The sea breeze blew gently; the night in Pentos was sweet, the temperature perfectly mild. It lacked the chill of Braavos or the sweltering heat of Tyrosh and Myr. They said Lys had the finest climate, but Viserys had yet to visit.
Viserys gazed up at the stars. The myriad constellations shone brightly, silent witnesses to the impending slaughter.
The lights of the manse complex had dimmed, the scattered villas looking like slumbering beasts in the darkness.
To prevent friction between Viserys and the Khal, the Pentoshi had housed them at opposite ends of the seaside estate, separated by a considerable distance.
Unfortunately, this was merely wishful thinking on the part of the Magisters.
Viserys was looking forward to killing Khal Jhiqui personally. These Dothraki, like the Ironborn reavers and the shameless robber knights of Westeros, were cold-blooded social Darwinists.
Killing such bastards would surely yield extraordinary attribute points.
The stats from a Khal... that was something Viserys hadn't even factored into his calculations before.
"Streams flow into the sea, and so do nations," Viserys mused.
He hadn't expected another beggar coming to Pentos for coin to turn around and try to rob him.
Such behavior was a death sentence.
Only Viserys had the right to flip the table and rob the robbers.
Initially, fighting Khal Drogo to the death would have been a strategic gamble, but this steady accumulation of power was the true path of a King.
Since Jhiqui wanted to court death, Viserys would oblige him. It was a perfect opportunity to shatter the myth of Dothraki invincibility.
The art of war lies in playing to your strengths and avoiding your weaknesses.
The Dothraki excelled at feigned retreats and circling their enemies with a storm of arrows—tactics that decimated conventional armies. The Tall Men of Sarnor had fallen for this trap; the High King led a hundred thousand men into the jaws of eighty thousand horselords and was wiped out.
Viserys planned a solid defense followed by a frontal assault—the most favorable scenario for his heavy cavalry. If the Dothraki decided to run, his armored knights would never catch them.
Viserys had observed the Dothraki screamers. Their training had merits. They lived in the saddle, making their horsemanship superb.
Dothraki warriors were unarmored light cavalry, relying on the explosive speed of their horses and tactical flexibility.
Warhorses were expensive. Few nations had the vast grasslands and herds to support cavalry on such a scale, making the sheer size of the Dothraki hordes terrifying.
Even the formidable Golden Company fielded only about a thousand cavalry.
Furthermore, every Dothraki male was a warrior, utterly fearless of death.
In contrast, Westerosi armies were like a sandwich: a core of elite knights surrounded by poorly trained levies. The knights were formidable, but the peasant infantry often routed quickly.
"Your Grace, the longbowmen are in position!" Hugo the Hawk reported.
Viserys had deployed a hundred longbowmen on the high towers of his manse to provide suppressing fire.
The Andal longbowmen were ready to teach the Dothraki a lesson.
These soldiers held a deep grudge. From Andalos to the Rhoyne, they had witnessed Dothraki atrocities and suffered under their tyranny.
"I will lead the charge with the cavalry. The defense of the manse is in your hands," Viserys told Hugo.
"At once, Your Grace!" Hugo promised.
"No movement yet," a scout reported.
"Good. Keep watching," Viserys ordered.
Viserys waited for the bell of fate. If the Dothraki came, it would be a bloodbath. If they didn't, no harm done.
For a commander, caution is better than rashness.
Viserys trusted his instincts. The Khal was greedy and looked down on them.
"The hour of the wolf has arrived, Your Grace," Aggo said after a while.
The hour of the wolf is the darkest part of the night. If the savages were going to move, it would be now.
"Patience. Let's see how many they bring," Viserys said.
Aggo was clad in full plate over mail, looking like a mountain of steel, wielding his terrifyingly large greatsword. His horse was barded just as heavily.
This was the traditional Andal heavy cavalry—man and horse, a fortune in steel.
Viserys had poured immense effort and gold into these knights.
Heavy cavalry excelled in frontal assaults but lacked the mobility to chase down light horsemen.
