and I filled up with fire myself

and ran at it with an axe in one hand,

a spear in the other.

Three days afterward

the king’s soldiers arrived.

Too late to bury the dead,

but the captain offered me

a place in the army,

and, being a young fool,

I said yes.

Oh, I’ve done well enough,

but most of that’s luck—

I’ve seen better men than me

killed quick by arrows

or slow by gangrene.

So. I’ve had my moments.

Lots of harlots, no wife—

I will say this for dragon-killing:

the harlots like it.

I never fought for honor

or any such nonsense,

just for my men, my pay,

food, drink, and, yes, the harlots.

But the new king,

now that’s different.

They say he bested a dragon himself,

and what if he did?

I can still get fired up,

rage into battle.

Like when I fought that dragon,

rushing at it like a young fool.

Not for honor,

nor glory,

not thinking much at all.

But that’s the smaller part

of what makes a king.

You should have seen him this summer.

Not much more than a boy,

but he rode at the front of the charge

in his first battle

like a king should,

and afterward he got down off his warhorse

and walked in the mud,

looking for survivors,

and went into the surgeons’ tent

and spoke to those waiting

for the knife.

He came out of that tent

and vomited.

I know. I was there,

checking on one of my soldiers.

The king looked right at me and said,

“Next time I won’t throw up. I promise.”

Now that’s a king.

COMPANIONSHIP

Fall. Winter. Spring.

The birth of their first child.

Quiet days that quickly slip behind them.

His hand reaching for hers

after supper is cleared.

Her arm reaching for him

in her sleep.

A strategic marriage,

a political marriage.

Unasked-for, unnegotiated,

this friendship.

Shazia softly singing to their soft-cheeked son

in her own language, the words unknown to Xau,

but the string of sounds stored in his memory,

so that one night,

far from her,

on the eve of his second war,

he will remember each rolling syllable,

the way she smelled,

his son’s hand fisted

round his finger.

TRAINING: CARRY

An escape,

that was how it felt to Leong,

as he rode with the king’s other guards

and King Xau himself

away from the palace

and the three-day-long celebration

of the king’s eighteenth birthday.

(Leong refused to contemplate

the panoply that would attend

the king’s coming-of-age

in two years’ time.)

Early morning,

the air green-gold beneath the leafing trees,

clear, crisp, fragrant with honeysuckle—

a few squirrels, a solitary deer, rabbits,

a cacophony of birds—

Leong, King Xau, the other guards,

even the horses in high spirits.

Only Tsung, captain of the guards, severe,

eyeing each bush as if it might attack.

(Leong was glad not to be captain,

suspicion not something

that came to him naturally.)

They rode for half an hour,