Shermadin called out to Avtandil and Rostevan, gesturing towards the young Knight weeping in the distance. The servants and soldiers turned as well, their eyes resting on the stranger. They admired him from afar, wondering where he had come from and marveling at his appearance.
The man was armored and wore a long coat with the skin of a spotted panther draped over his shoulders. In one hand, he held a whip thicker than a man’s arm and the reins of a magnificent midnight black horse in his other. His steed’s saddle and armor were covered in shimmering pearls. Yet for all his splendor, the burgundy rose of his brown cheeks was frozen by tears welling up from a woe-stricken heart.
Curious to know who this stranger was, the King sent one of his men to bring him. When the King’s man approached, he realized the Knight was sitting with his head down. A shower of crystal rained from his eyes, and the servant was not able to think of any way to address him. After a time, he moved closer and spoke.
“My Lord commands your attendance. Come, and I will escort you to him.”
Yet the dark-skinned stranger continued weeping, ignoring the servant’s words, and acknowledging nothing. He did not even appear to hear the shouting from nearby soldiers. Instead, his mind drifted in a far land as his heart burned with unquenchable fire. The man was lost to the world and unaware of his surroundings. Tears welled forth from his eyes as though from floodgates. Despite the messenger repeating his request, he failed to pluck the bouquet of speech from the Knight’s lips. Defeated, he returned with news of his failure.
“Lord, I delivered your message to the strange Knight, yet he does not respond. Though I was amazed by the sight of him, my heart was troubled by his pain. I stood beside him for a long time, but he did not realize what was before him. He weeps without end, and I was unable to learn why.”
When Rostevan received this explanation, he became angry. This Knight in panther skins was no more than a wander trespassing on his lands. Who was he to dare refuse the Lord of Arabia? Then, turning to the twelve warriors who had attended him at the contest, he ordered them forward.
“Take up your weapons of war and bring me this one who dares ignore the summons of a King. I will have answers from him, whether he comes of his own will or by force.”
The servants prepared themselves in a battle formation, coming towards the weeping Knight as one. As they neared, the clank of their armor had an effect where words had not. The youth raised his eyes to the warriors facing him. Where before he wept a stream, now rivers flowed from his eyes. He shouted out in pain before wiping the tears from his eyes.
“Woe is me!”
Then he readied his saber and quiver, mounting his steed and showing no intent to heed those around him or their cause. Their troubles, like these lands, were neither his nor his concern. He tried to ride past them and away, but they had other orders. The will of their King would not be denied.
They stretched out their hands to detain him, and in one movement, he fell on them like a wolf among lambs. He slew them all, beating one against the other. Some he struck with his whip, while others he cleaved down to the bone. His attacks were so ferocious even the enemies of those poor men would have pitied their deaths.
Rostevan was helpless to stop the slaughter, and his anger turned to fury at the carnage unfolding before his eyes. Filled with wrath, he sent a legion of his best warriors to bring down the arrogant stranger. Yet, the Knight did not acknowledge the men chasing him, save the few who came too close. Those he threw down man upon man, each struck dead by the ferocity of his blows.
Though he far outmatched those trying to take him down, the army was slowly surrounding him. Soon he would be trapped, and he desperately sought an escape route, but the King and Avtandil understood his plans. They leaped to their mounts, closing off any hope of his exit. Although no one else had managed to overcome the youth, he would not be able to match the combined might of both Heroes at once.
The young stranger turned when they were near and realized he would soon be overtaken. In an instant, he raised his hand, striking his steed and disappearing. He vanished from sight, swallowed by the ground, or flown to Heaven. None could say where he went.
The King’s warriors called the huntsmen, and they spent hours searching for any trace of the stranger. They rode far across the plains, but no one found a single sign of where he had gone. Some wondered if they chased the path of a man or a spirit.
While they continued looking, other soldiers cared for the injured. They bound the wounds of those few who survived the blows of the strange Knight and mourned the countless others who had been slain. Of all who lamented the loss of friends and comrades, none were more distraught than Rostevan. His men were surprised to see him crying over the dead without shame or concern.
“Everything is clear to me now. God has grown weary of the happiness my days have brought me. He who gives all has seen fit to sour my pleasure with the gall of bitterness. But, by his grace, whatever he desires will be. Now his hand wounds me to death, and I will seek no more joy from this world.”
In all his years, the King had suffered no greater pain than what burdened him now. He was a man lost to sorrow. His heart was caged by the senseless deaths of his soldiers, leaving his spirit like a bird without wings. Crushed, he turned and rode away from his friends, advisors, and servants, returning to the castle. Full of mourning, he retired alone to his chambers.
Those who celebrated and played only hours before were now left groaning and crying. They could not decide what to do or where to find solace. Some agreed with their Lord and cried to God at why such a thing as this should be. Others hoped for an answer from their General, but Avtandil was not with them. He was worried for the safety of their King and had followed him back.
Once there, he came to the King’s rooms and sat just inside the door, where he turned away all who came. Like the sound of music and celebration, the visitors soon stopped. With the silence, no semblance of merriment remained in the palace. It was then Tinatin received news of her father’s sorrow.