Viserys drummed his fingers on his sword belt. He knew Jhiqui had left a Ko to guard the main camp. Given Jhiqui's arrogance, he would likely bring only his thousand elite riders for the raid.
A roar suddenly shattered the silence of the night, followed by the high-pitched screams of the Unsullied guards and the flare of torches.
Khal Jhiqui. He couldn't resist the temptation.
"Your Grace, we estimate a thousand riders. The Ko has not moved from the camp."
"Good."
Out of arrogance and greed, Jhiqui wanted the glory and loot for himself. Waking his Ko would have caused too much commotion.
Jhiqui led his thousand warriors in a brazen sneak attack.
Viserys looked at the bare-chested Dothraki screamers. It was a joke. One infected wound and they were done for.
"Hold fire until two hundred and fifty yards!"
"Draw!" Hugo commanded. This was the effective range for massed volley fire.
"Move out." Viserys descended from the tower quickly, his retinue following like a silent forest.
The manse was small. Aside from the archers and the Unsullied at the gates, the knights had to meet the enemy in the field.
Outside the side gate, the cavalry waited in the darkness. The barracks were empty.
Viserys's silver armor shimmered with an ethereal light, like an immortal god of war.
"Today, I lead you to the battlefield. Those who love me, follow me!" Viserys vaulted onto his black stallion, which whinnied in anticipation.
"Vengeance!"
"Vengeance!"
Five hundred Andal heavy horse and two hundred Rhoynar light horse followed their commander.
The Andals and Rhoynar burned with anger, eager to vent their fury.
Viserys waited for the Dothraki's first blunder. Time was tight. He needed to kill the Khal, then block the Ko and the main tribe.
This was a critical window. The Khal had separated himself from the bulk of his khalasar.
Viserys had ordered caltrops scattered on the approaches. The charging Dothraki realized too late that the ground was sown with steel thorns.
The distance was short, and their arrogance had blinded them. They hadn't sent scouts.
Dothraki horses screamed as spikes pierced their hooves, throwing their riders.
Many screamers were trampled by the horses behind them before they could rise.
Dothraki faces were ground into paste, heads bursting like melons, bodies broken.
Wails and the clash of steel filled the air. The Dothraki cared little for their own; if you died, you died.
Ignoring their fallen comrades, the Dothraki charged on, waving their arakhs, seemingly undeterred by the carnage.
The scene turned bloody instantly, staining the white sands red.
"Draw!"
"Loose!"
Under starlight and torchlight, the Andal longbowmen on the towers unleashed death.
Ruthless arrows pierced Dothraki bodies, spraying blood.
At close range, the longbows were devastating. The archers delivered their grim greeting calmly.
Against unarmored targets, a hit to the throat or chest was fatal. Many Dothraki fell before reaching the walls.
The arrow storm swept the field, targeting riders and horses alike.
Viserys's archers rained hail upon the Dothraki—hundreds, thousands of arrows in moments.
War cries turned to screams of agony.
Then came the second wave. The archers nocked their third arrows.
"Spears!" Garin shouted.
"Throw!" The Rhoynar spear-throwers in the dark hurled their javelins. These shorter-range projectiles flew with deadly force.
The short spears hissed through the air. The Dothraki looked up in confusion; they had never faced such combined arms tactics.
"Cowards!"
"Cowards!" the Dothraki cursed.
Cold steel pierced bronzed skin. Blood soaked the horses. Bodies slid limply from saddles, horses whinnying in loneliness.
"To die by my combined arms... you die well, Khal," Viserys muttered, patting his excited horse. His spear, the relic of Garin the Grey, thirsted for blood.
"Damned cowards," Khal Jhiqui scowled. How were they prepared?
But Dothraki fought with courage first. He had committed his riders and suffered heavy losses. Retreat now might cost him his leadership.
"Sons of the Stallion! Victory is ours!" Jhiqui took a deep breath and waved his arakh.
The Dothraki returned fire with their own bows, aiming at the towers.
After the caltrops and arrows, it was time for blood.
"The Warrior!"
"The River!"
"Wash away our shame!" Viserys raised his spear. He saw it clearly.
