DONAL

If they kill you, I’ll tear them apart, I’ll—
Fuck.
I’ll defend our kingdoms.

XAU

Thank you.

OATH

Once,

there came into the horse country

a scarred king

whose destiny was ordained

by dragons.

Their horses stood in the river,

seeking relief from the heat,

from the clouds of insects,

as the horse lords knelt

to the scarred king,

and the sunlight caught

on their gold armbands

as they placed their bows

at his feet:

“Our bows, our blood,

our men at your command,

wherever and whenever

you have need of us.”

A thousand years and more

the horse lords had held

the eastern border of Meqing,

yet never before sworn to fight

beyond the horse country,

and the sunlight caught

on the hilt of King Xau’s sword

as he stood by the river,

bitten alive by midge and mosquito,

and laid his hand

on each man’s forehead.

Later,

when the time came,

the horse lords kept their oath.

RECRUITS

On the night of the half moon,

the scarred king went

to King Donal’s tent

and, waking him from sleep,

led him to the hillside

where waited the wild horses.

Hundreds of horses,

the light of the waxing moon

glinting in their sideward glance;

the smell, heat, breath of them.

Donal a veteran of many battles,

blooded, bold, brave,

yet an emptiness to his stomach

as if he were falling.

He stood by King Xau

as a stocky, large-headed horse

came right up to them,

inhaled Xau’s scent,

lowered its large head

at Xau’s touch.

“Will you help us?”

Xau asked the horse.

“Will you follow King Donal?

Will you carry his soldiers?”

The horse swung its head round

to sniff Donal’s breath,

nickered once.

And one after another

the horses came up

and Xau spoke to them

and laid his scarred hands on them,

and all the while Donal’s heart pounded

as if he had run for miles.

When the last horse moved away,

the two men stood, side by side,

the hill below them

covered in horses.

Donal turned to Xau,

the younger king trembling now,

though he had shown no sign

of cold or strain earlier.

“Are you all right?”

A pause before Xau said, “Yes,”

and then, haltingly,

“Do not spend their lives lightly.”

Donal nodded,

and in that singular night,

one more strangeness:

a sudden disconcerting impression

that Xau was receding further

and further from him—

he reached for Xau’s shoulder,

reassuringly solid,

let go again.

Knelt.

And Donal the Red King

pledged then his sword,

his blood, his men

to the scarred king;

shadow and darkness behind them,

shadow and darkness ahead.

BRIDGE

Night after night, in dream,

King Xau stood at the midpoint

of a narrow span of green jade

high over a rocky gorge.

Behind him: drum rolls, trumpets,

battle cries, screams, groans.

He tried to turn. Couldn’t.

Couldn’t draw his sword.

Woke soaked in sweat,

gripped by the dragon’s warning.

Then spent his days, his strength,

readying for war.

A war that did not come.