A meeting that had not ended well.

“Why would he want his son

to speak like a barbarian?”

“His fourth and least important son.

He planned to marry off

ourself or our sister

to an Innish ruler

and so pacify the barbarians.”

“Your sister speaks Innish too?”

Xau nodded. “And learned it faster.

For three years we studied together.

Both of us unwilling.

Then two years by ourself alone,

after Mei was judged fluent

and we were not.

We were a slow student.”

A mile of silence,

but an easy silence.

Half Donal’s attention on the land,

noting defensible ridges,

the scant cover—

a few isolated stands of trees.

Half his attention on Xau,

the younger king’s posture relaxed,

yet Xau eyeing the selfsame stands of trees.

Not everyone in Meqing

glad of Donal’s visit.

Side by side rode the two kings.

RESPECT

Cheong stood apart from the other mourners

on the cropped grass inside the ring of graves.

A waste of his time,

waiting for the two kings,

and Cheong too old to have much time

left to waste.

Seventy-seven sandstone slabs,

each garlanded with paper flowers,

each with a chiseled name.

The seventy-eighth slab

void of flowers,

his son’s name standing alone.

Cheong had incised the name himself,

back in the spring,

the fields ready for planting,

but Cheong practicing

on fragments of sandstone,

working with hammer and chisel

until he was certain

his hand would not slip,

that each character would be properly formed.

April when he’d chipped out the name.

Fall now,

the war over,

a demon slain,

though it hadn’t been a demon

that killed his son,

but men,

the Red King’s men, raiding,

the raid that started the war.

A waste of Cheong’s time, waiting.

No king, no gold, no paper flowers

of any use to his son.

Cheong was contemplating leaving

when the two kings arrived,

bare-headed, white-robed,

walking ahead of a company of soldiers.

King Xau, Cheong’s king,

stopped at the far edge

of the ring of graves,

bowed three times to the mourners,

said, “We are sorry we failed you.”

Not much of a speech,

but the young king’s voice

hefted with loss.

The other king, the Red King,

the one whose soldiers

slaughtered Cheong’s son,

said nothing at all.

King Xau went to the nearest grave,

read aloud the chiseled name,

bowed three times, very deeply,

said the name once more,

looked to the Red King,

who echoed the name.

King Xau moved to the next grave,

read aloud the chiseled name.

Men said that Xau slew the demon,

that when the Red King saw him do so,

then the Red King knelt to Xau

and pledged peace.

Cheong old enough to remember eight wars.

Words as worthless as paper flowers.

Xau came to Cheong’s son’s grave,

said the name aloud,

put his hand to the bare stone,

touched each chiseled character.

The king a white-robed blur.

Cheong’s son dead.

DIVERSION

One moment, King Donal rode beside King Xau,

wondering when the mock ambush would be,