Viserys had demonstrated his dragonbone bow to Caggo just ten minutes ago. Nine arrows seemed to meld with the night, and with a sharp, piercing sound, it struck down the necks of a Dothraki warrior one after another. Effortless.
Caggo, who had always prided himself on his skill with bow and horse, felt as though he had witnessed a miracle. What did it mean to shoot nine arrows in quick succession, each hitting its mark? Even the mightiest Dothraki warrior couldn't achieve such a feat. This led Caggo to think that Viserys was the stallion destined to mount the world.
Viserys had wanted to impress Caggo, but he also had other plans...
Soon, they led 1,500 light cavalry to the top of the slope. The two men looked down at Jhaqo's camp, waiting for news from Conwyra.
"Prince, that must be Jhaqo's tent," Caggo said, pointing to a tent surrounded by torches and braziers, practically marking his territory.
"Where do they usually keep the civilians they've captured?" Viserys asked.
"Next to Jhaqo's tent. Only the Khalasar's leaders are allowed to distribute... distribute things," Caggo hesitated, realizing that Viserys might not appreciate the truth about the loot.
"Understood. Try to protect the civilians as much as possible."
"Yes, my lord."
Viserys soon received word from the messenger raven that Conwyra had reached the desired location. The note in his hand burned with a quiet flame, like a freshly plucked flower, and Caggo was momentarily distracted.
"Light the fires," Viserys ordered, and hundreds of torches flared to life within the silent ranks of the cavalry. From a distance, the slope seemed ablaze.
He looked down at the Dothraki camp below, confident that victory was within his grasp. Now, he had to face Khal Jhaqo's fifty thousand warriors.
Viserys had never taken the nomads' army seriously. The Dothraki were known to disdain armor and live in tents. In other words, they were not very formidable. Otherwise, they wouldn't have been halted by the three thousand Unsullied at Qohor.
Now, Viserys could say he had the entire map open before him; the Dothraki army held no secrets from him. With 5,000 cavalry, he could march straight to the Dothraki holy city. But something puzzled him—why would they sought an alliance by marriage? He couldn't understand it.
'Forget it. If I can't figure it out, I won't dwell on it. When the war is over, I can ask it to the Horselord himself,' Viserys thought. "Prepare to charge!"
A cavalryman stood on his horse, waving a torch to signal the orders. Within moments, the 1,000 cavalrymen split into two formations, like twin fire-breathing serpents, rapidly advancing on the Dothraki camp.
As Viserys' army emerged like ghosts from the darkness, Jhaqo was thrown into complete disarray. Some Dothraki warriors managed to leap onto their horses, only to find themselves lost in the chaos. Others couldn't locate their mounts at all.
The eerie, piercing cry of a golden eagle cut through the night like a sharp needle. The Dothraki's fighting spirit and discipline were even worse than Viserys had anticipated. Before his army could fully engage the scattered camp, the Dothraki were already trampling over each other in a panicked frenzy.
Some tried to flee in the opposite direction, but they hadn't gone far before they encountered a darker presence.
"Unsullied! It's the Unsullied!" the panicked Dothraki shouted, desperately trying to control their horses, but they found themselves trapped by their own fleeing comrades.
Hundreds of Dothraki cavalrymen were packed together, vulnerable and exposed in front of Conwyra's defensive line. A sudden chill swept through the air, and when they looked up, a deadly rain of steel descended upon them. Under Conwyra's command, the Unsullied hurled their spears with lethal precision. Horses whinnied in terror, and riders screamed in agony.
As Jhaqo prepared to charge, his eyes locked onto a familiar figure—Viserys!
Jhaqo had never seen such a strange weapon before. He had always believed that the spears used by knights were only for thrusting, and that swords were needed for slashing. But to his shock, Viserys wielded his unusual weapon with deadly versatility, stabbing, slashing, and hacking his way through the battlefield. No one could stand against him; no one could even slow him down.
Jhaqo couldn't comprehend how Viserys's army had arrived so suddenly, as if his scouts had simply vanished into thin air. For a fleeting moment, Jhaqo even lost the courage to mount his horse and face Viserys in battle.
"No! A Dothraki can only die on his horse!" Jhaqo roared, grabbing a yellow warhorse that had lost its rider. The horse's owner had been preparing to clean it, so it wasn't even saddled, but Jhaqo didn't care. He was Drogo's Ko—the strongest Ko in Drogo's army! No one could match his riding skills.
Unsheathing his curved blade, Jhaqo prepared to charge Viserys. But then, Viserys revealed a power that shattered his courage. With a single swing of his strange weapon, Viserys lifted a burly Dothraki centurion off the ground—yes, lifted him! The centurion dangled from Viserys's spear like a rag doll, or a piece of rotten meat.
Even Drogo would have praised the centurion as a worthy warrior. Yet, here was Viserys, lifting him effortlessly with his spear—a display of strength no human should possess. But Viserys wasn't done.
He held the centurion's corpse high above his head, then flung it with the force of a fisherman casting a line. The hundred-pound mass of flesh hurtled through the air and slammed into Jhaqo, knocking him off his horse.
Dazed and disoriented, Jhaqo realized his golden mask was gone. As his vision cleared, he found Viserys's spear at his throat, the cold smell of blood and steel filling his nostrils. He felt as if his lungs and soul had been pierced.