Three years had gone by since David started to train with Master Grigol. His body was now different at thirteen years of age, much stronger and quicker. Quicker with his sword, precise with his strikes. But for all his physical prowess, it was the sharpening of his mind that set him apart. Grigol always said that though the body could win battles, it is the mind which could win wars.
But the court was a different kind of battlefield.
David stood beside his father, King George II, in the grand hall of the palace in Kutaisi. The air was heavy with nobles whispering amongst themselves, their eyes darting quick glances at the young prince. They were unsure about him, and did not know what kind of ruler he would one day make. Most still perceived him as a boy—though his growing reputation was that of a fierce and capable warrior-in-training.
But David had seen the fissures in the kingdom. Really, all was not united in Georgia. Factions among the nobles threatened to rend the crown asunder; beyond the borders, the aggressive Seljuk Turks waxed with each passing day.
A messenger entered the hall. His face pale, he bowed before the king. "My lord, the Seljuks have taken another town in the East. Their forces move closer to our capital."
The murmur grew louder, as fear rippled through the nobles that were present. David clenched his fists. Same story, time and time again, news of another town falling, another defeat. His father was beginning to lose his grip on the throne, and with it the strength of Georgia itself.
King George's face was somber, and he dismissed the messenger with a wave of his hand; his voice hardened as he addressed the room: "We will not cede more territory. Our armies will move to meet them."
One of the older nobles, a man named Vardan, stepped forward. "Your majesty, our forces are stretched thin. How can we hope to stand against the might of the Seljuks? Their numbers are endless.
David's gaze flickered towards Vardan, his words laced with threads of fear and doubt. The boy-king in him wanted to shout, wanted to demand they fight back with everything they had. But he held his silence and listened as his father responded.
"We will strengthen our defenses and appeal to our allies," King George replied, though even David could detect the tenseness in his voice. His father was a courageous man, yet the burden of losing ground had brought him down.
David shifted uncomfortably, his mind racing. He had been trained for this moment, the day when he would face these invaders—not with words, but with steel. But even he knew that the kingdom wasn't ready yet. Not while the nobles bickered over power and resources. Not while their forces were divided.
More arguments and hesitations droned on until the end of the meeting, at which he felt that they had achieved nothing. The kingdom was in peril, yet all the court could manage was to talk and talk.
The room cleared, David approached his father. "We must do more, father. We have to act now, or else the Seljuks will take everything."
King George let his gaze fall upon his son, the weariness in his eyes apparent. "I know, David. But war is not solely won by strength. The nobles… they are fearful. And when men fear, they pull back."
David's face hardened. "Then we take men that do not fear.
His father smiled weakly and laid a hand on David's shoulder. "You speak like a warrior, my son. But a king must know when to wait and when to strike."
David nodded, but inside he knew waiting was no longer an option. He could feel the fire burning within him, a roar growing louder. The time for action was at hand, and when it did, he would be ready.