March to the West

Purple and orange shades across the sky slowly brought the dawn as the soldiers of Georgia readied for the long march westward. The camp bustled with movement, yet a form of controlled chaos saw each man and horse knowing its place. David, near the head in the formation, adjusted the straps on his armor, his mind focused on the days ahead.

Ivane walked up beside him, finishing a quick patrol of the front lines. "The men are ready, David. We leave within the hour.

David nodded, and his eyes flickered over his shoulder at the lines of soldiers standing behind him. The sight of their resolution steeled them, but deep inside, real was the anxiety of the battle to be. "Good. We'll be wanting to move quick and quiet. No fanfare, no grand procession."

Ivane smiled, hunching a little. "No need to concern yourself with that. I don't think anyone's in the mood for a parade right now."

David smiled. "A bit of silence suits me just fine. We need to keep our heads low until we reach our first position.

Standing together, Bishop George approached, his long robes brushing the dirt as he walked. His serene expression remained even in war. "Your Majesty, I have blessed the men and prayed for our success."

"Thank you, George," replied David. "Your presence means more to the men than they'll admit."

George simply ducked his head with a modest bow. "They believe in you, David. That is more powerful than any prayer I might say.

David's gaze overskipped George, to the lines of soldiers adjusting their armament and saddling horses. There were familiar faces amongst them—men who had fought with him through innumerable battles. Then there were the younger faces, like Luka, a face fresh with a tinge of fear mixed with eagerness. His heart was heavy for them—the ones that had never seen the horrors of war.

What of the roads ahead?" David turned his attention to the tactical matters at hand. "Do our scouts still report no activity by the Seljuks?"

Ivane nodded. "Aye, as of last night, there was no sign of any Seljuk movements along the road. That doesn't mean they are not building up a plan. I would wager they wait for us to make the first mistake.

David clenched his jaw. "Then we won't give them satisfaction. The landscape is our friend, not theirs."

Bishop George spoke in soft tones, his words contemplative. "You've chosen the route wisely. God willing, it will give us the advantage we need.

David cherished the bishop's support, but he knew well that no amount of faith would change the dangers laying before them. The Seljuks were a formidable force, and he was leading his people into what could be one of the most fateful battles of his reign. He had to be sure, unshakeable in his decisions.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a nervous voice behind him.

"Your Majesty?

David turned to find Luka, a young soldier he had spoken to the night before, standing with his helmet tucked under his arm in an awkward fashion. His face was flushed, but in his wide eyes, there was a sense of determination.

"Luka," he nodded in greeting, "you are up early. What is it?"

Luka shifted his weight, eyes darting around as he struggled for composure. "I just… I wanted to thank you, sire. For what you said last night. It meant a lot to us."

David smiled, setting a reassuring hand on Luka's shoulder. "You'll be all right, Luka. You've trained hard, and you have good men behind you. Just remember what you're fighting for."

The expression brightened on Luka's face, and he nodded. "I won't forget, Your Majesty. I'll fight with everything I've got."

David gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before letting him go. "That's all I ask. Now, join your unit. We march soon.

Ivane chuckled quietly into his side as Luka quickened off toward the others. "You've got them eating out of the palm of your hand, you know. They'll follow you to the gates of hell if you ask them to."

David let out a deep sigh and repeated the motion of scanning the rows of soldiers once more. "I just hope I don't lead them there.

Ivane reached out and patted his shoulder. "They believe in you, David. As do I. You are not that same boy who struggled to lift a sword. You've grown into a king."

David's expression was gentle at the words of his friend, his chest swirling with gratitude and doubt. "And you've always been there to remind me of that, Ivane."

Ivane grinned. "It's what I do best.

Hooves and the rhythmic sound of boots rose into the air as the Georgian army moved out from Kutaisi. Further on, it twisted through valleys and mountain passes—a narrow path that would take them ever closer to their enemy's territory. The road would be harsh, and every soldier knew the dangers that awaited them.

David rode at the head of the column, eye keen and watchful on the horizon for any trace of movement. The air was still crisp with morning chill, but tension among the men was palpable.

Bishop George rode beside him, his eyes introspective. "It is a beautiful land," he said, his eyes wandering over the rolling hills and towering peaks. "It reminds me of what we're fighting for.

David nodded, already gone in his head. "Pretty doesn't win battles. Tactics does."

George chuckled quietly. "Of course. Yet it is nice to remember what one is fighting for. At least, for the men, it is."

David turned and looked back down the long line of soldiers that stood behind him, armour glinting in the early light. He knew that his troops' morale was good, yet he also knew the real test lay before them.

As they were approaching a narrow pass between two high ridges, Ivane rode up beside David, furrows on his brow. "Scouts report nothing unusual ahead, but something about this place feels wrong. It's too quiet."

David's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword as his eyes narrowed. "Keep the men alert. This is just the kind of terrain the Seljuks would use for an ambush.

Ivane nodded, then turned and shouted to the nearer captains. The column faltered to a stop, men gripping weapons tight, eyes scanning the ridges above.

As they entered the pass, with the stone walls climbing high on either side of them, David's heart began to race. He could feel the weight of silence, the oppressive stillness hanging in the air. Every sound seemed magnified: the clink of armour, the snort of a horse, the soft creak of leather.

It was as if the land itself held its breath.