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.