Kamu 2.

Consigned to marching in step behind the main column, myself, and the other new recruits trudge slowly through the dusty heat. There are maybe fifteen soldiers present but they are accompanied by another dozen individuals with scruffier gear – they look to be conscripts as well. That makes the total around forty to guard the caravan. Despite this, our contingent seems very small compared to the towering forest we now enter. With never ending sunlight, the trees in this part of the empire have grown to the width of houses and many times as tall. Their leaves are the lightest shade of green, almost white, as they strive to reflect the light as much as feed off of it. This means that their domain is almost pitch black. Transitioning from the blazing incandescence of the day into this false night leaves me unable to see at all for a few seconds. Since this is as close as the empire gets to night, some fanatics have decreed the woods havens of evil and home to lightless spirits. The column slows considerably now it is out of the heat, and the recruits are allowed to rest with the main force as they make camp.

Rolls of cloth are brought out of the back of one of the wagons – though me and the others must be expected to get our rest on the ground. It is turbulent with roots the width of my torso and, no sooner than I had found a hollow, I was approached by an interruption. A thickset man, the herald from earlier, had rounded up the Taok kids with some of the rougher shod soldiers. “Right, you lot!” he bellowed once he had our attention. Though his appearance was bristled and course, his voice was smooth and resonating, taught in a household of means. “We are to start your training regimen daily; you nap after practice. Or not, depending only on the degree of uselessness that you display. It will be brutal. It will not be what you are used to in your backwards farms. What you are about to embark on is your military career! That means…” I ceased to process his voice, focusing instead on the surrounding people.

Many I had known most of my life, though not well. They had the same vacant expression that must also rest on my face. All are scrawny, still drenched in sweat from the trek here, all looking hopeless. I would bet a seasons work that most of them don’t even know the name of the emperor, and I bet none of them have held a spear before either.

Looking around I can see a tent being erected up the road a ways, and further into the trees. The grey coated driver overseeing the construction. My mind has been working on finding a purpose for this group since yesterday, but I still cant fathom a reason for such an unglamourous excursion to be commanded such a prominent member of house Cork. The woman – a girl really – who spoke to us from the carriage looked noble enough, like something from a tale even, but it’s still possible that the whole thing is a lie. It would be a capital offence to enforce the draft falsely, but a bandit group desperate enough might try it. I doubt this is the case though, you might be able to get away with something like that this far west, but we are headed towards the heart of the empire.

Which begs the question: why is a young noble girl of Cork travelling alone into the empire in the first place? I suppose it must be political - and perhaps she is in exile or in disgrace.

Before I can conclude that train of thought I am forcibly brought back to the present by the rap of the herald’s stave on the side of my head.

Without breaking the flow of his speech, the herald continues his tirade, handing out weapons. I almost drop mine, still faint from the knock on the head. I have never been physically strong, and the conditions were not in my favour. I could have done with a quick nap instead of this Herald and his incessant shouting. But I remember my resolution to rise through the ranks – a lazy life might suit a farmer of tortoises and it might suit a high ranking officer – but this would unfortunately require an activation energy.

I straighten my spine at exactly the wrong moment, singling myself out in the eyes of the Herald. “Yes, you there recruit – you look keen – step forward!” he orders, picking out another from the group. A giant of a girl is selected, towering a head taller than me with a mane of red hair. A trait rare, even in the west of the empire. She was picked up somewhere on the road before Taok, but she must originally hail from the north. Looking up at her intimidating smile I start to think that I may have been picked to be an example of some kind.

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The herald sets out a rough circle in the dirt of a flat space – or as flat as it can get beneath the trees. The other recruits are excited – they weren’t expecting entertainment on their first day of training. Entertaining this is likely to be, I think wryly as I heft my too-heavy spear. My opponent, Greta I learn, makes the spear look light as a toy by contrast. The whole column has come to watch, soldiers sitting down with drivers on the oversized roots. I even spot the lady seating herself at the back with an unguardedly anticipatory expression. I begin to feel slightly nervous. Its funny how an imminent beating is less scary than the idea that I will put on a disappointing show. With renewed desperation I search around for anything that might help me. Aside from the hope that my opponent will trip on the uneven ground, I come up blank.

