and Eirdre,

who had meant to hate him,

found herself unequal to the task.

She saw the man from the stables

and held out her hand.

BENCH

Bustle, noise, light,

the castle’s great hall crowded

with guests vying to meet

Xau the Horse King,

Xau the Demon Slayer,

lately their enemy, now named a friend.

King Donal himself at Xau’s side,

resplendent in green velvet,

emeralds inset in his golden crown.

King Xau in black,

his crown silver, undecorated,

his left arm in a sling,

tired and in pain,

though he showed neither—

smiled, bowed, offered his hand

to soldiers, merchants, guild heads,

to women dressed in every color,

answered the same questions

over and over

as if they were new.

When all the guests

had had their chance at him,

Xau retreated to a bench

at the side of the hall,

flanked by his guards.

A soldier followed him over,

one of the many who’d met Xau earlier.

Xau remembered his face,

the raised scar half-hidden

by his beard, though not his name.

“I’m Captain Tadhg.

I was born in Aldford.”

Tadhg’s voice cracked.

Aldford the fourth town

that the demon had burnt.

Tadhg went to his knees,

bowed his head.

“Thank you,” said Tadhg.

“Without you, without what you did,

the demon would still be burning Innis.”

Xau said quietly, “We were not alone.

King Donal was there,

and a man called Khyert, who died.”

Eight months ago, yet still at times

Xau could not sleep, remembering.

He touched Tadhg’s arm. “Sit with us.

Had you family in Aldford?”

“Three sisters, a nephew. They left in time.”

Tadhg sat, fished something out of his pocket,

said in a rush, “My father made this.

Gave it to me when I joined the army.

I want you to have it.”

He handed Xau a wooden wolf

the length of a finger,

minutely detailed,

a listening look on its face.

A moment before Xau could speak.

“Thank you, Captain.”

Xau’s guards turned

at the roughness in his voice.

He set the little wolf

beside him on the bench,

made the hand sign for all-well,

picked the wolf back up.

Tadhg the first of two dozen

who came over to Xau

and thanked him as privately

as the assembly permitted:

men and women, old and young,

ranking from a cousin of King Donal’s

down to a serving-girl.

They knelt to him,

or touched his face,

or kissed his hand;

offered gifts they’d made themselves

and small treasures passed down

through their families;

not gold, nor jewels, nor furs,

but cloth they’d dyed,

an old brass bell,

a bracelet for Xau’s daughter

strung with shells.

Xau took their gifts,

placed them on the bench beside him;

took their thanks far into his heart.

And after, when the guests had left,

when the servants were clearing up,

King Donal came over,

looked at Xau closely.

“Your arm is hurting you.”

Xau silent. Nothing to be said.

Donal shifted the gifts to make a space,