Winds of War

The crisp autumn air whipped across the palace courtyard, heavy with the acrid scent of burning firewood and pine from the dark forest. Soft murmurings of nobles in conclave were balanced by the distant clang of swords in the training yard. Stormy tension lay in the air.

David stood near a large wooden table in the war room, with a detailed map of Georgia sprawled before him. His eyes traced the southern borders, where reports indicated the Seljuks were mobilizing. Clenching his fist to contain the frustration growing in him, he knew every day passing brought the army closer to defeat. The nobles were divided, each pulling in their own direction, supposedly his allies.

Besides him, Bishop George said nothing, keen eyes scanning the faces of the present lords, and called for a war council—but by the look of things, unity was still far from being realized.

The giant Lord Giorgi, his beard grey, was the first to break the silence, rising to his feet. "We cannot afford to wait any longer, Your Majesty. The Seljuks are at our doorstep. Every day we delay gives them more time to prepare.".

David's eyes went to Giorgi, who spoke with that same bellicose fervour as during the last council. The resonance in his voice commanded respect yet carried with it that arrogance so common among many older nobles, a thought that every problem can be solved by bludgeoning it into submission.

"And what would you have us do, Lord Giorgi?" David asked quietly, his eyes ice. "Charge into their camps without a plan? Sacrifice our men for a quick victory."

Giorgi bristled but held his ground. "We must show strength. If we hesitate, they will take us for cowards."

David's jaw clenched, biting back a retort. Instead, he leaned over the table, tapping his fingers against the marked locations where the Seljuk forces were supposed to be gathering.

"We can't match their numbers head-on," David said. "Not yet. If we rush in, we will lose more than just men. We'll lose our entire kingdom. We have to be smarter than that."

Smarter?" Lord Iakob was a lean man with a calculating stare. "Does that mean taking to the mountains while our cities burn? We are not sheep to be herded, Your Majesty."

David's hand came down on the table, startling the room into silence. His voice was controlled but carried the weight of his command.

"I am not asking you to hide in the mountains. I am asking you to think," David snapped. "We will strike, but on our terms, not theirs. And when we do, the Seljuks will regret ever setting foot on Georgian soil."

Bishop George stepped forward, his even voice slicing through the tension. "We've already sent out scouts to disrupt their supply lines. Small victories that will weaken their advance. We buy ourselves time."

"Time for what?" Giorgi interjected. "More waiting? More hesitation?

"No," David said, his voice unyielding. "It's time to bring this council together. To gather every man who can fight. We will no longer just defend our land; we will take the fight to them. But only when we are ready."

Lord Giorgi's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he measured the king's resolve. "And just when, pray tell, shall we be ready? What's your plan, boy?"

David stared hard at Giorgi, patience wearing thin. "The plan, my Lord Giorgi, is to fight on our terms, not theirs. To take the side of the land. We know these mountains and forests much better than any invader does. If we strike now, we would lose thousands of men without gaining a real victory. But if we bleed them, weaken them, then we have a chance.

Giorgi would have barked back at him, but George raised his hand, signalling him to stop, and gave him a strict look.

"Yes, king, he is right," George said. "We cannot storm into this war like a bunch of fools. The Seljuks are good, but they are not invincible. We have fought them before, and we will fight them again. But this time not without any specific strategy."

Once more, silence dominated the council room. He felt the tension but then the shift. He had spoken from the heart, and not just as a king but as a leader for his people. Some of the nobles were starting to see that—even Giorgi.

After long moments of silence, Lord Iakob finally spoke. His voice was softer than before. "And what would you have us do, Your Majesty? How do we prepare?"

David turned to George, who nodded unobtrusively. Then he scanned the room, his eyes level and direct.

"We will muster every man, every soldier, and every able-bodied farmer capable of holding a spear. We shall prepare our defences, but more importantly, we shall prepare ourselves to strike when the time comes. Our scouts will continue to disrupt their supplies. We will wear them down until they are vulnerable."

"And then?" Giorgi asked, his tone unrelenting in its incredulity.

David's eyes shone with resolution. "And then we will strike, not just to defend our borders but to push them back. Far beyond what they expect. We will take back what is ours, and they shall know that Georgia is not a land to be conquered.

The weight of David's words left the room silent for a few moments. Then, one after another, each of the nobles nodded in assent.

"We shall stand with you, Your Majesty," finally said Lord Iakob. "But know this—if we fail, the blood shall be on our hands."

David held his gaze, voice level. "If we fail, Georgia shall fall. But we shall not fail.

Later in the night, David was standing on the open balcony, the city of Kutaisi stretching far below his feet. High in the sky, the moon was approachable and palely glowing. The soft hum of the wind was the only thing that filled the night.

George joined him, and his quiet hum of footsteps announced his coming. They stood in silence for a moment, both lost in their thoughts.

"You spoke well today," George said finally after a moment of silence. "The nobles are starting to trust you."

David blew a heavy sigh; his shoulders were tense. "For now. But they still see me as a boy. Someone they can control."

George smiled faintly. "They're wrong."

"Am I?" David asked quietly. "Am I strong enough to lead them? To win this war?"

George laid a hand on David's shoulder. "Strength isn't about wielding a sword, David. It's about making the right decisions—even when they're hard. It's about leading with your mind and your heart."

David looked out over the city, his thoughts heavy. "I just don't want to fail them. I don't want to fail Georgia.

"You won't," George replied firmly. "You've already shown more wisdom than many kings twice your age. And when the time comes, they'll follow you. Because they know, deep down, that you're fighting for them."

David nodded, even though the mantle of leadership still weighed heavy upon his shoulders. War was coming, and with it came the toughest decisions he had to make. But he knew one thing for sure: he would never let Georgia fall. Not while he still had breath.

"I will not fail," David said in a hushed tone to himself, his eyes fixed upon the horizon. "I will not fail."