them as Dunfarroghan—horse killers—for giving up their way of life and taking on the traits of their weak, soft enemies. A few hundred years later, the Tuathi forgot how much they despised their Dunfarroghan cousins, and they invaded again, greedy for fat cows and fertile soil. They took back Marghebellen and Gallenglaas, and even Helderaard fell to their spears.”
“The capital fell to invaders? What happened to the emperor? Did they kill him?”
“Nae. His court fled to Kemada, where the Shawnash’kote gave them asylum and the promise of an alliance to assist them in getting back their lands.”
“So that was where the Shawnash and the Waarden first allied? When the Tuathi stole Helderaard?”
“Aye. And the Shawnash never make big decisions lightly, so they saw something worthy in the Waarden. Hundreds of years have passed since the Tuathi last invaded, and in all that time, through good times and bad, the Shawnash and the Waarden have never parted ways. In fact, you’ll notice once we start seeing more nobles—and we will if we become duelists—most of them have a skin tone all their own: halfway between the Waarden, who are pale as milk, and the coppery cream of the Shawnash. I’ve heard the combination called ‘the noble tan.’”
Bayan raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Sounds pretty.”
Calder grinned. “Aye, it is. But only on the girls. Now, there are more imperial holidays on the calendar than you can strap onto a night caravan’s wagons. One city or another would hire my guild—my former guild—to make firedust flowers. Whenever I went, I hung in the background of the show and picked up a lot from a pack of history fanatics who loved to talk. Since I wasna allowed to fire off anything—” Calder paused to suppress a shudder, “I had time to stand around and listen to them. Some of the stories stuck.”
Bayan was quiet a moment. “You think Balanganese history will ever get taught in imperial schools?”
Calder heard bitterness in his voice, and wondered if Bayan thought the empire found nothing worthy in the Balanganese culture. His own Dunfarroghan background generally placed him below the Waarden and the Shawnash, and to the side of the Akrestoi, but above the Pinamuyoc and the ragtags. He knew he had a firm place in the empire and its history. Bayan had essentially no imperial history and might as well be a Tuathi or someone from the far eastern Corona, as far as having any sense of belonging in the empire.
“Aye,” Calder said, turning onto his stomach and hearing his own ropes creak. “All you need do is have the Tuathi run around the mountains and invade from the south. The empire will send the duelists to fight them off, you’ll be a hero back at home, we’ll all get a new holiday, and Balanganam will be the best known battlefield in every imperial school.”
Bayan laughed. “I’ll be sure to send the Tuathi a note.”
The Duelist Academy
The midmorning sun shone down into the narrow, sheer-walled valley ahead, and Bayan stared out the carriage window at the pale cliffs. The cliffs were much different from the dark, lumpy mountains around Pangusay. Their light color and height made him think of the dense white bread loaves the Waarden seemed to crave.
The valley they entered was lush and green, and the trees and shrubs beside the road were unfamiliar to Bayan. Their leaves were lighter in hue and smaller than those from his homeland, and their bark looked rough, even scaly. The smell of the crisp morning air was both sweet and spicy, and Bayan found that he liked it.
Philo, in a curly gray wig with red ribbons, buried his nose in more papers and seemed uninterested in the approach to the Duelist Academy. Bayan leaned out and glanced around at the riders, gratified that Frits, Fabian, and Joord seemed to enjoy the scenery as much as he did.
The carriage followed the valley floor and climbed ever upward. Bayan caught sight of something large and dark
“The capital fell to invaders? What happened to the emperor? Did they kill him?”
“Nae. His court fled to Kemada, where the Shawnash’kote gave them asylum and the promise of an alliance to assist them in getting back their lands.”
“So that was where the Shawnash and the Waarden first allied? When the Tuathi stole Helderaard?”
“Aye. And the Shawnash never make big decisions lightly, so they saw something worthy in the Waarden. Hundreds of years have passed since the Tuathi last invaded, and in all that time, through good times and bad, the Shawnash and the Waarden have never parted ways. In fact, you’ll notice once we start seeing more nobles—and we will if we become duelists—most of them have a skin tone all their own: halfway between the Waarden, who are pale as milk, and the coppery cream of the Shawnash. I’ve heard the combination called ‘the noble tan.’”
Bayan raised his eyebrows and smiled. “Sounds pretty.”
Calder grinned. “Aye, it is. But only on the girls. Now, there are more imperial holidays on the calendar than you can strap onto a night caravan’s wagons. One city or another would hire my guild—my former guild—to make firedust flowers. Whenever I went, I hung in the background of the show and picked up a lot from a pack of history fanatics who loved to talk. Since I wasna allowed to fire off anything—” Calder paused to suppress a shudder, “I had time to stand around and listen to them. Some of the stories stuck.”
Bayan was quiet a moment. “You think Balanganese history will ever get taught in imperial schools?”
Calder heard bitterness in his voice, and wondered if Bayan thought the empire found nothing worthy in the Balanganese culture. His own Dunfarroghan background generally placed him below the Waarden and the Shawnash, and to the side of the Akrestoi, but above the Pinamuyoc and the ragtags. He knew he had a firm place in the empire and its history. Bayan had essentially no imperial history and might as well be a Tuathi or someone from the far eastern Corona, as far as having any sense of belonging in the empire.
“Aye,” Calder said, turning onto his stomach and hearing his own ropes creak. “All you need do is have the Tuathi run around the mountains and invade from the south. The empire will send the duelists to fight them off, you’ll be a hero back at home, we’ll all get a new holiday, and Balanganam will be the best known battlefield in every imperial school.”
Bayan laughed. “I’ll be sure to send the Tuathi a note.”
The Duelist Academy
The midmorning sun shone down into the narrow, sheer-walled valley ahead, and Bayan stared out the carriage window at the pale cliffs. The cliffs were much different from the dark, lumpy mountains around Pangusay. Their light color and height made him think of the dense white bread loaves the Waarden seemed to crave.
The valley they entered was lush and green, and the trees and shrubs beside the road were unfamiliar to Bayan. Their leaves were lighter in hue and smaller than those from his homeland, and their bark looked rough, even scaly. The smell of the crisp morning air was both sweet and spicy, and Bayan found that he liked it.
Philo, in a curly gray wig with red ribbons, buried his nose in more papers and seemed uninterested in the approach to the Duelist Academy. Bayan leaned out and glanced around at the riders, gratified that Frits, Fabian, and Joord seemed to enjoy the scenery as much as he did.
The carriage followed the valley floor and climbed ever upward. Bayan caught sight of something large and dark
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