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Game of Thrones Prince of the Rhoyne
Game of Thrones: Knights Life
CaveLeather
Viserys watched the battlefield through the players' eyes and saw Roland, Bloodbeard, and Gylo locked in a savage three-on-one fight with the Dothraki Khal. It looked like something straight out of legend—three warriors trying to bring down a beast.
"Huh?"
Jorah Mormont, standing guard beside the King, followed the pointing finger but could only make out a blur of white steel in the chaos.
"That's Roland, Bloodbeard, and Gylo taking on the enemy Khal," Viserys said. "Word is the Dothraki's a monster in battle. Ride out and help them, Jorah. Kill that savage. Once he's dead, the horse lords will break and run like the cowards they are."
"Cut the head off the snake," Viserys added. Drogo's death would shatter the will of nearly thirty thousand Dothraki.
Jorah didn't waste a second. He spurred his horse forward with twenty White Cloaks and blue-robed enforcers at his back, charging straight into the heart of the fight.
"The King's eyes see farther than any man's," Jorah muttered as he rode.
The battlefield was a screaming ocean of men. Even with dragons in the sky, war elephants on the ground, and fire wyrms bursting from below, the Dothraki still had nearly thirty thousand fierce warriors. To win this, Viserys knew he had to kill their leader.
Crack!
Young rider Qhogo lashed his whip across Gylo's horse. The beast reared in pain and threw Gylo hard into the dirt.
Qhogo moved in for the kill, but Gylo's men swarmed him and stabbed the boy to death beneath their spears.
Gylo scrambled back to his feet, ready to remount, but Drogo had already seized the opening. He swung his spiked mace and smashed Bloodbeard's head into a red ruin.
If Roland's White Cloaks hadn't surrounded the Khal with seven or eight men, Roland himself would have fallen to Drogo's blade.
Even so, by the time Gylo got back in the saddle, Drogo had already cut down four more White Cloaks.
Then Jorah arrived with fresh killers. Eight elite fighters closed in tight around the Khal. One more step and it would have been thirty against one.
The Dothraki warriors saw their Khal trapped and went insane trying to reach him, but the White Cloaks and cavalry held the line like a wall of steel.
In the madness, Drogo's horse was speared and went down. He was hacked apart in seconds. Gylo ripped the Khal's head free, jammed it on his lance, and rode through the battlefield with the White Cloaks guarding him.
The moment the Dothraki saw their leader's head, their spirit shattered. Morale collapsed. Bloodriders screamed orders and the whole horde turned and fled in every direction.
One heartbeat they were fighting like demons. The next they were running like whipped dogs while Targaryen warriors chased them down with savage joy.
The battlefield turned into a slaughterhouse. Dothraki scattered like leaves in the wind.
"Kill them all!"
Players with blood in their eyes ran the horse lords down without mercy. Wyverns dove from the sky and ripped riders from their saddles. Fire wyrms burst from the earth and turned men and horses into pillars of screaming flame.
Even the proud Dothraki felt the panic hit them like a sickness: "We're beaten! The army is broken!"
It was a disease no army could easily cure—least of all one as loosely disciplined as the Dothraki.
Tens of thousands of warriors became a panicked mob, screaming for brothers and fathers as they fled.
"Chase them!" the Tattered Prince roared, sword raised high. "Drive them all the way back to the Dothraki Sea!"
By sunset the Dothraki were gone from the walls of Pentos. Their camp had been stripped and burned to ashes, leaving only a few pigs, horses, and cattle behind.
Viserys led his victorious army into the city in triumph.
The Pentos Legion had lost 470 local soldiers on the walls. Admiral Panbeier and 261 sailors died chasing the horse lords. Nearly four thousand Dothraki were killed or wounded, plus countless slaves, old men, women, and children.
When Viserys's main force arrived, they slew Khal Drogo, over ten thousand horse lords, captured a thousand more, and seized three thousand warhorses plus livestock.
"Kneel!"
Inside the old palace the brown-skinned deputy was slammed to his knees. The second-in-command of the Pentos Legion looked terrified, sweat pouring down his face. He knew exactly why he was here.
"You knew Admiral Panbeier was drunk, yet you opened the gates and let him lead the sailors out to chase elite Dothraki cavalry. That's why he died. You're guilty."
Viserys sat on the throne, voice cold as winter.
The knights below kept their eyes down. Only Bevos shook his head sadly but said nothing.
"Your Grace! I have merit! I killed one of Drogo's bloodriders myself. I led my men and wiped out an entire elite Dothraki century! I earned this!"
The deputy raised his head in desperation, but the two blue-robed enforcers behind him twisted his arms until he cried out in pain.
"Merit doesn't erase the crime. You got the commander of the Royal Fleet killed. There's no Wall here for you to take the black. You'll hang."
Viserys was making an example today. This man wasn't walking away.
No matter his excuses, opening the gates for a drunk admiral to chase elite cavalry while hanging back himself showed bad faith. The other knights wouldn't complain. It would serve as a warning for anyone else thinking of playing clever games.
"Your Grace! I demand trial by combat!"
Viserys nodded and sent Jorah Mormont to face him.
In the fighting pit, Jorah cut the deputy's head off in the fourth round.
A few days later the surrendered Dothraki—over a thousand warriors now loyal under Gylo—led the way as the army marched back to Braavos.
One day Viserys rode at the head of his victorious host on his white horse, the army flowing behind him like a river of steel. A White Cloak carried Drogo's head on a lance, displaying it for all to see.
Along the road crowds of loyal smallfolk—arranged by Duck-Pointer—cheered and raised their hands high, shouting "Long live the King!"
"Your Grace!"
"Give the order, Your Grace!"
At that moment a comet streaked across the sky. People whispered it was a sign from the gods blessing the true dragon Viserys.
Viserys looked up, squinting against the light.
"It's coming…"