and drank together,

and, at times, made fools

of ourselves together.

Hao was a charismatic man,

a strong king, a superb warrior,

yet he would not have done what you did,

would not have risked himself

on behalf of people he’d never met,

people with no influence,

not even from his own country.”

Memnor stopped.

Still that hardness

to the young king’s face.

Havnar shrugged, filled the silence.

“Your father would have loved

a feast given in his honor.

He liked attention,

liked his own importance,

spoke so men might hear him.

You say less, but it means more.”

“And Havnar should know,” said Memnor.

“That’s probably the longest speech

I’ve ever heard from him.”

Havnar shrugged.

“You speak enough for both of us.”

Xau grinned.

Relaxed, he looked like any young man,

ready to get drunk or get laid.

A moment only,

then Xau was himself again,

his kingdom on his shoulders.

Memnor knew.

Memnor had been twenty-four,

Xau’s age now,

when he came to the throne,

a burden eased both by his wife,

who had never once asked

for more than he could give,

and by Havnar,

who’d given more

than Memnor had asked.

“One more speech tonight,”

said Memnor. “Not the one my advisors

will draft in your praise.

Rather a speech they would

counsel against,

but it has weighed on me,

and I will say it.”

Would say it not in gratitude,

though that cause enough—

Xau having pushed himself

almost to his death

saving Memnor’s people—

but because a dread oppressed Memnor,

a dread that darkness stirred anew,

that Xau, who had defeated a demon,

would yet face a malevolence

greater even that that.

So Memnor stood,

took the three steps over to Xau,

knelt.

“I, Memnor, King of Ritany,

son of Mithron, son of Marnas,

do swear to you, Xau,

without impediment or restriction,

my aid whenever and however

you request it:

my sword, my strength,

my army at your command.”

Memnor touched his hand to his heart,

offered it palm-up to Xau,

a gesture of allegiance older

than either of their kingdoms.

A weight in Xau’s eyes

as the young king set his hand

on Memnor’s forehead.

“We, Xau, to accept your oath,

knowing there may come the day

when we have need of it.”

The rest of the night uneventful.

They chewed on the leathery meat,

chatted of this and that.

Later, when the time came,

Memnor kept his oath.

HERO

To wait.

To answer

when their children ask

when Papa will be back.

To nod when people, well-meaning people

tell her she must be so proud

of her husband—

that he’s a hero—

that word—

To wake.

That space beside her in the bed.

To meet with those

he isn’t there to meet.

To eat.

The food delicious.

The guilt of that.

To hear his deeds

cast into story, song

and he the hero—

a word she’s come to hate—

To sleep

curled around his old jacket,

the smell of him.