The sound of fighting between the Dothraki and Viserys's men at the seaside manse was deafening, jolting the Pentoshi City Watch awake.
The defenders of Pentos huddled on the walls like quail, shivering as they watched the bloodbath in the manse district. For a few gold coins a month, who would risk their life intervening in such madness?
Horses screamed, steel clashed, and the wind carried the salty tang of blood, sweat, and death.
The City Watch had never seen such ferocity. They merely watched, terrified that the victor might turn their rage upon the city itself.
Illyrio and several other Magisters hurried up to the battlements, staring out at the slaughter illuminated by firelight. Two cavalry forces were grinding each other down in the night.
The Dothraki charged brainlessly, smashing themselves against the iron wall of the heavy cavalry.
Like waves breaking against a cliff, they shattered.
"It's over. It's all over," Illyrio's face went pale, then green. How had two guests he invited ended up butchering each other in the night?
Regardless of who won, trouble would follow. As hosts, Pentos would inevitably offend one side.
"The Khal is dead!" Viserys's voice thundered across the battlefield.
His knights roared in response. "Khal Jhiqui is dead!"
"Long live King Viserys!"
The shouts echoed through the countryside.
"That fool Jhiqui," Illyrio muttered, realizing the Khal was doomed. Why provoke a demon like Viserys Targaryen?
Jhiqui, blinded by greed, had launched a sneak attack, only to run straight into Viserys's counter-ambush.
"Viserys understands Dothraki. He knew of the insults at the feast," Illyrio deduced. Viserys had likely been planning to kill the Khal from the start.
In bravery, cunning, and ruthlessness, this young man was a shark plunging into the pool of Essos politics, churning the waters into a frenzy.
"He is only fifteen..." Illyrio thought bitterly. The situation was spiraling out of control.
Viserys was no lamb. He was the nightmare of slavers and Dothraki alike, a true descendant of Aegon the Conqueror, far from the docile pawn he and Varys had imagined.
"Jhiqui still had over a thousand screamers near his manse, and he struck first. And he still lost," Magister Ordello said, stunned.
In Pentoshi eyes, only the Unsullied could stand against the Dothraki; sellswords were useless. It was always better to pay tribute.
Yet Viserys's soldiers, fewer in number than the Khal's elite, had slain the warlord in a head-on clash.
The power of the Andal King was far more terrifying than they had imagined.
"Magister, they're charging toward Jhiqui's main camp," a guard reported to Illyrio.
Illyrio raised his Myrish lens. Indeed, like a fire spreading, Viserys's cavalry was thundering toward the Dothraki encampment.
Two battles in one night. Savage beyond measure.
Khal Jhiqui's head, along with those of his bloodriders, hung from Viserys's saddle. The thick scent of blood filled the air. The battlefield was a slaughterhouse.
Dothraki corpses littered the ground—trampled, shot, speared, or cut down in the charge.
The Andal and Rhoynar knights surrounded Viserys, reveling in a decisive victory.
Only blood and fire could wash away past humiliations.
And now, they were the victors.
"The Khal is dead! Surrender and live!"
"Khal Jhiqui is dead! Kneel!" Viserys shouted over the battlefield. The once-fearsome screamers had become a weak stream before the iron dam of his heavy cavalry.
Their tactics were wrong; they had surrendered their advantage.
And facing warriors like Viserys and Aggo, they stood no chance.
No one cared for the dying screamers; to the Dothraki, death in battle was natural.
Viserys scanned the field. He ignored the half-dead but rallied the living.
He had captured several hundred terrified Dothraki survivors. Adding them to his forces, he now outnumbered Jhiqui's remaining Ko.
"Those who can still hold a weapon—will you kneel, or will you challenge me?" Viserys demanded of the surrounded warriors.
The able-bodied survivors dropped to their knees, cutting off their braids and throwing them into a pile.
They were thoroughly beaten. Their strongest Khal and bloodriders were dead.
"Khal of Dragons!" a screamer shouted reverently.
"Khal of Dragons!"
" The Silver Khal!" The warriors chanted, signaling their submission.
The name fit. Viserys was clad in mithril from head to toe—silver helm, silver armor, silver spear—and had silver-gold hair.
But most striking was the red dragon breathing fire on his surcoat, which tonight had tasted its fill of blood.
Dothraki worshipped strength.
Jhiqui had lost. He was no longer worthy to be their Khal.
"What is your name?" Viserys asked the first warrior to surrender, a scarred young man.
"Ringo, my Khal!" the scarred warrior replied.
"Good. You will command these men," Viserys ordered.
"I will be your bloodrider, blood of your blood," Ringo cut his finger and smeared the blood on his face.
"Mount up. We ride to crush Jhiqui's remnants. Are you with me? Or will you wait here by the pillars?" Viserys pointed his whip at the surrendered men.
The screamers looked at Viserys with awe, then picked up their weapons.
"Follow the Dragon Khal! Kill!"
They raised their arakhs, having switched allegiance without hesitation.
Kill, and be done with it. Dothraki loyalty was fierce, but fickle.
They loved only blood and fire. Once a Khal fell, unless they were bloodriders, everyone else jumped ship immediately.
It was the logic of the beast, and in its own way, it followed strict rules.
"Now, smash Jhiqui's camp." Viserys spurred his horse forward, his cavalry following close behind.
