It has been the honor

of my life to serve you.”

Xau took his sword,

laid his hand briefly

on Tsung’s shoulder.

∗

Xau’s guard Li hummed a fishing chanty

until Xau raised his eyebrows,

said, mildly, “What, no parting words?”

“There is much I would say.”

Li looked at him steadily.

“Tomorrow. When you return.”

DEMON

At noon, the armies withdrew.

King Xau stood on the town wall,

watching the train of men

and wagons and horses head north.

“Behold our great plan,”

said Donal, the Red King,

from his place at Xau’s left.

“I can’t say I like our chances.”

Xau said nothing.

Either the demon would come,

or he would not.

Either they would defeat him,

or they would not.

“I’ve never liked waiting,”

said Donal. “Let’s walk.”

Together they walked

the circuit of the town wall.

Inside the town, a few cats,

pigeons, gulls; no people,

no one left for the demon to burn

except the kings themselves.

Xau stopped at a crenel

overlooking the sea.

The air smelt of salt.

Fishing boats rocked on the water.

He squinted at the horizon

until his eyes smarted,

looking for movement, a sail,

a demon ship. Nothing.

When they had walked

twice round the wall,

they sat and shared a meal

of fruit and dried meat.

Neither ate much.

“Let’s light the torches,”

said Donal, and they walked

the circuit once more,

lighting the tall, smoky torches.

Then down into the empty town,

where they lit more torches

as the day wore on.

Without discussion,

they ended by the fountain

at the center of the town.

Deserted shops and market stalls

lined the wide street up to the fountain.

They stretched. They pissed.

They played a children’s game

of tossing sticks and stones.

They sharpened their sharp swords.

Above, the sky darkened. No moon.

The torches kept the town

bright as a rainy day,

yet the night pressed against Xau

as if the dark behind the stars

reached down for him.

In Donal’s face, the same uneasiness.

“If the demon is coming,” said Xau,

“let us greet him.” Tentatively,

he sang the first words

of a song of Donal’s people,

“My brother, he taught me

to fight with a sword—”

Donal joined in, “My brother,

he taught me to follow our lord.”

Afterward, he looked at Xau.

“I’m ready. Let him come.”

Xau nodded.

If the demon did not come,

if he did not lust to kill

two undefended kings

in their fragile arrogance,

then he would burn a different town.

Better here.

Xau dipped his hands into

the fountain’s water,

splashed his cheeks and drank.

The water rippled in a rising wind.

The torches gusted.

In the empty street of empty shops,

a door opened. A man ran out,

his face lit by the gusting torches

so that Xau saw him clear: Khyert,

who was once Xau’s stableboy,

who had left with the army,

who could not be here.

Donal drew his sword.

“Stay!” said Xau. “We know him.”