Cyrus glanced at Xau,

riding beside him

in soot-stained clothes.

No bed rolls, no tents,

not even enough saddles

since the fire—

two of Xau’s guards

and twenty of Cyrus’s men

riding bareback—

at least they’d been able

to buy horse feed and rice.

None of them hungry,

Cyrus’s soldiers griping anyhow,

but no complaint from Xau.

“Speaking of which,” said Cyrus,

“thank you for offering hospitality,

but my men and I will turn round

once we reach your army.

Head straight back.”

“Are you certain?”

Xau looked at Cyrus.

“I’m certain,” said Cyrus.

“We’re running four days

behind schedule, not likely

to make up much of that

on the return trip.

My brother, King Tahj,

will be expecting me

to make all haste.”

Tahj would be furious

about what had happened,

even though it had not been

Cyrus’s doing.

A pause, before Cyrus added

in a sudden outburst,

aware that what he said

would be repeated to Tahj,

saying it anyhow:

“I owe you my life,

and the life of my men.

I won’t forget it.

I can’t repay you.

But I swear beneath

the eye of the sun

that I will never bear arms

against you, nor command

others to do so.”

Cyrus took a deep breath,

added more quietly,

“Had I been in your position,

I wouldn’t have done what you did.

Riding into fire.

Thank you.”

Xau turned to look at him,

his gaze level, intent.

“We would do it again.”

Cyrus silent as Xau then,

the cloudy dampness beading his hair

as they crossed the snow line.

And then the serried ranks

of the combined armies

of Innis and Meqing:

cavalry, archers, pikemen,

spearmen, scouts, siege units,

sword and shield and spear,

bow, catapult, lance, axe.

Silent. Still. Only their eyes

shifting to track Xau.

Their massed might a message

meant for Tahj, not Cyrus.

One that Tahj would take

as both threat and tribute,

a measure of respect.

Cyrus halted his horse,

his soldiers stopping behind him.

He bowed to Xau.

Xau bowed back, more deeply

than Cyrus’s rank merited.

Cyrus turned his horse round,

headed down the mountain

toward his brother’s anger,

which seemed to him

a smaller matter

than it ever had.

HEAT

King Donal, his armor burnished bright,

his horse caparisoned in green and gold,

rode from the still and serried ranks

of the combined armies of Innis and Meqing

to come alongside King Xau—

Xau, four days late returning:

grimy, even his horse grimy—

Xau who looked after his horses

better than he looked after himself—

but both man and horse alike

filthy, reeking of smoke—

Xau looked at Donal. “Thank you.

For the show of force.”

“What happened?

Did Tahj set a dragon on you?”

“One of his supporters

started a forest fire.”

“And you decided to ride into it,

rather than retreat?” Donal joked.

Xau silent.

No trace of a smile.

Only the jerk of his shoulders

as he straightened up—

Xau not just filthy, but exhausted,

barely holding himself upright—