“He doesn’t have to like them,

only to profit from them.”

“You overstep yourself.

I am no nursemaid.”

She rose.

Belched smoke.

Bared yellow teeth long as daggers.

Brought her head, those jaws,

within an inch of Xau.

Who stood his ground. Firm.

Until Li yanked him back,

placed himself once more

between Xau and the dragon.

Her head prodded Li. Hard.

“I like you, Captain.

Keep shielding your king.

He undervalues himself.”

She leaned her head round to Xau.

“I see you have your balls back.

Very well. Send Keng.

If he’s a poor pupil,

I can eat him.”

Xau bowed again.

With Li at his side,

he set off down the mountain.

Exhausted. Damp. Neck stinging.

Better.

THE IMPERIAL WAR: ONSET

King Xau’s declaration of war

sped by pigeon and courier:

a day to signal his border posts,

two days to alert his nearest ally,

three days to notify his enemy.

That enemy, the Emperor Tahj,

feasting on figs soaked in syrup,

bespoke the beast who shared

his thoughts; the beast bespoke

their aides, spies, puppets.

Before Tahj finished his dessert,

before he licked his fingers

and lounged back on his throne,

his orders made known

across two thousand miles.

BOATMAN

Special cargo, the lieutenant told Shu. Top speed, don’t dock at towns. Ten men who can help you out on the barge. And twenty horses. Shu knew better than to tell the lieutenant the river was running rough, glutted with spring rain, horse-spooking. The horses came aboard nice and easy enough, and the ten men worked hard and willing. Didn’t give their names. Dressed like stablehands, except they carried swords and Shu saw bow-cases in their baggage. Their leader a quiet man, lean, alert, surefooted. Took Shu a couple of days to notice how the quiet man watched after an even quieter man, mute or silent, blue scarf wrapped round his neck day and night, who did most of the grunt-work with the horses. Took the storm for Shu to finish putting it together. Bolts of lightning, rain in sheets, thunder fit to break his eardrums. Men and horses belowdecks, the man with the scarf going from horse to horse, laying his hands on them, his scarred hands, patient, and the horses watching him, still, calm. Unnatural. Only it didn’t feel unnatural, it felt right. Like a shepherd calming a lambing ewe. Or the king, Shu’s king, on his way to war, looking after his horses.

IMPOSTOR

“Tack up your horse. Now.”

Gan kept his face neutral,

but didn’t bother disguising

the disgust in his voice.

“I’m the king. You do it.”

Gan glanced at the man.

“Stay in character. Act like him—”

“We are the king,

tack up our horse for us, guard.”

A sneer on the man’s face,

on his freshly-shaven face

slimmed down by diet,

his physical resemblance

to King Xau as remarkable

as his manner was repellent.

“Either you tack up your horse,”

said Gan, “or I’ll set up the tent,

take you inside where no one can see us,