Days gave way to weeks,

weeks to months,

and though Xau knew

this respite would not last,

he set the thought of war aside

for whole hours at a time—

Balanced the Khan’s eagle

on his gloved arm,

that weight,

the clench of talons.

Took Ying, his daughter, shooting;

her gaze steady, measured,

as she drew the bow;

her laugh as the arrow flew—

At night, in dream, the bridge.

The narrow span of green jade

the only color in a world

of rock and air and cloud.

From far below, the sound

of the river rushing over stone.

And then, behind him,

the din of battle.

WAY-FORT

Well past midnight,

Yang Du mucked out horse stalls

and pondered the quirks of fate.

He’d spent the past month

bemoaning his assignment

to a minor way-fort

on the edge of nowhere.

And yet, six hours ago,

the king himself had arrived

to stay for the night,

the king and his family

and their guards,

all returning from the horse country.

Yang Du had attended

to the half dozen spare mounts

while King Xau and his men

cared for their own horses.

Yang Du’s commander had run in

halfway through,

then hovered over the king,

offering him tea, food, hay for his horse,

gazing about the stables in dismay

as if wishing he had thought

to fit the stalls with carpets.

That a tale Yang Du’s grandma

would love to hear.

Of course, now the king

was sleeping in silk sheets

while Yang Du shoveled horse shit.

Noises sounded outside

in the courtyard—

a courier traveling through the night?—

no, not hooves on stone,

but hurried footsteps—

Yang Du opened the stable doors:

the king and three of his guards.

“Your Majesty?”

“The four of us are leaving,”

said the king.

Leaving? In the middle of the night?

Yang Du swallowed his curiosity,

asked only, “Which horses?”

“Please ready Fenfei.

We’ll see to the others.”

The king nodded to Fenfei’s stall,

then turned to one of his guards.

“Leong, sit down, rest.”

The guard, a man maybe forty years old,

a few white hairs among the black,

sank heavily onto a stool.

“Be quick. I’m dying.”

Yang Du stared at the guard.

He’d never seen a dying man.

Not that the guard looked ill.

Yang Du bowed to him.

“Shall I call the surgeon for you?”

“I’m a surgeon,” said the guard.

“Spoke to yours. Need to see the man

southwest of here. My only hope.”

“Don’t be alarmed,” said the king,

accepting a hoof pick

and brushes from Yang Du.

“Leong will be fine. It’s just his tooth—”

“Just my tooth! Abscessed at the least,

possible bone infection.”

Yang Du went into Fenfei’s stall,

began grooming the mare.

He heard Leong mutter,

“Just a tooth! I like that tooth.

Or at least, I liked it before

it attacked me.”

“You mean”—the king’s voice—

“before you tried cracking

walnuts with it.”

“Don’t remind me!”

Yang Du cleaned Fenfei’s hooves,

brushed her, combed her,