Li’s hand on his shoulder,

Li, captain of his guards.

Who helped him onto a horse.

The wrong horse, Li’s horse.

Li swung up behind him,

reached his arms round Xau.

“What?” said Xau, sleep-muddled.

“You’re riding with me,” said Li.

“Don’t argue. Don’t fall asleep.

I can’t hold you on the horse

all the way back to camp.”

Too tired to protest,

Xau swayed and drooped

in rhythm with the horse’s trot.

Something he wanted to say.

Had wanted to say, years ago,

riding double with Li

under worse circumstances.

A man dead, no girl saved.

“Li,” said Xau. Stopped.

Too tired to say this well,

how much he valued Li,

and surely Li already knew.

Worse never to say it at all.

“We, I, depend on you.

You are an anchor,

always there when I need you.”

“An anchor? Weighing you down?”

Amusement in Li’s voice.

Then, matter-of-factly,

“Nowhere I would rather be.”

KHIDYR

“Gan, wrestle with me.”

Leong pulled off his tunic,

threw it on the grass. “Hurry.”

Gan, sitting cross-legged

beside King Xau’s tent,

shook his head. “I’m resting.

I stood guard last night.”

“You’ve rested enough.”

Leong looked over at Khidyr,

the woman standing beside King Xau,

the latest—

and to Leong’s mind the finest—

of the many horse women

who’d approached King Xau:

Khidyr plumper (pleasingly so)

and a few years older than most,

offering the king

not a night in her tent

but her expertise as a midwife.

Leong, who served double duty

as both guard and field surgeon,

had watched Khidyr examine the queen

(now six months into her pregnancy),

had admired her dry humor,

the deftness of her hands.

Khidyr bowed to King Xau—

was she leaving already?—

“Gan, come on. One bout.

And if you let me win,

I’ll stand your next night duty.”

“Done.” Gan took off his boots.

“Is this about the woman?”

“The woman?” Leong feigned nonchalance.

Gan looked pointedly

at Leong’s discarded tunic.

“You don’t usually strip down

to your pants for fights.”

Leong flushed as they bowed to each other.

He closed on Gan,

grappled with him,

Gan a giant of a man,

his biceps like iron.

Leong slid his left foot forward,

a mistake—his base unstable,

but instead of attacking,

Gan released him,

presenting a possible opening.

Leong seized him by knee and wrist—

a move Gan himself had taught Leong,

along with two ways to block it—

and threw Gan.

Gan hit the grass,

groaned theatrically...

which would have been perfect,

except that Captain Li

was standing ten feet away.

“Gan.” Li’s voice ice.

“You’re a king’s guard.

Your poor performance,

your intentionally poor performance,

disgraces the king. Get up.

Put your boots on.”

Gan got up,

pulled on his boots,

while Li turned on Leong:

“As for you, if you are determined

to make a spectacle of yourself,

then spar with me instead.”

Not good.

Not good at all.

Leong, already halfway

to being thoroughly ashamed,

bowed to Li.

They circled briefly.