The inn at Ironhope was called the Anvil and Hammer. It was here that the leaders of the ceremony would be quartered and if he was to take part in the Great Burning, Klane would have to report to them. The Anvil and Hammer was a soundly constructed building with a large stable for Rider horses and several rooms where merchants and other travellers could stay. A steady murmur of voices told Klane that it was busy on this cold afternoon.

Although the inn was almost full, Klane was able to secure a small room on the wing of the building opposite the stables. He took Lyr to a rented stall and ensured that the horse had been properly rubbed down, fed and watered before attending to his own comfort. By the time he had washed and changed and made his way through to the bar, darkness had drawn in. There was a mixed crowd in the common room. Some were Ironhope locals but there were more than a few Rider nobles and major and minor ceremonial officials concerned with the organisation of the Great Burning and all the associated festival events. When Klane enquired he was told that the man in charge was the one appointed as Master of the Flame, a stout and hearty Rider by the name of Verindu who was holding court perched on a stool by the bar. 

"He makes enough noise," one of the locals observed wryly to Klane, for at that moment Verindu had burst into a spluttering fit of loud laugher at some jest made by one of his crony's, "but he's not the real boss in this game. They are the ones you have to pay attention to," and he nodded darkly in the direction of the second fireplace. Klane said nothing. He was finishing a supper which consisted of ham and fried potatoes but he took a long swallow of ruby rich Ironhope ale and indicated his interest with a raised eyebrow which was sufficient encouragement for the speaker to continue. 

"The one on the right is Thorawn. He's the supervisor sent from..." His voice dropped to a staged whisper ".. them." Klane knew that this was as close as the superstitious Riders would go towards naming the seldom seen agents of the Conclave. Only an event as important as a Great Burning ever brought Conclave and Rider together. "He's the one that appointed Verindu and he can revoke that if he doesn't like the way things are run. The one on the left with the beer in his hand is Muttu. I don't like him. He's some lordling with the Southern Pralannians and they've been giving themselves a lot of airs and graces recently. Muttu's a nasty piece of work if you ask me; surly and rude and throws his weight around. Thorawn seems to get on with him, though, and that scares the others. Muttu's his right hand man." 

A few minutes later when Klane pushed away his plate he was approached by a serving maid who told him that the gentleman by the fire would like to speak to him. Soon Klane was face to face with Thorawn and Muttu.

"Your manner of dress and your presence in this inn, which is reserved for the organisers and senior sponsors of the Great Burning, tell me that you are a prince amongst the Riders but neither Muttu nor I are aware of your lineage. What is your name and where do you hail from?" the old man asked. Though superficially polite there was an edge to the enquiry and a perspicacity which reminded Klane of the Seers of his old home. He sensed immediately both danger and opportunity but the time had not yet come when he was ready to openly declare himself the Klane of Kalonia. A formal reply was required with enough detail to grant him respect but not so much that this agent of the Enclave would deduce his true and ultimate origins. A little mystery then. The Riders liked mystery sometimes. 

"I am the consort of the Lady Lucalle," Klane began, "and her people sometimes call me the Dragon Slayer. You may address me by the simpler name I use in company and when travelling. I am also known as Alderon." 

Alderon was the name Klane had taken amongst his new tribe, an alias that was neither his old true name of Asanka which he had abandoned to the dead past, nor the secret name he nursed and reserved for a future yet to be when the authors of legends would take it and hammer it into the shapes of their own designs. 

"My country lies over the hills and far away. To reach this place I have breasted the moors of Ulumol and forded the river Telaroll. I have travelled by the shining roads and the singing roads of the Glass Lands which few dare to cross in these times. I have sailed across the Great River Osyndar and traversed the narrow passes of the high canyon lands and now I claim my right to take part in the Burning of Ironhope according to the laws of the ancient Guardians under the rule of the Vow of Earth." 

"Then you have come far indeed," Thorawn answered thoughtfully, "and you are welcome at our festival, Dragon Slayer." 

"You will be taking part in the games, I am sure," Muttu added. "I will look forward to challenging you in the races and the tournaments." 

Klane nodded. There was something threatening about Muttu which he instinctively disliked and in titling himself Dragon Slayer he knew he had given both men much to ponder.