“I remember you, Atun, son of Anikha.

I see your arrows still fly as true

as they did before you left

the horse country.”

Atun bowed deeply,

his braided hair swinging.

He wore the plain black

of a king’s guard now,

but he had kept the silver armbands,

the braided hair of a horse warrior.

The Khan thumped Atun on the shoulder,

went off to congratulate the man

who’d done second-best.

King Xau, who had downed

only a single squirrel,

grinned at Atun.

“Don’t let our gardeners learn

of your squirrel-slaughtering skills

or they’ll try to hire you

away from us.”

“Hmmm,” said Atun.

“The work would be easier.”

Captain Li shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Your Majesty.

I couldn’t get rid of him

even if I put him on night duty

for a month and stopped his pay.”

“We know,” said Xau softly,

his eyes on Atun.

Then two hours gentle riding

through the forest,

the resinous scent of larch needles,

the calls of the birds.

Back out onto the open grassland,

the shadows lengthening,

Atun guarding his king,

a day of gold.

MANEUVERS

“Show us,” said Subetei Khan,

leader of the horse tribes,

“that we may be ready

if war comes.”

Weighing the worth of that

against his reluctance

to ask it of the horses,

King Xau agreed.

And at summer’s close

on a day of sunbaked heat

Subetei Khan’s horse warriors

and one quarter of King Xau’s infantry

jointly rehearsed for battle.

No blood, no broken bones,

no groans, no screams;

only the rhythm of drums,

the thrum of hoofbeats;

a river of horses following Xau,

answering his will,

maneuvering before their riders

even gave commands;

parting into streams

that arced across the grassland,

each separate stream in perfect order

as if the horses were a thousand shadows

of a single faultless form;

sweeping down upon the infantry,

scattering men like sheep.

When they were done,

Xau dismounted, sweaty and spent,

and Subetei Khan knelt to him

on the downtrodden grass,

but no words came to the Khan

for what he had witnessed.

ADDENDUM

“It will not be like that,”

said King Xau, walking his horse

to cool him down.

“If their infantry use pikes,

if they hold formation—”

“I know,” said Subetei.

“Men and horses will die.”

Xau silent, walking his horse,

his guards ringed round him.

“And yet,” said Subetei,

“whatever you ask of them,

the horses will do

without signal or word.

An unrivaled advantage.”

Xau silent.

Li, captain of his guards, silent.

Both men thinking of Enlai,

of how the enemy had tried

to end that advantage.

REUNION

Enlai could smell the audience

gathering in the Khan’s tent:

the horse warriors didn’t appear

to approve of bathing.

Months since he’d played in public,

his last performance a disaster,

but nervousness unnecessary.

He was ready, surely he was ready.

He rubbed at a speck on his harp,

allowed himself to anticipate

both his impending triumph

and the Khan’s promised payment.

The audience fell silent and stood.