racing, reckless,

through that sea of grass;

how the horse beneath you stretched into a gallop,

the wind on your bare arms,

the pounding of hooves.

MORTAL

No earthquake, no thunder

when King Xau died.

Only the weeping of the women

for whom he’d laid down his life;

the sobs of a small boy

who placed a paper boat

on the king’s broken body;

the horse warriors loosing

their hair from its braids;

his guards kneeling to kiss

his cold forehead.

THE SIGN OF THE DRAGON

Keng knew before she told him,

knew when he saw her waiting,

stretched flat on the bare rock,

wings hinged tight to her sides.

“Your father is dead.”

The dragon’s breath ash,

her words ash in his heart,

his father never coming home.

He knelt to her then,

there on the high mountain,

hiding neither his grief nor his fear,

wondering if she would kill him.

“I name you king.”

The gold gone from her eyes,

only the black of coal left.

“Go claim your throne.”

Hard to think, to take it in.

His father dead. The kingship his.

How would the dragon furnish proof?

A crown? One of her scales?—“How?”

The dragon snorted.

“You expect a trophy?

I have named you king.

The steward will know. Go.”

Keng got to his feet, bowed.

He did not feel like a king,

did not wish to be king.

“Thank you. For your lessons.”

The dragon said nothing,

so Keng wiped his face dry

with his sleeve,

set off down the mountain.

EXECUTION

The combined armies

of three kingdoms

watched as Donal stood,

his longsword drawn.

On the dirt in front of Donal,

chained, shackled, terrified,

cowered Tahj.

Donal reached for rage—

thought of the war,

the reaping of lives,

the monster’s machinations,

Xau’s death.

Xau.

No anger answered,

only the well-worn wasteland

of desolation.

Donal raised his sword,

brought it down cleanly,

cleaved Tahj in two.

He wiped his sword.

He walked away.

ADDENDUM TO THE RECOLLECTIONS OF ARTOCH,
SENIOR ADVISOR TO KING XAU

A waste? Hardly.

You think a king

worth more than other men?

Xau did not,

despite my efforts

to correct his misconception.

In matters of state,

a king is worth more than other men.

And a king’s death, too,

is worth more than other men’s,

though I doubt Xau looked

beyond those fourteen people,

seeing them as sufficient cause

in themselves.

Xau’s sacrifice—

the hours of torment endured

for those fourteen women and children—

turned him into a legend in Sumbral,

a mythic figure to match King Nariz.

The peace between our countries

is anchored in that act.

Hardly a waste!

And yet when Captain Li returned

with the king’s body,

I shouted at him,

shouted that he’d abandoned Xau,

that he’d failed in his duty.

Perhaps the worst thing I ever did,

shouting at Li that day.

Yes, perhaps the worst.

BURIAL

They buried him at dusk,

he whose name was known

across half the world,

his body shrouded in white,