A coward’s wound.

Declan died for nothing,

or, worse, died for her,

trying to come home.

The winter nights long.

The bed too large.

MESSENGERS

No herald, no envoy, no messenger of state.

A girl of thirteen, her boots too small,

running and walking, walking and running

to the enemy’s gate, shouting Open. Help.

A fisherman, the first back that night,

returning to where his town used to be,

then rowing for the border, for the enemy port,

shouting Help. Demon. Fire. Mercy. Help.

BROTHERS

Connol met his brother, King Donal,

outside the pig barn in the fort’s bailey.

The swineherd, well used to them,

walked out, and Connol followed Donal

into the grunting, stinking dimness,

away from any eavesdroppers.

“Another town lost.”

Donal spat in the trough.

“Burnt to the ground.”

“Horse Boy’s work?” asked Connol.

“No. Last month, when Polton burnt,

I guessed it must be Horse Boy,

though I couldn’t fathom how.

I was wrong.”

“If not Horse Boy, then what?”

“Demons.”

“Demons?” said Connol.

The barn seemed darker,

his brother smaller.

“Demons are stories for children.”

“The stories have woken.

They left their sign—

the demon sign.”

Donal’s voice faltered, stopped,

Donal who was never spooked,

never nervous.

Not since they were boys.

Behind Connol, a guttural growl.

He jumped, drew his sword—

The pig grunted again.

Only a pig.

Connol shoved his sword

back in the scabbard.

“Maybe it’s Horse Boy after all,

hoping to scare us.”

“No. That war’s done.

I’m going to bend my knee

to fucking Horse Boy

and beg him for help.”

Donal laughed then,

an empty, barren laugh,

near to despair.

Connol had seen his brother in a fury,

seen him castrate men who’d betrayed him.

That empty laughter worse

than Donal’s rage.

Connol tried to think, to steady himself.

“Wait—you can’t go to Horse Boy.

If he learns we’re weak,

he’ll attack.”

“I doubt it.

He’s the kind of noble prick

who’ll fall over himself to help.”

“If you’re wrong—”

“If I’m wrong, it doesn’t matter,

because there’s nothing else

I can think of to save us.”

DEMON FIRE

Outside: the harbor,

the town wall, both extant.

Inside: No trace of wood.

No leather. No cloth.

No birds, no insects.

The wells dried out.

The mud burnt brick hard.

A few stone buildings.

Ash. Charred bones.

Two kings (alive),

their guards

at a short distance.

“Too few bones,” said Donal,

the Red King: red-haired,

red-handed in war.

“We think most people

were taken prisoner,

or killed elsewhere.”

“Several escaped,” said Xau,

“and fled to us eight days ago.”

“At moon dark,” said Donal.

“And last month, the same thing—

a town obliterated at moon dark.”

He led Xau to the town center.

The stone fountain bowl

had cracked in two.

On the flagstones in front:

a black circle,

wide as a man’s height,

wavy lines radiating from it.

“Demon sign,” said Xau.

“Yes.” Donal spat on the sign.

“Help us. Name your terms.”

“We’ll help. No terms,” said Xau.