his legs, his arms. Stepped away.

Xau said something;

the captain stepped forward again,

stood while Xau checked him,

methodically, for injuries.

Xau pulled his tunic back on,

led two of the horses to Donal.

“We’re riding back immediately.

There might be more bears.”

“A horse ride,” said Donal.

“Fresh air. Nothing better.”

They rode back to the palace,

the guards circled around them.

ENLAI

Enlai was in the palace stables

when King Xau’s guards burst in.

He surrendered sword, boot-knife

at their discourteous demands.

An indignity amply rewarded

when not only King Xau

but also his barbarian guest

led their horses past.

(The barbarian king rather splendid

in green riding leathers,

King Xau as scruffy as ever,

his jacket horribly besmirched.)

Enlai peered. Surely that was blood?

He stepped from Shira’s stall,

gave his most elaborate bow:

“Your Majesty, I trust you are well?”

“Quite well, Master Enlai.”

King Xau took the stall opposite.

The barbarian handed his horse to a groom,

joined Xau in the stall.

Enlai looked pointedly at the king’s jacket.

“An invigorating ride?”

“We killed a bear.”

Clear the king had no wish to elaborate.

Enlai bowed again,

withdrew to check Shira’s hooves.

He could have left her care to a groom,

but he loved her. A weakness of his.

“Who was that?”

(The barbarian, speaking Innish,

which Enlai, apt with languages

and widely traveled, understood.

A fact he chose not to point out.)

“A minstrel.” King Xau, also in Innish.

“He will sing for you tonight.”

“But you don’t like him?”

“He wrote a song about us last year

that we did not care for.”

(Enlai sniffed: that song—

a singularly fine song—

had made his reputation,

had been sung in every inn in Meqing.)

Xau: “Now Artoch wants us to commission him

to write a ballad about the demon.”

Shira neighed—

Enlai startled to clumsiness—

a royal commission—

the first of Xau’s reign—

King Xau’s sigh quite audible

and quite uncalled-for.

“Enlai would do as he did before,

turn us into a hero.”

The barbarian king: “Fuck it, Xau.

You are a fucking hero.

You killed a fucking demon

and saved both our fucking kingdoms.”

“After Khyert—after Khyert saved us.”

Too much. Enlai had heard too much.

He must either speak up,

or spend the rest of his life

pretending not to know Innish.

He left Shira’s stall,

cleared his throat to attract attention.

“Your Majesties, I speak Innish.

Perhaps I should have told you.”

Surprise shifted fast to fury

on the barbarian’s face,

then the barbarian lunged forward:

“You fucking should have.”

Enlai backed up against Shira’s stall,

his heart thumping, his legs shaky,

recalling the barbarian’s reputation:

ruthless, red-handed in war.

The barbarian grinned at him,

which was, if anything, more terrifying.

“Stop quaking. I won’t kill you without

your king’s permission. Xau?”

Xau unsaddled his horse

before looking at Enlai,

a long, appraising look that held

neither rage nor hostility.

“Master Enlai,” said Xau,

“we will not punish you,

but there will be no commission.