Private Tales The Boys and The Girls

[Suleiman Jemeital]

THE WAR COLLEGE LIBRARY​

How did it all go so wrong?

Suleiman lay with his back bent on the edge of a table that had toppled over onto its side during the scuffle, half standing and half in the halted process of falling over to the ground. He lay there dazed, staring up at the ceiling, but not quite out yet. His friends, Turgut and Dogan, were both reeling on the ground, and two of his enemies, Goldu and Byrrin, lay splayed out nearby. Harad Gildal, the chief instigator of this all, and the young noble student who was something of a rival, if not a nemesis, to Suleiman, leaned on the library counter, barely holding himself up with both his arms upon the counter's surface, panting and recovering but, like Suleiman, not quite out of it yet. Worst of all, poor Melek! Melek Ishikal had gotten mixed up in all this, and she had taken a wayward blow, and she, too, lay on the ground, her hands pressed to her head in a feeble attempt to nurse her injury.

Now they were all a mess. Seven Quaestors, future Praetors, Gild's finest, Regel's chosen even, all caught in this squabble which had started from something so damn petty. But it had come to this regardless.

Harad pushed himself back up onto his feet.

And then a small ray of evening light, coming through the westward window of the library, came to warm Suleiman's face. It was invigorating. And, if nothing else, a sign. That's right.

Suleiman righted himself, stood tall again on his own two feet as well. This had to end one way or another, right? They were all going to be punished for this, no matter what, so best to win this thing and teach Harad a lesson.

"You look like you want to taste the floor with your buddies," said Suleiman to Harad.

And then he closed in and threw a punch.

 

[Melek Ishikal]

THREE WEEKS EARLIER
THE WAR COLLEGE
TRAINING GROUNDS​

These were the parts of Quaestor training that Melek did not like.

She and her class stood now in the dirt that comprised the College's Training Grounds, and several Praetor and Noble Instructors went among them. Oh, but it was a nice day to be outside, for clear blue spanned unbroken from east to west and made a sea of the sky, the midday sun generously wreathed them all in warmth, and the breeze, gentle and knowing, came only when needed.

Yet today it would be more training in their martial pursuits, and these days Melek had come to dread as things unpleasant. She minded not pure physical training—that which focused on strength and endurance—even if she lagged significantly behind in strength compared to her peers. Endurance she could do! She had, after all, taken after her mother, a courier, and did not always have the luxury of a horse for some deliveries; and adding to this, she grew up on her father's farm, and though she did not do the sort of work that the farmboys of Bayat did, nevertheless she worked quite a lot from sunup till sundown.

But training with weapons, the true pursuit of war, did little to capture Melek's heart. She certainly lacked ability, oh yes, she would admit this to any who asked, but nearly everyone in the War College lacked ability—they were here to learn, after all. But the other Quaestors, the noble students, they wanted to learn, and they had natural ability. Melek did not care so much for it. Yes, she liked training in her gift, her Praetor power that Regel had bestowed upon her; and yes, she liked all of her studies, and even though she was not the best in her academics, her heart was in it, and she had a passion to learn all those subjects which the College taught.

What kept her going in martial training, even though she lacked the heart for it, was the fact that she had inherited her father's yatagan. Somehow his weapon had survived the sacking of Bayat, and the soldier who found it speculated that Altan, mortally wounded, had perhaps thrown it, or hid it, in the hope that the Ommites would not find it. But the weapon had come now into Melek's hands, and she felt she might...dishonor, or disappoint, or somehow do her father's memory an ill, if she did not at least try to learn how to wield it, especially now that it was her calling in life as a soon-to-be Praetor.

Her father's weapon rested beside her bed in her dormitory. As with all training days, she would wield a wooden yatagan instead.

Today, the Quaestors would spar. The Instructors walked among them, and paired them up. The spar would last for a time, and then they would change partners. Three rounds went by, when Instructor Pontus called out:

"Melek. Suleiman. You two for this round."