Though Avtandil had come up the mountain easily, going down the other side proved considerably more difficult. The ceaseless babble of streams and murmur of trees on the wind frustrated him, as did the many obstacles he was forced to overcome. Carefully choosing his path, he crossed through woods and over small ravines and rivers as he made his way down. By the time he reached the bottom, his pride and the power of his arms had been spent on the tricky descent.
He wanted to ride far from where he had been and picked out the route he would take, riding until he came to the top of a small hill. Looking out, he was amazed at the beauty before him. Though the lands he previously crossed were wild, God’s hand clearly moved through this place. Jetties of stone stuck out from the undergrowth, and a field of brilliant red tulips stretched over plain like a sea of ruby. He could not think of a more beautiful place to end the tragedy of his journey.
This was to be his last road, for his duty was a mountain from which he could not escape. He would cross these fields, and then return to the Kingdom of Arabia. Tinatin and Shermadin held his honor, and he was beholden to them, having sacrificed too much to betray those he loved.
Though he yearned to put his steed to a gallop across the plains, hunger clawed at his belly. Deciding he needed to eat, he strung his bow and gave himself over to the task of hunting. When he brought down game, he made camp near the edge of the river. There, he used tiny twigs and dry grass for kindling a fire from the steel at his belt.
He rested himself on a soft bed of reeds while the meat roasted. His horse grazed, and he allowed his mind to wander the many roads he traveled to get here. He wondered aloud at Fate but expected no answer.
“How can a man find himself so far from home and still to no end. If God helps those who help themselves, why have I found no sign of the Knight I hunt? Perhaps he really is a ghost.”
But his thoughts were soon interrupted by a band of six horsemen approaching from the west. He stood and readied his weapons before moving towards them. He considered why they were here, concerned as to who they might be.
“Who else besides bandits or thieves would I find in these far lands? No other men would seek such a place unless there was evil in their hearts.”
Walking closer, he made out two bearded men carrying a younger and beardless man between them. Three others rode behind them like vassals, leading the horses of the men on foot. The young man’s head was grievously wounded, but it no longer bled. Clearly, his soul rested on death’s doorstep and his spirit had nearly faded. The two men holding him wept and grieved aloud.
Avtandil, keeping his distance in case they meant to ambush him, called out.
“Brothers, I mistook you as brigands. Who are you to come here, and what brings you to this distant land?”
They kept coming towards him, shouting as they came.
“We bear you no harm! Be calm and help our brother if you can. If not, pray and add your grief to ours. Complete our sorrow and weep with us who need pity. Scratch and rend your cheeks at the tragedy we carry between us.”
Still wary, he approached them, helping to lay the wounded man in the soft grass. He spoke kindly to the strangers and asked of their plight. In turn, they explained what had struck the youth, sparing no detail as they recounted events.
“Our tears are because we three are brothers and lords of a populous and fortified town in the land of Cathay, Khataet’ti. We had been told of countless animals near this place and spent several days journeying here with a company of soldiers and wagons. We camped on the bank of a stream the first night, and then began our hunt. The rumors of game were true, and the hunting pleased us.”
“For a month, we hunted, killing on the plains and in the mountains and ridges. We shamed our archers, for none of them could equal our skill. But we could not find the truth of who was the best among the three of us. Eventually we decided on a friendly challenge, and as is the way of siblings, ours was a contest of love. For who should win and yet still not be a brother?”
“Just this morning, we sent most of our men home, loaded with stags and hides. Save these three armor-bearers, all others from our retinue departed. We thought it safe to hunt among ourselves, as we had seen no other human.”
“We rode everywhere, each hunting game in the sight of the other, free of onlookers. We went through woods and over streams, killing many wild beasts. Not a bird flew up which we did not bring down.”
“Sadly, our mirth was short lived, for arrogance soon bade its hand towards us. Not knowing our folly, we invited ruin on ourselves. I cannot understand or explain the Devi who visited us. Yet you can see the plight of our brother before you and the sorrow we now carry.”
With these words, the brothers wept while Avtandil bandaged the wounded youth. When he finished, they calmed themselves and told him of their tragedy.