dawn came to Ironhope, for today the town would burn. Muttu had ridden out early from camp with a few trusted men. His body still ached from the combat where he’d been bested by the thin young man who had broken his axe and stolen the spoils of the Burning he believed belonged to him. His pride was bruised more than his body, though, and he was brooding on how he might be avenged. He wished to see the disposition of the carts and horses Klane would be leading out of Ironhope and so he made his way into town before the muster on the game field. He was too late. Inspecting the ground on the western side of town, he could see the churning of mud, the tracks of carts and the hoof prints of horses but that was all. Klane and his party had already left. Spotting that something strange had dropped on the ground, he dismounted. Muttu didn’t recognise the fallen book for what it was but he picked it up. Thorawn would want to see this. Muttu’s instinct was to gather his men and ride in pursuit of the departing town’s people and the rag tag band of Riders who protected them. Yet for the moment, Klane had not only out fought him but out thought him. The demands of the Great Burning could not be denied. There was a town to burn today, but after that…