Viserys looked at these new recruits. The survivors would make fine auxiliary cavalry. Now, let them prove their loyalty.
Since Dothraki wore no armor, many would die in the coming charge.
The cavalry swept from the manse toward the main camp like a storm.
Unexpectedly, they ran straight into Jhiqui's Ko, Tango, halfway there. The decisive battle erupted suddenly.
The Dothraki shrieked when they saw the heads of their Khal and his bloodriders.
Viserys spotted Tango, the drunken Ko, identified by his silver belt.
He wasn't the only one drunk.
Dothraki fermented mare's milk was weak compared to Pentoshi spirits, and the warriors were groggy with drink.
"You killed the Khal?" Tango cursed, seeing the treacherous screamers beside Viserys. Only when a Khal died did his men switch sides.
Tango could have tried to become the new Khal, but it was too late. The scales of victory had tipped.
The two cavalry forces collided like magnets, sparking a new slaughter.
This time, it was Dothraki against Dothraki, warrior against warrior.
Viserys and Aggo formed the tip of the spear, punching straight for the enemy commander.
Dawn was breaking. The silver belt was an easy target, and to show his courage, the Dothraki leader charged from the front.
Steel rang out like a storm.
As a Ko, Tango was skilled. But he was no match for Viserys, especially while drunk.
Viserys's silver spear slammed into him. The weapon's flexibility and hardness were unmatched. Viserys lifted the Dothraki from his saddle like spearing a prawn.
He hurled Tango to the ground, where the trampling hooves finished him.
"Dragon Khal!" The screamers roared in victory. Their new Khal was a god of war.
"Dragon Khal! Forever!" Ringo leaped down and severed Tango's head.
"Kill!"
"Kill!"
This victory was even cleaner. The enemy was weaker than Jhiqui's elite, and drunkenness had dulled their edge.
The bloody battle lasted until the Pentoshi dawn. The citizens watched, dumbfounded, as their "guests" littered the countryside with corpses.
In the morning light, the black and red dragon banner flew high. The cavalry, exhausted but victorious, stood in formation like a dense forest.
The somber Andal heavy cavalry and the swift Rhoynar light horse bore the dents and scars of battle, but their faces shone with triumph.
Blood and victory had forged this army, making them look like demons of vengeance.
The Dothraki corpses were piled up. Once doused with oil, they would burn quickly.
Viserys sat on a folding chair, sipping unsweetened lemon water.
Only after a night of slaughter did he find a moment of peace. Even with a body of iron, such fighting was exhausting.
[ "Fate-Reverser" Viserys Targaryen has delivered Justice to multiple Dothraki "Evildoers" in battle. Reward: Base Attribute Increase. Strength ↑, Agility ↑, Toughness ↑ ]
Viserys watched his stats climb with satisfaction. A Khal and his bloodriders were high-value targets, yielding far more than mere bandits.
He dared not imagine what killing Khal Drogo would yield.
Every Khal and bloodrider was steeped in blood debt, the survivors of thousands of battles.
Not far behind him lay a pile of cut braids—proof of the Dothraki submission.
The shorn warriors followed behind the column, respectful and silent for the first time in their lives.
Aside from the dead, dying, and those who fled across the river, Viserys had absorbed seven or eight hundred warriors—nearly a full regiment.
His own casualties were minimal. It was a glorious victory.
Aside from strategy, his soldiers' pent-up rage had played a huge part.
"Dothraki elite? I beat the elite!"
"Ringo!" Viserys called to his new lieutenant. "Show these heads to the Pentoshi. Tell them there were thieves last night, and I cleaned up the trash for them."
"At once, Dragon Khal." Ringo bowed.
Ringo and his men rode to the walls of Pentos, displaying the heads of Jhiqui and his bloodriders.
The gates opened shortly after. Only Magister Illyrio came out to mediate.
The other Magisters were too terrified to show their faces, fearing Viserys's wrath.
They hadn't expected the handsome young Dragon King to be such a cold-blooded monster in battle.
Khal Jhiqui had made a fatal miscalculation.
The air was thick with the smell of blood. The warriors looked at Illyrio like hungry beasts eyeing prey.
Life and death were laid bare. Illyrio had to endure.
"I apologize to you. This was our negligence."
Illyrio gave a quiet order, and four burly slaves hurried forward carrying a cedar chest bound in bronze.
Opening it, Viserys saw it was filled with the finest velvet and brocade of the Free Cities—nestled within lay three large eggs.
"Dragon eggs, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai," Illyrio said. "Fossilized over eons, yet still beautiful."
"Dragon eggs... My fat friend, you hide your treasures well," Viserys said without rising.
For a moment, Illyrio felt as if the stars were spinning in reverse. The fire in those violet eyes seemed to awaken a true dragon.
"I treat you as a true Dragon, Your Grace. I apologize for my lack of sincerity earlier," Illyrio apologized immediately. He was here now; survival was the priority.
A bloodthirsty warrior like Viserys might kill him on a whim.
"Those who follow my cause are good men, and friends," Viserys stood up, looking at the eggs. "I thank you, Magister Illyrio. Do not disappoint me."
"Yes, yes, of course," Illyrio wiped the sweat from his brow. "The Magisters have prepared even better gifts for you. That manse is far too small now."
Viserys's spectacular performance had caused his value to skyrocket once again.
The Pentoshi's "goodwill" had just leveled up.