The last event before the Crown was the only one that didn't happen on the grass.
A hundred and twenty pods stood in rows down the length of the old drill hall, each one a sleek white shell with a contoured seat inside and a helmet hanging over it. Valerie stood on a platform at the far end. The judges sat behind her. Above them hung a projection of the battlefield we were about to be dropped into: a great red-skied plain, broken by hills and a long ravine, with four lights burning across it.
"Tactical Simulation," Valerie said. "One shared theatre. Three hours. Each of you begins with fifty soldiers and your own body, mana and arts. Your soldiers obey you. You may fight beside them, or not."
She pointed at the four lights in turn.
