Read my new story >>Marvel *Villain Points* (Evil MC)
CaveLeather
The army had been on the march for days, and every step of the way more sworn men and smallfolk answered the call. By the time the horns sounded near Pentos, Viserys had twenty-two thousand fighters at his back. Add the sailors hauling grain by sea and the total hit twenty-six thousand.
Inside the command tent, the King pointed at the old sellsword.
"Tattered Prince."
" Your Grace."
"Take the Windblown and push hard. Get to the walls of Pentos as fast as you can."
The old man slammed a fist to his chest. "Windblown ride first."
Below the city walls the Dothraki had spent days driving captured peasants to pile dirt. The ramps were nearly finished. Bevos watched them grow and shifted his scorpions forward, one engine for every slope, ready to greet the first riders who tried to climb.
The bloodriders had waited long enough for revenge. Khal Drogo gave Cohollo three thousand warriors and the honor of the first charge.
"Today we settle every score!" Cohollo roared, arakh flashing. "Kill every man in iron! Rape their women! Enslave their sons! Cut down their old!"
The Dothraki screamed and thundered forward. They lost fewer than a hundred men to arrows before they reached the base of the walls. Then the scorpions spoke.
Cohollo's grin died when a spear the size of a man's leg punched through his chest and flung him backward into his own riders. Men and horses went down in a screaming tangle. Before they could untangle, jars of strong wine rained from the battlements, followed by a storm of flaming arrows.
The slope turned into a furnace. Men burned where they stood. The air stank of cooked meat and hair.
Drogo watched from the rear, jaw tight, as his bloodrider's three thousand melted into corpses and flame. He was already lifting his hand to order the next wave when a horn echoed across the plain.
Dust rose in a long line. Banners snapped in the wind. From the walls the defenders started cheering.
"Great Brother Wei's here!"
"The Windblown made it!"
"Open the gates! Let's hit them from both sides!"
The Tattered Prince had arrived with every rider he could scrape together. He had tied brush and dry wood to the horses' tails to kick up extra dust and make his force look ten times larger. It was a trick meant to bluff the horse-lords into pulling back.
It didn't work.
Drogo drew his arakh and pointed at the approaching riders.
"Charge! Kill them all!"
His warriors howled and swung their mounts toward the new threat. The Tattered Prince saw the move and cursed. He ordered the dust-makers stripped away and his infantry to form a wall of spears.
Two thousand Dothraki split off and thundered straight at the Windblown foot. Arrows from the Tattered Prince's archers dropped dozens, but the rest kept coming.
Then another horn answered from the flank.
Gylo and two thousand armored cavalry—White Cloaks, Long Lances, and every other mounted fighter Viserys could spare—came thundering out of the dust. The Tattered Prince's own three hundred riders wheeled to join them. Over two thousand heavy cavalry lowered lances and charged the Dothraki horde.
The White Cloaks hit first. Valyrian steel blades rose and fell. Dothraki arakhs rang off plate and left nothing but bright scratches. The white knights cut straight through the front ranks like they were riding through wheat.
Two fresh Dothraki bands, a thousand strong each, peeled off and tried to swing around the cavalry fight toward the Windblown infantry. The Tattered Prince met them with another volley, then braced his spears.
Before the horse-lords could close the last distance, the main Targaryen host arrived in force, banners snapping, horns screaming, and Viserys himself at the head of the column.