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Drogo sat tall on his warhorse, scanning the chaos until his eyes found the young man on the white horse atop the distant rise. The black banner with three red dragons snapped behind him.
The main Targaryen army hit like a hammer. War elephants led the way, players screaming from their backs as the huge beasts shook the ground. Dothraki tried to slip between the legs only to get snatched up by trunks and smashed into the dirt.
Then the sky turned against them.
Wyverns dove from above, long wings slicing the air. Players leaned out and ripped riders from their saddles, carrying them screaming into the clouds before dropping the bodies like broken dolls. The Dothraki had faced monsters before. But when the earth itself exploded and fire wyrms burst out, breathing gouts of flame that turned men and horses into pillars of fire, something inside them broke.
Viserys gave the order. Four thousand held back as reserve. The rest—fifteen thousand infantry, two thousand Windblown, and two thousand cavalry—surged forward from three directions. Elephants and wyverns crushed from the front and sky while fire wyrms tunneled underneath, burning and vanishing again.
Behind the lines the new artillery commander, Carpenter Emperor, wiped sweat off his face and dropped his flag. Eight bronze cannons fired together. Stone shot tore through the Dothraki ranks, sending men and horses flying.
Pentos's gates swung open. Bevos led two thousand fighters out in a hard charge, closing the trap from behind.
Four forces closing in. Viserys felt the shift in his chest. The Dothraki momentum was gone. Their charge had stalled. This battle was already won.
Bloodbeard reached them first, warblade rising and falling in savage arcs. He cut down more than twenty horse-lords before the rest even realized he was among them.
Daario met one of Drogo's bloodriders head-on. Blades locked for a second, then Daario's off-hand dagger flashed up and buried itself in the man's eye socket. Mago dropped dead without another sound.
Six of Mago's riders came screaming for revenge. Daario killed two with thrown knives, cut down a third with his sword, and let the infantry spears finish the rest. Only one tried to run. Daario rode him down and split his spine open from behind.
Gylo tried to end it clean. He dropped his lance, grabbed his bow, and put three arrows at Drogo. Every one missed. Before he could loose a fourth, the Khal was already on top of him.
White Cloak Lancelot charged to meet the threat. Valyrian steel flashed and took the head off one bloodrider in a single stroke. Then he turned on Drogo himself.
Drogo roared and hurled a dagger. Lancelot knocked it aside. They traded blows on horseback until Drogo swung a spiked mace and smashed it into the player's helmet. Lancelot dropped like a stone.
Roland saw his man fall and rode in hard with Gylo and another White Cloak. Three against one.
Drogo fought like a cornered beast, arakh in one hand and flail in the other, holding all three off through sheer violence and horsemanship.
A young rider named Qhogo, barely sixteen but already one of the best in his band, saw his Khal surrounded and spurred forward to help.