Keng bows, turns to leave, turns back.

KENG

What would you have done if I’d left when
you first told me to go?

DRAGON

Eaten you.

THE IMPERIAL WAR: SECOND BATTLE

On a cool clear morning

in a meadow moist with dew,

two armies faced each other.

Memnor, King of Ritany,

gray-haired and great-hearted,

sat astride his warhorse,

his army outnumbered three to one,

his foot soldiers ranked nervously

behind the remnants of his cavalry—

Three quarters of his cavalry

lost in the first battle,

shielding the retreat

of his foot soldiers—

Due to that defeat,

the enemy now eighty miles

inside Memnor’s borders.

Memnor’s plan, his one chance,

a gambit hinging

on his ally, King Xau.

Opposite Memnor,

the marshaled might

of Tahj’s Imperial army.

Sunlight glinted from spear and javelin,

sword and shield and axe,

from Tahj’s cavalry, thousands-strong,

their armor burnished bright.

(The Emperor Tahj himself far away,

a girl-child oiling his shoulders

as he gloated, spying the battlefield

via the beast’s borrowed visions.)

Behind Memnor’s main army,

six hundred townsmen and farmers,

untrained, unready,

armed with pitchforks and scythes

or swords they’d never used.

Tam, a silversmith,

gripped his grandfather’s sword,

stared at death, at Tahj’s soldiers.

Those same soldiers

had overrun Tam’s town.

He thought of his wife,

her bloodied body.

Held his place.

Standing on Tam’s left,

hooded, hidden like his guards

among the farmers and townsmen,

King Xau waited.

Trumpets blared.

Tahj’s cavalry charged.

King Memnor shouted,

“Attack! With me! For Ritany!”

He charged with his cavalry—

drums, trumpets, a thunder of hooves—

King Xau’s guards stepped close,

ringing him with their bodies.

Xau pushed his hood back,

stared at the oncoming horses—

Tahj’s cavalry veered,

horses scattering, rearing,

galloping off into the tall grass

away from Memnor’s men.

Tahj’s riders swore, kicked their mounts,

the horses wild,

rearing and bucking,

throwing their riders one after another,

then trotting, slower, riderless,

behind Memnor’s lines.

Where they stood. Quiet.

Watching Xau.

(In his distant palace, Tahj shouted,

knocked the girl-child aside—

“No! Xau!”—

it must be Xau—

but Xau couldn’t be there—

Xau had been riding to Donal, to Innis—)

King Xau swayed,

leaned on Li, captain of his guards,

looked round at Tahj’s horses.

There. Where he’d willed them.

Xau weary as if he’d ridden

three days without halt.

Yet he mounted with Li’s help,

rode with his guards

into battle.

Drums. Trumpets.

Metal clashing metal.

Memnor’s cavalry, aided by Xau,

were precise, deadly,

yet too few.

Rider after rider fell

to spear and arrow and axe.

Foot soldiers fought in fury

or despair or desperation,

fought as they bled,

fought over and round

other men who lay dying

in a stench of piss

and blood and horse-shit.

Shot in the neck,

King Memnor slumped in his saddle.

Woke to a surgeon

working the arrow from his neck,

the sound of men cheering.

The battle turned,

Tahj’s army in retreat.

Not yet noon.

HOW THE BATTLE TURNED

“How?” asked Memnor.

King Xau said nothing,