the autumn air clear and cool,

glossy-leaved bushes bright with berries.

Next moment, the hill ahead heaved,

men jumping from a camouflaged ditch.

Donal’s horse reared. He slipped

—saw clouds, bushes, an arrow—

landed on his butt, clambered upright

to be hauled bodily onto Xau’s horse,

lay like a sack of winded flour,

Xau shooting blunt arrows over him.

Xau’s guards galloped toward them

—to help?—grinning like boys,

all except their captain,

a stern, lean figure in the lead.

A blunt arrow struck Xau’s chest,

dropped past Donal.

The captain shouted, came alongside,

pulled Xau onto his horse

(a second sack of flour)—bumping Donal,

who slid, feet first, landed,

drew a wooden sword, hacked an ambusher,

who fell with dramatic flair.

A grinning guard galloped across,

hoisted Donal up—a sack again.

His horse joined Xau’s:

two sacks of flour stared at each other.

“This.” Donal spat out horse hair.

“Wasn’t what I meant by fun.”

“Oh?” said Xau. “A horse ride.

Fresh air. Nothing better.”

“I had whores in mind, not horses.

Gambling. Wine....”

Odd. For a moment, Donal thought

he heard a woman whispering,

but there was no woman in sight.

He shook his head to clear it.

“Come visit in the spring.

I’ll show you what I mean.”

“We would like to come.” Xau squirmed

as if to sit, but the captain pinned him.

“Our captain is making a point.”

Xau glanced at the grim figure.

“He said we should not have

wasted time rescuing you,

“that had the attack been real,

we would have an arrow in our chest.”

“He’s right,” said Donal.

“What were you thinking?”

“We were thinking,” panted Xau,

“that we were having fun.”

Donal grunted. He’d never guessed

how uncomfortable a sack could get.

The horses halted in a clearing:

blankets spread out on the ground.

Ambushers and guards alike bowed

to Xau and Donal as they dismounted.

Donal unsaddled his horse, rubbed it dry,

led it to a water bucket, tethered it.

He was sitting, watching the guards

set out food, when the horses panicked—

snorting, tugging their ropes, rearing:

Xau sprinted for the horses.

The captain yelled, Xau yelled back,

right up to the horses now.

Donal scrambled to his feet,

brandished his toy wooden sword.

The horses, quiet now, quivering,

clustered round Xau,

eyed the bushes to their left,

bright with berries.

The captain, a sword in each hand,

raced for Xau—thirty yards away

when the bushes heaved apart,

branches breaking, a brown hugeness—

eight, ten feet tall—a bear—

rearing up, roaring.

The captain screamed, ten yards from Xau.

Xau swung round, seized a sword from him.

Other guards ran for the two of them.

An archer angled for a shot.

Roaring, the bear plunged down,

down onto a horse, Xau’s silhouette.

Two men stood, the bear on its side.

Still. The horse downed, throat torn.

Still. All the horses perfectly still.

Red running the length of Xau’s sword.

The captain grabbed Xau,

yanked off his jacket, his tunic,

checked his chest, his back,