Chapter 1

Ruth faked quickly to the left as her opponent missed his mark. In a swift and nimble turn that had taken years of practice, she turned on him and sliced her sword across his chest. The scraping of dull metal against hard leather ground against her ears.

"Kill"

Master Raltin’s flat, emotionless voice sounded loud and clear over the courtyard, and the two adversaries broke off their fight. Each headed off to their separate corners of The School’s training courtyard.

As Ruth took her seat on the small, wooden bench that the masters had placed at her corner of the courtyard, she sighed with frustration. She shouldn’t have allowed Myke to get under her guard in the first place. Such a mistake would get her killed in a real fight. As she wiped the driblets of sweat off her face and started to unbuckle her leather armor, she silently berated herself far better than any of the masters ever could. It doesn’t stop Master Raltin from having his say however, and there’s nothing worse in Ruth’s opinion than having to listen to one of Master Raltin’s flat, emotionless lectures.

As she saw the master approach her bench from Myke’s side of the courtyard, she took a small amount of relief that Myke looked suitably chastised. He too made a mistake a first year novice shouldn’t have made when he let his eyes leave her sword. She always was more nimble than Myke was though. However, he made up for it in brute strength. Her arms ached at the shoulder joints, and she rolled them in a circular motion in an effort to work out the kinks. Master Raltin stopped about a meter from her bench and looked at her. His face was as emotionless as his voice. Ruth doesn’t have to fake looking chastised for him though, still berating herself for her stupidity.

"You could have done better." Praise from Master Raltin. "You shouldn’t have let him under your guard in the first round. It was sloppy." Totally flat and emotionless, but Ruth got the point.

She kept her head bowed towards the ground. It wouldn’t do to look a master straight in the eye, even if she weren’t being chastised. "Yes sir. It will never happen again." She spoke in her normal tone, for if she spoke any softer than that Master Raltin wouldn’t be able to hear her at all. Her voice was soft and gentle, in sharp contrast to the bulky vestige she seemed with her leather practice armor bulking up her slim body. The gracefulness of her moves on the practice field made it somewhat believable that such a soft voice might come from a fighter.

Master Raltin left it at that. He was not one for many words and Ruth knew that. She also knew that what he said was not only correct, but also a heavy chastisement from the master. After five years of training at The School she knew that Master Raltin wouldn’t say anything at all when he approved of a student. Ruth sighed to herself, knowing that she’d never graduate at this rate. She’d end up like some of her other classmates, as officers in the Royal Army. Ruth has worked too hard at becoming a Samarit, one of Altoria’s elite royal guards, for that.

Ruth began to pick up her armor and the rest of her equipment as soon as Master Raltin left her sight. Amongst her practice swords were axes and lances as well as other weapons. Over the years, she had become proficient in most of them. She heaved the bulky equipment over her shoulder and grunted under the weight, already starting to move towards the senior women’s barracks. She had just enough time to get ready for dinner.

All students were expected to dress in a ‘suitable’ manner for dinner. This means not straight from the practice fields, but clean and as well dressed as the student uniforms allowed them. The masters weren’t required to dress in any manner, of course, but they infallibly dressed for dinner. Some aspects to Samarit training don’t just involve the skills of the warrior, although many students take their time in realizing it.

Ruth tightened the plain, leather belt that tied her black tunic at the waist. The silver dagger on her chest denoted her as a senior. She smiled as she brushed and then braided her long, brown hair. The five years since she first wore the white dagger of a junior novice didn’t seem all that long ago. Now she taught the juniors, since the duties of the class above included the suitable instruction of the class below. If any student failed in their leveling exams, the teacher bore as much fault as the student. Any student or teacher who failed more than once never returned to The School. Not even all the seniors graduated to the esteemed title of Samarit, and for a Samarit to achieve the Master level took decades of hard work and dedication.

She checked herself in the looking glass, took a deep breath, and cleared all the negative thoughts out of her head with a quick meditation. Everyone must arrive on time to dinner. She hurried out of her room, not wanting to be late, arriving in the dining hall just in time.

She slipped into the seat next to her roommate, Myrna, breathing heavily. Myrna’s stocky build was a sharp contrast to Ruth’s slight figure, but the two were great friends.

"You almost didn’t make it." Myrna whispered quietly to Ruth as the staff served the first course of what looked like a delicious meal.

"I know, I had to hurry."

Myrna didn’t exaggerate about Ruth not making it to dinner. If any novice came late to dinner they ate late, with the kitchen staff. If enough food hadn’t been made to feed the kitchen staff and the novice, then the novice went without. Ruth’s ravenous appetite after practices made sure she rarely missed a dinner.

Dinner at The School was always a slow affair, often lasting several hours. Long, ceremonious dinners at the Royal Court where most Samarit were stationed made this necessary. Samarit must be able to behave in a courtly manner. Ruth always enjoyed dinnertime as a time where she could review her day, and clear her mind. Most of her classmates understood and respected Ruth’s silences, knowing that she would be quite willing to talk if they were willing to start a conversation.

As Ruth pondered her day, her thoughts wandered towards the past. She remembered her first days at The School. Ruth had mistakenly thought her father had trained her hard and had quite a surprise during her first few weeks at The School.

A small sigh escaped her lips, as it did every time she thought of her father. She wished he hadn’t died before she could prove to him that she’d get through The School. Maybe he hadn’t had any doubts, but she had. She still did. She still felt it was very unlike her father to get killed in a silly border skirmish with the Tartarian border patrols. As a general, he was to inspect the border troops not to patrol with them. She sighed to herself, not sure she’d ever have that mystery cleared up for her.

The nightly announcements interrupted her reverie just as the last bite of her dinner passed her lips. Ruth’s timing was generally perfect enough that she finished her meals just as the Masters did. No one was allowed to eat once the announcements started. She listened attentively, as all novices were trained to. Her eyes wandered slightly and took notice of several junior novices whom were going to have their knuckles whipped later. The Masters noticed things like not paying attention, even if they didn’t seem to.

The seniors were allowed to seem more relaxed than they actually were. The advanced training of novices required them to hear conversations without seeming to pay attention. Announcements were always considered a good time to practice that particular skill, and the seniors were quite aware that they might be asked to repeat any part of the announcements verbatim, to insure they paid close attention to what was said.

Ruth blinked, and then repeated the last section of announcements in her head. She, Myrna and two other classmates were to report to Master Cliyre’s office. Ruth tried to hide the nervousness that she suddenly felt and continued to listen to the announcements. Hardly anyone ever got called to Master Cliyre’s office. Anyone who went up to The School’s Headmaster, never returned to classes, and most ended up in the army. Seniors received an automatic commission to officer due to their training, but even the army is a let down to someone who had trained so long and hard to become a Samarit.

Ruth stood with her fellow students and filed out of the dining hall with her class. As they left the hall, she looked at Myrna. Her roommate mirrored the nervousness Ruth hoped that she didn’t show. That mistake in practice that afternoon must be the reason she was called up to the Headmaster’s office. Trev and Linol, the other two students called, joined the two friends outside the dining hall, and they all headed to Master Cliyre’s office as a united front.