Downslope, the great tent city spread across the paddocks like a forest of pointy white mushrooms on a green hillside. Flags flew above each provincial contingent, colourful banners against a summer blue sky. The air was warm, the breeze welcome, and the hills beneath the walls of Baen-Tar were alive with colour and life. It was a wide rectangle of hillside, by no means an even surface, but the slope was overall quite gentle. Talleryn posts marked the goals, one pair at each end, with horses thundering across the intervening space, weaving and crossing in pursuit of the ball. The scaffolding caught Damon's eye—an amazing work of woodcraft, erected in just six days by Goeren-yai craftsmen. He guessed it might hold as many as six hundred people on its rowed benches.Colours draped across different sections marked out the seats where each province's nobles would sit. The royal box was central, draped in green and purple, and flanked by several Royal Guardsmen. Serving maids made their way up and down the steps with platters of wine and food, and more crowds gathered about the firepits erected behind the scaffold, where kitchen staff served snacks and drinks, and prepared whole legs of lamb and beef for roasted lunch to come.A pair of red flags marked the entry point for competitors, where the surrounding spectators kept clear.
