closer than brothers.

Yard by slow yard,

the enemy soldiers gave way.

Xau’s guard Wen Xun

swayed in his saddle,

bow slipping from his hand,

blood coursing from his opened arm—

Xau alongside Wen Xun,

Li on the far side,

the other guards ringed round them—

The horses in perfect step

as they held Wen Xun upright,

rode him to safety,

set him down,

galloped to rejoin the cavalry—

Further, faster,

the enemy soldiers gave way,

came to a crease in the ridge

where the land dipped behind them.

Braced there. A body of men brandishing

spear and pike and axe and javelin.

A curious many-throated wail

rose from the crease below.

Movement, men carrying forward: what?

Wooden shields? Sections of fence?

Taller than a man—

The pieces of wood pivoted.

Tied one to each section,

naked women,

breasts hacked off,

red ribboning down—

Memnor’s men blundered to a stop.

Retched or screamed or looked away.

Havnar, commander of Memnor’s army,

yelled at them to advance,

advanced himself,

but few went with him—

Enemy archers shot through gaps

between the wooden sections,

between the wailing women.

One volley, then another—

Twenty of Memnor’s men downed—

King Xau and his guards

and the remnants of Memnor’s cavalry

rode through that hail of arrows,

horses and men hit,

an arrow wedged in Xau’s forearm,

another in his calf—

Xau and his guards dismounted,

ran to the nearest women,

cut the ropes,

hoisted the women onto their horses,

Memnor’s cavalrymen following

their example.

In the time it took

to free the women,

one hundred and seventeen

of Memnor’s riders killed or disabled,

forty-three horses dead.

∗

Sunset.

Cold up on the ridgeline

where men had fought that afternoon.

No victory, a standoff,

both armies withdrawn,

carrion birds scouring the ground.

DOUBLE DUTY

Leong entered King Xau’s tent. Bowed.

The king lifted his head

from where he lay on a blanket,

said only, “Leong,”

dropped his head back.

“How is he?” demanded Captain Li

before Leong, who served double duty

as both guard and field surgeon,

had laid one finger on the king.

“Exhausted. In pain.”

No need to examine Xau

to know that much.

The king drove himself too hard,

had taken Atun’s death badly,

had been struck by two arrows

in yesterday’s battle.

The other guards watched

like suspicious old women

as Leong took Xau’s twelve pulses,

unbandaged his leg,

probed the calf wound,

noted how Xau’s breath hitched—

that arrow had been lodged in bone—

a protracted, difficult extraction.

“How is he?” asked Li. Again.

“His strength is spent. He needs rest.”

Leong looked at the others.

“All of you should rest

except Li and Shuen,

who are fine—”

“My toe is broken!” said Shuen.

“A simple closed fracture—”

“It hurts! Every time I stand!”

Wen Xun, assigned to the king’s cot

because he’d hemorrhaged heavily

after an arrow tore through his arm,

said, “You grumbled more than Shuen

when you had toothache, Leong.”

“That tooth was abscessed,

my restraint remarkable.”