The Dothraki had paid a heavy price for their arrogance. Viserys now had a slight numerical advantage in effective combatants.
Now, there was only war.
Schemes and tricks were over. Only by utterly crushing the enemy could he forge the soul of his army.
The steel monsters of the Andal heavy cavalry appeared before the enemy, led by "Seven Stars" Aggo, swinging his terrifying greatsword.
Aggo roared, "Come and fight, you sheep-fucking bastards!"
This time, there was no infantry phalanx. It was a brutal cavalry clash.
A Dothraki arakh glanced off Aggo's plate, useless.
The Dothraki had little experience piercing heavy armor.
Aggo roared in fury and smashed the Dothraki from his horse.
The upper half of the Dothraki's body flew sideways—Aggo had cut him in half with sheer brute force.
Viserys watched Jhiqui. The Khal led a reserve of elite lancers.
Viserys saw his heavy cavalry blooming like steel roses in the enemy ranks, and his heart eased.
Andals and Dothraki locked in combat, with Rhoynar light horse providing support.
In close quarters, unarmored light cavalry charging heavy knights was suicide.
Dothraki arakhs flashed. If they couldn't find a gap in the armor, the knights would crush them.
Steel lances, hammers, and swords roared. The Dothraki realized their mistake too late.
A Dothraki rode past, slumped over his horse's neck, a lance protruding from his back.
Jhiqui's golden belt was conspicuous. Viserys found his target.
"Khal Jhiqui! Your opponent is me!" Viserys roared, raising his spear. His reserve unit surged forward like a hurricane.
Jhiqui saw the silver-armored knight in the black and red surcoat. He knew it was Viserys.
"Die, milk-man!" Jhiqui charged.
Khals loved single combat. Drogo had built his legend on it.
Viserys moved with astonishing speed. The silver spear struck like a viper.
Thanks to the Red Viper's tutelage, Viserys's spearwork was masterful.
"Damn it!" Jhiqui dodged frantically. This pretty boy was skilled, not a pampered lordling.
The spear grazed the Khal's back instead of gutting him.
Still, the burning pain drove Jhiqui into a frenzy.
Jhiqui's arakh was a blur of steel light. Viserys watched calmly.
Jhiqui had experience against armor; he aimed for the joints.
Unfortunately, he was facing the Silver Scale Armor of Garin the Grey.
High, low! Left, right! Thrust, sweep, spin, feint.
Jhiqui was the best of two thousand, but Viserys's stats were higher.
Viserys moved faster and faster. Jhiqui could barely touch him.
Jhiqui parried the ghostly spear desperately, but wounds multiplied on his body. A deep thrust pierced his flank.
"Die!" Jhiqui's eyes were red with rage.
He decided to gamble everything on a strike to break the silver armor.
But as his arakh fell, Viserys sidestepped. The blade glanced harmlessly off the silver scales.
Viserys thrust backhand. The spear caught the Khal square in the chest, piercing muscle and lung. Instant death.
Viserys twisted the spear. The Khal was dead before he hit the ground, his arakh clattering onto the sand.
"Khal! Khal!" The bloodriders screamed. The Khal was dead; they could not live.
Viserys thrust again, piercing a bloodrider's throat.
Aggo charged in, cleaving another bloodrider in two.
"Khal Jhiqui is dead!" Viserys roared, his voice ringing like iron across the battlefield.
With Viserys's roar, the Dothraki army shattered like glass.
They were dazed, feeling as if the battle was a chaotic game where they had been toyed with and lost.
Beaten by these steel cans. Without armor in close quarters, death was inevitable.
Viserys dragged Jhiqui's corpse over, drew his dragonbone dagger, and severed the head. He tied the Khal's head to his saddle.
"Why? Why did you provoke him?" On the city wall, Illyrio moaned bitterly.
Illyrio felt incredibly depressed. Viserys was too crazy, too sharp, too ruthless.
He had noticed the Dothraki insults all along but feigned ignorance.
But when he struck, he showed no mercy.
The people of Pentos had heard the slaughter, but no Magister had the courage to intervene.
Whether Viserys or the Khal, both were bloodthirsty monsters.