Voices called out from everywhere in the crowded streets, windows, rooftops, and alleyways. The constant noise sounded like a flock of exotic birds all chattering at once. A sea of bodies jostled Alden, Lalaine, Braden, Jincra, and Grath as they made their way through the packed city toward the large arena nestled into the mountainside.

Wooden buildings loomed over the crowds on both sides of the street, and bright sunlight bathed the city in warmth. The droning noise of voices and the stench of sweaty bodies assaulted Alden as he led the way through the busy market. Merchants and customers haggled over the price of giant animal parts, and the hunters were forced to step aside for wagons carrying severed tails or loads of enormous bones.

The nation of Veruscia, of which Sacram Village was only a tiny part, was mostly composed of humans. The national capital Ceralahn City reflected this reality with a majority human population, but Alden still spotted many other races haggling at stalls or carrying hunting gear.

Alden realized a large portion of the crowd had hunters’ tattoos under their eyes. Sacram village had such a dearth of hunters that it was shocking to see so many spirit-chosen congregated in one place. Giant weapons and hide armor adorned many of the people who brushed past. One hunting band cheered as their companion paraded up the street carrying a polished wyvern skull carved with runes.

The Sacram band finally arrived at the registration building attached to the arena. The building was a giant nest of thick oak beams which rose three stories to a pitched roof. Various people in robes and hunting gear stood looking down from the open air rooftop into the arena behind the walls.

The five hunters entered through the heavy wooden door on the front of the building. Skylights and large windows lit the interior. Above the heads of the crowd, massive megafauna skeletons hung suspected from stout ropes. Flickering torches illuminated the darker corners and made the long hall as bright as the daylight outside. Hunter crews stood at tables lining the hall, speaking with robed representatives and purchasing goods. The mingling smells of sweat and oiled leather rolled through the hall in hot waves.

Alden approached one table just beside the entrance and stepped up uncertainly. The red-haired man with a scar on his chin seated behind the table set down his breakfast and looked up at him. “Can I help you?”

Alden nodded. “We’re here to register for the tournament.”

The scarred man pointed toward the back of the hall. “Registration is down there. Check in and hand over your tribe’s flag. They’ll let you know the schedule.”

The Sacram band made their way down the hall. A large banner hung in one corner. The cloth bore the symbol of two spears crossed, then a picture of three small flags. Alden knew most people couldn’t read, himself included, so he guessed this was where hunters checked in. As they approached the area where the red-haired man had pointed, Alden’s steps faltered.

The table and chairs had no people sitting in them. The only creature Alden saw was someone’s pet fox curled up asleep on one pinewood chair. Black splotches covered the otherwise white fox’s back, two of his paws, and both ears. His bushy white tail hid his face. Someone had tied a little yellow bandana around the fox’s neck.

Alden stopped in front of the table and looked at Grath.

The Aibeck raised an eyebrow at Alden and gestured to the table.

Alden didn’t know what Grath wanted him to do. Feeling silly, he spoke to the fox. “Um, excuse me?”

With a snort, the fox woke up, twitched his tail, and blinked repeatedly. The furry little creature looked up at Alden through bleary eyes and yawned widely. Dozens of tiny teeth gleamed in his long maw. More black patches speckled his face, and hoop earrings dangled from his ears. When he’d finished stretching each leg, the fox hopped up onto the table and stood up on his hind legs with his paws crossed in front of his white tummy.

“Can I help you?” the fox asked in a high-pitched squeak.

Alden blinked in confusion. He glanced back at his band to see if they, too, had heard the animal speak.

Braden’s jaw gaped open.

Jincra leaned forward with an excited expression and said, “Oh, a Siki!”

Lalaine’s green eyes glittered, and she was breathing heavily. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. Alden saw more than heard the huntress whisper, “So adorable…”

After clearing his throat, Grath just glared expectantly at Alden.

Slowly, Alden turned to face the Siki, who looked back up at him dispassionately.

“First time in the city?” the Siki squeaked.

Alden nodded, still stiff with surprise.

The Siki sighed, and the cuteness of the sound blunted any offense. Alden heard Lalaine stifle a squeal.

“I am, as your male friend said, a Siki,” the black and white fox explained. “Many of us live here in this city and assist with the governing functions. We Siki claim neutrality and don’t participate in the tournaments. When a new tribe takes over from an old tribe, the nation doesn’t lose every experienced advisor or policymaker because we Siki stay and help govern. That way – Can you please stop staring at my tail?”

“I’m sorry,” Alden said. “It’s just so fluffy.”

“Of course.” The Siki sighed again. “Is your female friend going to be all right? She looks like she’s about to cry.”

“I think so,” Alden said. “She might try to hug you.”

“That,” the Siki said, “is expressly forbidden by city law. Siki dignity is protected and taken very seriously. Now. You’re here to register your band to represent your tribe, I assume?”

Alden nodded. He turned to Grath, who pulled a folded purple bundle from his pack. The smell of sea salt rose from the cloth and wafted through the air, long enough to tickle Alden’s nose and hit him with a moment of homesickness. He accepted the bundle from Grath and handed it to the Siki.

The small creature staggered under the wool bundle’s weight, dumped the dense cloth on the table, and unfolded it. The bundle was revealed as a purple flag with a large golden fish stitched into the center. Long, trailing butterfly fins and a gracefully sloping face clearly represented the Sava fish, primary food source and sacred symbol of Alden’s people.

“Sacram tribe,” Alden told the Siki.

“I recognize it,” the Siki said. “It’s been a while since your tribe competed in the tournaments. Glad to see you return.” The little fox hopped down to his chair again and fished out a rolled leather skin, a pointed claw, and some red ink from a leather bag on the floor. Alden and the band watched as the Siki laboriously scraped the red ink into the skin to create bizarre looping patterns.

