“One evening, we sailed to a cove on the shores of a far land. A city could be seen in the distance, but I did not desire meeting or conversing with men yet. The brands of betrayal and misery still scarred my heart. I had no interest in speaking to another, let alone sharing the tale of my woe. However, I was weary of seeing water and had set my mind to abandon the ship. I would send the captain home, though he bore no good news for Pharsidan.”
“I took a longboat and rowed towards the beach, with only Asmath and my two remaining Knights. We came to shore near a grove of tall trees, and I left the boat first, leaping to the land. At first, the ground was a strange thing to me. My body no longer moved to the rhythm of the sea or shifted with every swell and wave, and the earth beneath my feet gave me hope, weary though I was.”
“We would need supplies to continue our search across the lands, but before I dared speak to anyone, I needed to rest and compose myself. So, while the others made camp and prepared food, I found a comfortable place under the trees, soon falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.”
“I woke not long after and was reminded again of the pain of my loss. Though the smell of bread baking over our fire stirred my hunger, the soot of my scorched heart blacked out any joy or peace I might have felt. In a year of searching, I learned nothing. It seemed one sorrow piled on top of the other.”
“Each day I felt my life slipping away like the lives of my men, as though I held fists full of sand. I knew nothing of India or what came of my actions against Khvarazmsha, but I did not care. My heart and soul were focused only on finding news of my beloved, though I had thus far failed to learn even gossip of her whereabouts.”
“Though I did not want to rise, duty beckoned. Without me, no hope remained of rescuing Nestan, yet standing felt like an impossible task. I would have preferred the world to reach up and envelop me so I could fade back into the dirt from whence I had been born.”
“Lost to my misery, I did not see or hear the stranger galloping toward us until his cry caught my attention. I looked up at the sound and saw a young Knight approaching. The magnificent black steed he rode set an unbelievable pace down the shore, like a Pegasus with midnight wings. As for the man, he wore long mustaches and was holding a broken sword. Arrows stuck out from his sides, and blood flowed from his many wounds. He cursed those who must have attacked him, though none appeared to be in pursuit.”
“Jumping up from my resting place, I girded my armor, intent on meeting the man. I ordered one of my Knights to stop him, but whatever my man said did not reach the stranger, for he never slowed or acknowledged them. I ran forward into his path, calling out to him. ‘Stay yourself! Tell me what happened, and perhaps I may be of assistance.’”
“Pulling up his horse, the Knight stopped and stared at me. Surprise and admiration etched his face, despite his obvious pain. He looked up then and addressed the Heavens. ‘My God, how did you make such a tree as this man who appears from nowhere to grace my sight?’”
“Looking back down, he grimaced at me, barely maintaining his seat, and spoke. ‘Though I do not know who you are or where you come from, I am spent. I mistook my enemies for goats, but they proved to be lions. Like traitors, they fell on me as one. Neither my sword nor armor were readied for battle, leaving me woefully unprepared for their attack. Thus, you see me now, wounded of body and spirit, yet still clinging to life. I pray less misfortune will come to me from our meeting.’”
“Of all the people had I met in my journeys, I never saw anyone like the man who sat on the horse before me. Despite swooning from his injuries, he gave grace to God and honored me, though I was a stranger to him. I instantly respected his character.”
“I spoke to him as I called my men to attend him. ‘Do not fear my intent, fair Knight. I am no enemy to you. Though it is not valorous to withdraw from combat when wounded, treachery is another matter. Let us help you dismount. We will tend your wounds and ailments.’”
“As I helped him off his horse and led him to our camp, I noticed what a lion the man was. When my surgeon removed the arrows and stitched his many sword cuts, he didn’t once cry out. In truth, I could not believe he was still standing, let alone had the strength to converse.”
“After we bound his wounds, the five of us rested. We shared our camp and broke bread together. As he spoke, his openness surprised me, for age and experience often breed distrust among strangers. Yet, he was a youth. Perhaps he did not know better.
Maybe there was some secret to him I had not discovered. Curious to learn more, I asked who he was and how he came to be wounded so grievously. His story was an unfinished epic.”
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