I ask a bored-looking gate guard for directions to the palace. He gives me an annoyed look. “Just keep going up.”

Up? But then I actually peer through the gates. There, on a hill in the distance, I see grand stone buildings surrounded by smooth walls and lush trees.

Fair enough.

The neighborhoods inside the gates aren’t very different from the rosemarked compound, though the buildings aren’t quite as shabby, and it’s more crowded. As I walk though, the houses get nicer, and the people around me wear finer clothing. The roads themselves are paved with well-fitted cobblestones instead of dirt. Finally I arrive at the smooth limestone walls of the palace, where a dour guard looks at my token and points me to a small mud-brick building nearby.

“That houses the army scribe. Give your token there.”

By now I’m wondering if life in the army isn’t as exciting as I thought it would be. First the bored guard at the city gate. Then the grumpy one at the palace, and now the scribe in the army hut looks positively drowsy. I hand him my token of invitation, and he squints at it, frowning. “It’s not the season for new recruits.”

“Commander Arxa sent for me.”

The scribe pulls out a long scroll, which he pores over. He shuffles to the back and comes out with an armful of things, handing them to me one by one.

“Bedding, two tunics, two trousers, cloak, sandals. Your commanders will see to your weapons.”

He points to a map carved into the wall. “Barracks seven, bed five.”

These are the most detailed directions I’ve gotten all day. I scoop up my newfound wealth and head out. From my glimpse of the map, it looks like the grander parts of the palace make up the center of the compound, while the barracks and training fields sit on the outer rim. I glance over my shoulder one last time at the polished limestone columns of the palace proper before heading to the section for mere mortals.

I run across more soldiers as I walk. Some I recognize because they’re in livery. Others simply have the look of fighters, even though they’re just milling around the grounds. I linger a bit by a large training field where men are working through fencing drills in pairs, and then continue on to the big rectangular barracks. I get a few second glances as I walk by, though I don’t know if people are noticing my skin or my armful of new possessions. One man in particular turns his head sharply toward me. He has umbermarks like me, and I recognize Cas, the small man I fenced with at the compound. I nod a greeting.

His nostrils flare. His eyes harden, and he turns away.

So much for making a friend.