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A chill autumn breeze swept through the streets of High Fen City, dancing over the city’s many canals and tugging at the cloaks of people who hurried to warmer places or at least found shelter away from the wind.

In the fields outside the city, workers loaded the last of the fall harvest onto heavy barges bound for the city, piling them high with everything from bright orange pumpkins to dull brown potatoes.

Inside the city, however, throngs of people clustered together, flowing like water through the canals on their way to the massive arena that served as the city’s beating heart.

The towering marble-covered structure had been expanded several times since the establishment of the High Fen, and each time, the collection of larger-than-life marble statues depicting champions of eras long past grew until it resembled not only a grand fighting arena but a temple dedicated to the worship of bloodsport.

"You really believe it?" a tall, gangly man from the Glass Eyed Clan said, lowering his head to talk to his shorter, serpentine companion. "Yotsun isn’t giving up is he?"

"It’s only day five," the serpentine man beside him said as he glided effortlessly through the crush of people. "There’s no way that greedy old goat will give up this soon, especially when none of the men he’s sent have been killed.

I hear that Yotsun brought in outsiders at great expense to put a stop to this as soon as he can.

He doesn’t even care about winning anymore, he’s just terrified of losing. "

"Serves him right," the first man said. "He’s lucky that he hasn’t provoked a slaughter yet, but if you ask me, I’d rather be dead than have an arm torn from its socket.

It’s one thing to look down on the Vale of Mists for losing the wealth it had centuries ago, but anyone betting against their strength is a fool who deserves what they get! "

Elsewhere in the crowd, several eager spectators shouted at the ticket sellers, each vying for opportunities to secure a prized seat.

"I want to be in the east rose rows," one man shouted, holding up a pouch full of silver tails. "It doesn’t matter how high up it is, as long as I’m on the east side. I’ll pay double for the front seats of East Rose!"

"Idiot, why do you want to pay extra for the east rose seats?" A man next to him said. "If you can pay that much, pay for the hyacinth seats, or the orchid seats even!"

"Who’s the idiot," the man sneered as she shouldered his way forward to buy his tickets. "East Rose faces the High Lady’s personal box! I don’t care about the fight, I want to see High Lady Erna and the witch!

What’s important about a fight when you could have a chance to gaze down on the most powerful women in all of High Fen? "

"I’m sorry," a stone-faced serpentine mand said as he looked at the eager customer. "The only seats I have left for you on the upper levels are on Western Rose, above the High Lady’s box. The view of the fight will be just as good, but I’m afraid you won’t be able to see into the box."

"What! That’s not fair! Didn’t you tell the fellow three men ahead of me that there were plenty of seats?"

"As I said," the serpentine attendant said. "The only tickets I have for YOU are in Western Rose. Do you want the tickets? Or should I move to the next patron?"

"I, I... I want the tickets," the man said, opening his purse to begin counting out silver tails. "Maybe... maybe I can find someone to trade..."

Inside the Arena, in a large private box located halfway up one side of the arena, directly in the center, High Lady Erna watched the seats fill with her enthusiastic citizens with a smile on her face that revealed a hint of her venomous fangs.

Four hearths burned in the private box, giving its occupants the illusion that they were luxuriating in the summer sun rather than finding shelter from the cold autumn wind as they watched a pair of veteran gladiators fighting on the sands below.

While the private box held many seats for watching the fight below, two gilded thrones occupied the very front of the box, placing Lady Erna and her distinguished guest in full view of the thousands of people rushing to their seats.

Some of those people stopped and stared once they reached their seat but no one dared to look too long. After all, one of the thrones was occupied by High Lady Erna herself, while the other held the newborn Mother of Trees.

While some might be bold enough to stare at the blond beauty sitting next to their High Lady, most had heard rumors that she wasn’t only a witch, but the Seneschal of the Blood Princess and that she had already been claimed body and soul by the powerful vampire.

A man must be bold in life, but there were limits to how bold he could be, and coveting the Blood Princess’s woman was as good as courting death.

"Is it me, or are the crowds even larger today?

" Ashlynn asked lightly as she sipped at a sparkling apple cider. The beverage was light and crisp, like biting into a tart apple with bubbles that tickled her nose. Most importantly, while it was possible to become intoxicated on the fizzy beverage, it was much, much more difficult than if she tried drinking High Lady Erna’s fortified wine.

The crowds gathering in the arena weren’t just large, they were staggering.

If every seat were filled, with people standing in the galleries and filling the isles the way that High Lady Erna said happened during Nyrielle’s bloody battles in the arena, it could hold more people than the entire population of the Vale of Mists.

Already, more than ten thousand people had packed into the arena today, and the last arrivals were still making their ways toward their seats.

When Ashlynn compared it to the tournaments where knights contested for honors and trophies, the contests she’d witnessed in human lands paled in comparison to this grand spectacle.

Perhaps the annual tournament in the Royal Capital could draw such crowds, but outside of that, very little would, and very few common folk would even be allowed to attend.

Yet here, this grand spectacle was taking place not because it was an annual event or because the local ruler had enticed the people to watch.

No, all of this was happening because one old man, the descendant of members of the Horned Clan who fled from the Vale of Mists, had insulted the Vale of Mists in front of Heila at the banquet where she and Ashlynn were welcomed back to the city.

One stubborn old man who wouldn’t back down from insistence that no one else in the Vale of Mists was worthy of fighting on behalf of the Blood Princess.

.. and one equally stubborn young witch, not more than four feet tall, had created a sensation that consumed High Fen City and drew thousands of people to this arena.

Some of them came to see a stubborn merchant humbled, others came to see a proud young woman rise, but all of them, every last man woman, and child, had come to see blood on the arena sands.....