The herald steps up onto the tallest root, announcing the rules in his sonorous voice. “You will each fight three matches here, and I will judge your potential. You may not step out of the circle. You try to get your opponent to the ground. If you win, you will stay to fight the next comer! If you win runt, who knows, perhaps the sky will fall on our heads” He gives a wink calculated to be unsupportive and gets a laugh. I can see that many of the soldiers are laughing and placing bets, and an older man is hopping between groups to act as bookie- “Begin!”

Caught completely off guard by the worryingly short list of rules, I almost stumble and end the fight right there. Greta doesn’t have that problem. She charges forward, swinging her spear in a reckless, but entirely effective, arc. I was really hoping for Greta to be the lumbering and brutish type, but her movements reveal her to be skilled and well rounded. Not even trying to block that swing, I leap back, just about keeping my footing. I go on the aggressive, hoping that the fear factor of a wildly spinning metal tip will push her back and get me away from the edge of the circle. Unlike the kids in Taok, back when we played games and fought with sticks, she scarcely flinches, pressing on confidently. Once she has blocked one of my wild swings, I completely lose the momentum and it isn’t too hard for her whack me on the knee. Stunned by the pain for a second, all she has to do is push me over. “First match goes to the Girl from the north! Get back in position!” A few coins change hands and for a moment I feel encouraged that bets were placed at all – before realising that the more relevant factor for the betting man is likely the length of time I stay up.

I have a bit longer to think this time as we make our way back to the centre and again, I cast around for anything I can use. My knee hurts like crazy, and normally I would sit down and have a nice rest with an injury like that. This time though, I have to recognise that it is just a bruise and ignore it. What advantage does a tortoise farmer have over a muscled northern tribesperson? I guess I had a long time to think and refine my brain – its only unfortunate I never managed to do that while running – or even standing up. I suppose I will have to do something clever and probably underhanded. That would make best use of my only non-existent advantage. “Begin!”

This time she holds back, circling and forcing me to circle with her. Because I have to keep my eyes on her and my focus on the ground, I don’t have any headspace to work out how to win. Though to be honest its not headspace I need. What I need is a great quantity of luck (or significantly more muscled arms) . My working plan? – run away until I get lucky. So I carry on circling, round until I put the most uneven patch of roots between us, then I stumble – only half pretend – and balance myself with a thrown out arm. Half crawling away and keeping all my focus in front of me - on not falling for real, I flail out blindly with the spear and feel it connect. To my utter shock, and slight horror, when I turn around, I see Greta sprawled out on the floor, an ugly sneer on her face. A giddy feeling of relief mixed with fear fills me and I start a little grin.

Utter silence emanates from the watching crowd. The Herald coughs. “Round two goes to the smug little shite.” He bellows to general laughter. “let’s see how he does in round three!”

To sum up how it goes, it goes quickly but painfully. I wasn’t going to get that lucky twice and she clearly enjoys beating the snot out of me in retaliation. She even holds me up from the ground to get a few more kicks in before letting me slump.

I go on to watch Greta win another five bouts, finally being sent off to give the Herald a chance to assess everyone else. I can’t muster too much pride as the only one to beat her because the rest of the assembled caravan are giving me funny looks. Later we are allowed to rest – not many people coming for a chat, so I lick my wounds in relative peace and quiet.

Then I see the driver, grey coated and rather out of place in the mess of soldiers and horses, walking towards me. “You, there. What’s your name?” “Kamu” I answer through a bloodied lip. “You looked a little desperate there – not done much fighting before?” I don’t really know what to say to that, so I nod, and she laughs. And not the kind of indulgent laugh you’re thinking of. “luckily”, she says, immediately serious, “I think I know just the place to put you. Come with me.”