eat, sleep, break camp, march.

WORDS

Not a new sword,

nor armor, nor a horse;

not jade or silver,

nor any of the gifts

a prince might expect

from his father

on his sixteenth birthday.

Instead a letter.

Eleven pages.

No mention of the war.

Stories, often humorous,

of Keng’s childhood.

Memories of the uncle

Keng was named after.

The final brushstrokes

faltered, uneven,

shaping words

Keng hadn’t needed to be told,

that he already knew,

that he read and re-read

each night by lantern-light.

LAIR

Dusk. King Xau’s tent.

The lamps lit.

A map spread out on the ground.

“How?! You don’t know where it is—”

“We know roughly.”

“Not fucking good enough.”

King Donal stared down at the map:

the desert’s yellow expanse,

the ring of black beads laid on top

that might—or might not—enclose,

somewhere within it, the beast’s lair.

“It could take fucking weeks to find it.”

“We will have Subetei’s scouts with us.”

Xau’s voice quiet, even,

the king sitting on a stool,

one hand pressed to his left leg,

the way he did when it was hurting him.

“Even if you find it, what then?

You overpower the beast in its stronghold

with, what, forty scouts,

plus your seven guards?”

“We think its lair is lightly defended—”

“You think?!”

“Based on reports from those we freed,”

Xau said, quietly, evenly. “Most likely,

the beast only trusts its minions,

most likely there is a limit

to how many it can control.”

“Fuck!” Donal thumped the map,

scattering black beads everywhere.

“You could die. Playing hero.

Send someone else.

Send Subetei.

Send me.”

“And if the beast captures you? Subverts you?”

That same quietness as Xau looked at him.

“Worse if it captures you—”

Donal stopped. Thought it through.

If Xau were captured, he might resist the beast,

just as he’d once resisted the demon,

as he’d freed men, women, children

from the beast’s bondage.

Xau might merely die,

not be turned into the beast’s tool.

“Fuck.”

Donal weighed Xau’s plan again.

No chance of taking the beast by surprise:

the vultures—-its prying spies—

always overhead, watching.

“The beast will know you’re coming,

will move in more soldiers.”

“We should reach the area

before any infantry reinforcements.

We will try to divert any horses.”

“And if you can’t divert the horses?

Or you guessed wrong,

and the beast has a thousand guards?”

Xau took a breath, said, quietly, evenly,

“This war, this evil will not end

unless the beast is killed.

It is worth the risk.”

Donal grasped for denial,

for counterarguments, objections,

anything to dissuade Xau.

Failed.

He looked down at the map,

the scattered beads, the desert.

“At least take more men.

A hundred horse warriors,

not forty.”

“Very well.”

A silence then,

both men staring at each other.

Xau reached for Donal’s arm,

gripped it briefly.

“Eat with us. Please.”

They ate in the tent with Xau’s guards.

Spoke of small things.

In the morning,

Xau rode for the beast’s lair.

PERSPECTIVE

From high overhead,