“Is that writing?” Jincra asked.

The Siki was concentrating on his work, but nodded. The tip of his little pink tongue poked out of his mouth as he focused.

Lalaine clasped her hands together in front of her chest and sighed blissfully.

Jincra said nothing else, but stood at the Siki’s side and studied the work intently.

When the written record was finished, the Siki rolled the skin back up and rolled the flag over top of it. He deposited the rolled flag in a pile of others to one side behind the table. With his paws once more folded over his white tummy, the Siki bowed to Alden. “I’ll report this to the scheduling staff. They’ll get you slated into the brackets for the Bloodpit Trials. Next, we need to verify your levels.”

The Siki reached down from the table and plucked up a flat white stone resting on the chair where he’d been sleeping. He held the palm-sized disk aloft with both paws. “Please line up and rest your fingertips on this stone.”

Alden, who stood at the table’s edge, reached over and touched his fingers to the rock. The white disk rippled with blue light. A single soft chime rang out.

“Level One,” the Siki nodded. “As I’d expect of Sacram. We Siki remember how your tribe was brutalized a few generations ago. It takes time to reimplement the old training methods.”

One by one, the other hunters touched their fingers to the stone disk. Each time it rippled with their tattoo’s activation color and chimed once. When Grath touched the stone, it rang twice.

“Four Level Ones and a Level Two,” the Siki noted. “You’re within traditional parameters. That concludes enrollment procedures. Be here tomorrow morning one hour after sunrise for the opening ceremony, and be prepared to compete when your team is scheduled.”

“Thank you,” Alden told the Siki.

Their business completed, Alden, Lalaine, Braden, Jincra, and Grath turned to go. The Sacram band pushed through the crowds and made it halfway to the front door before sudden chattering from other hunters in the hall made them all look toward the doors.

A well-armed and hardened group of hunters in matching red tunics, black wool pants, and thick hide boots strode across the hall toward Alden and his band. Other hunters scattered to make way for the tough group.

The approaching band’s leader had wide shoulders and looked only a winter or two older than Alden. He had olive skin, gray eyes, and thick dark hair held back in multiple braids woven with bone charms. He carried a folded red flag in his arms. Half of the symbol was visible: a rearing petal snake with glittering scales made of varicolored stone beads.

Jincra grasped Alden’s shoulder. “That is the symbol of Kilna, the ruling tribe! Their team has won five Bloodpit Trials in a row, and their leader has held the Imperator’s throne for thirty winters.”

The olive-skinned Kilna hunter tried to step around Alden, but Alden moved into his path. The Kilna youth looked at Alden questioningly, handed the flag to one of his companions, and eased into a combat stance, but Alden raised his hands palm-out and shook them back and forth.

“I mean you no harm. I am Alden son of Jobath, of the Sacram tribe. I want to speak with you about a danger facing us all.”

The young Kilna hunter stared at him. Alden could feel those gray eyes boring into his own, taking his measure. At last, the olive-skinned youth spoke. “I am Duarth, son of Huarth the Imperator of Veruscia. What danger do you claim threatens us?”

Alden stepped in closer. Duarth folded his arms but allowed the young Shaman to approach.

“The Scourge has been spotted at our village,” Alden whispered.

Duarth’s gray eyes widened slightly. “The Scourge hasn’t been seen in these lands in many winters. It’s been driven from our nation.”

“It has come back,” Alden answered simply.

“You have proof of this?”

Alden shook his head. “What proof could I have? The Scourge dissolves whatever it touches. I have only my word. We seek assistance in defending our village.”

“And how,” asked Duarth, “do I know this isn’t a tactic to distract my hunters with a fearful rumor during the tournament?”

Alden’s breath caught in his throat as the accusation struck him like a hammer blow.

Braden stepped up beside Alden. “Are you calling my tribesman a liar?” the blond youth demanded angrily.

Duarth glanced over the young Trickster, dismissed him, then looked back at Alden. “Tribes have been known to use tricks on one another to gain an edge during the tournament.”

“I assure you,” Alden said, “I am telling the truth.”

Duarth’s eyes bored into Alden’s again. “If that’s so, then talk to me after the tournament. Perhaps we can send a scout home with you.”

“A scout won’t be enough,” Alden said. “Our forest is infested, and the Scourge is at our gates. The Bloodpit Trials last several moons. A scout will take weeks to journey there, two weeks to journey home, and even more time to gather your hunters to return. We may not have that time. We need hunters now!”

Alden’s rising tone caused one of Duarth’s hunters, a bald man with green eyes, to step forward. Duarth waved him back but didn’t break eye contact with Alden.

“Like I said, Alden son of Jobath. See me after I’ve won the tournament and I’ll consider sending a scout to verify your claims.” With that, Duarth and his followers brushed past the Sacram band and headed for the registration table.

The man with the green eyes bumped Braden’s shoulder on his way past, and the Trickster snarled at the hunter’s back.

“They’re not going to help us,” Lalaine whispered to Alden.

“No,” Alden agreed.

Grath sighed. “Maybe one of the other tribes will help, Alden. Don’t give up.”

“Grath,” Alden said, “these hunters aren’t going to help us. They’re focused on the tournament. Their tribes are scared of tricks from other tribes, or of wasting resources on a wild chase. Sacram tribe is on our own unless we win.”

Lalaine nodded. “I think I agree, Alden.” The huntress smiled apologetically at Grath. “I don’t like it, but it feels like we’re going to need to win this competition to be taken seriously.”