Hidden deep within a forest a short way to the North-West of the Royal City, Justisar, was the Amber Army’s headquarters. Constructed of dark stone, with dusty windows spanning across the walls, the place had a very gothic appearance to it. Stag named the place the Amber Hall.

The Amber Hall was split into four quadrants. The girls’ dorms were to the east, the boys’ dorms to the west, the training hall to the north and the recreation room to the south.

It was evening when they reached the Amber Halls, and Locke lit up when he saw it. This place was amazing compared to Arindel.

‘Make yourself scarce,’ Stag roared over the soldiers, who were eager to jump off Dorothy and return to their rooms. ‘Have a good night’s sleep and meet me here at sunrise. I feel it is time that we turn things up a notch with your training.’

Groans swept through the ranks of the soldiers.

Locke expected Stag to show anger, but a malicious smile played at his mouth instead.

‘Sleep well, all of you. It’s the last time you’ll be able to for months.’

Locke shared his dorm with two more people. The first was Rickter, who rarely spoke and spent his time brooding with his chin down. His raven-coloured hair fell to his nose and forked off in both directions.

Since they had met, Rickter had only spared him a word of introduction. He wore a dusty cloak that was tattered and frayed, and beneath the swishing fabric, Locke thought he saw a shifting creature move from within the cloth. Rickter looked to be about a year or two older than Locke, and a good head or two taller. What Rickter lacked in muscle, he made up for in height, giving him a gangly appearance.

Then there was Stocke. A quiet boy, same age as Locke, and his head always buried in his books. He, too, did not talk much, but he did exchange words of greeting and well wishes with Locke when they met their eyes before he returned to his books. He interested himself in all manner of subjects, geography, philosophy, history, et cetera.

Stocke had blue hair that puffed out from his head, and wide, circle glasses that shielded his yellow eyes. Stocke moved about in a weird way that was unlike anyone he had ever seen, and as soon as they entered the dorms, he jumped onto his bed and curled to sleep.

Locke, laying down on the mattress, thought of all the events that had happened, and how far he had travelled from home. He thought of Fahrla and prayed that she was safe. At some point, his thoughts drifted into his dreams.

BANG BANG BANG! A continuous crashing sound rent the air, accompanied by Arla’s voice. ‘WAKE UP!’

It was still dark, and in the darkness, they stumbled over each other, changing into the army uniforms that had been laid out at the foot of their bed, tripping over each other in their mad dash to get prepared. They ran together down the hall as all the other recruits ran out from their own dorms. When Stag ordered you to do something, you did it, lest you suffer one of his punishments.

Stag was waiting for them outside in the grounds, his hands folded behind his back, watching them as they filed into order in front of him. Arla was on his left and Miles on his right. But as the courtyard continued to fill, he did not utter a word. The minutes ticked by, until:

‘Ahh, at long last. Kets.’ He pointed to the girl who had just left the building, rubbing at the sleep in her eyes. Kets was a dopy girl who was always slow on the uptake. ‘Thought you’d have a bit of a sleep in?’

‘Sorry.’ She yawned. ‘I fell back asleep.’

Stag cracked a smile. ‘With this training, I am going to whip all of you into shape, and that includes discipline. Kets, come up here.’ Kets looked nervously from side to side, then moved past the crowd of people and stepped up to Stag. Stag cracked a smile, showing all his teeth, then pressed his thumb into Kets’ forehead. A blue mark appeared where he had pushed in his thumb. ‘I will mark anyone who I find to be slacking off. Then at the end of the day, you will be punished equal to how many marks you have received. You had best prepare yourself, because I am not going to be going easy on any of you. Now, everyone, drop and give me twenty push ups.’

‘Twenty!’ Trys cried as they jumped down and started. Stag ran them through a variety of exercises, and anyone found to be too slow, or had fallen part of the way, were branded with the blue mark that marked their impending punishment. All around Locke, blue marks began to cover the foreheads of the soldiers around him. Stag did not go easy on him, either. When running laps around the Amber Halls, he had crashed into Kets and they both fell to the ground. Before he could even pull himself up, Stag was over him, pressing his thumb into his forehead.

When it was time for their lunch, he had three blue marks on his forehead, and was shocked to find that he was on the lower side compared to everyone else. Trys had seven, Kets had eleven, and Stocke and Rickter each had six.

After their break, Stag had them all assemble in the courtyard, handing each of them a sword.

‘Who has swung one of these before?’ Stag asked. Around half of the soldiers raised their hands. ‘And who here has swung one to protect their own life before?’ All the hands dropped. ‘Very well, look at me and follow my instructions.’ He held his trustworthy sword out in front of him, the hilt pressed against his hip.

‘Everyone, copy my stance. Your dominant foot is forward, your other foot is back and perpendicular to it, keep your knees bent. Your dominant hand should hold the sword further up than the back hand, now hold it directly straight like this. Do you understand?’ He looked around at the soldiers. ‘Kets, fix your back leg, Trys, don’t let the sword drop like that. Mark, don’t go looking off to the side and getting distracted, Rickter, loosen your shoulders. Ok, this looks good. Some changes could be made, but you’ll get used to it. Now, when striking with your sword, you must remember one thing above all else – commit your soul to the swing! Weakness will be your undoing.’

Over the next few hours, Stag continued to run them through the stances and the process for swinging a sword. But, no matter how often Kets forgot her stance, he marked none of them with a blue mark. Hours passed by, and they were all tired.

‘Ok, good work all. I think it’s time for your punishment.’ Stag cracked his knuckles as he spoke. ‘Split into groups of five, and then I’ll discuss the rules.’ Soldiers turned to each other, inviting people to be in their group. Locke found himself with Trys, and they were soon joined by Rickter, Stocke, and Kets, who seemed pleased to have been included.

‘Arla, come here,’ Stag said. Arla joined Stag at the front. ‘If I were to mark Arla.’ He pressed his thumb into Arla’s forehead and left her with a blue mark. ‘Then, if I were to flick her.’ He flicked her forehead, and the blue mark disappeared and formed on his own forehead. ‘I will steal her mark. This is a game, you see. I have set up markers at the edge of the playing field in the forest. Everywhere within those markers are open to you. Since this is our first time playing the game, no one will be allowed any weapons.’

Trys’ hand shot up. ‘But what’s the purpose, what do we need to do?’

‘Ah. Basically, any group that does not have forty marks by the time the hour is up will have no dinner and will instead face a most gruelling punishment.’

‘What! How is that fair?’ The speaker was a mean-faced boy that was around sixteen years old. His name was Kelth. He had no marks on his forehead. ‘I’m at a disadvantage because I made no mistakes.’

Stag laughed. ‘Oh well, then you had better think of something quick. The test starts …’