Vaes Rhaeshisofrak, Outskirts
Essos was a hot continent, and the area around the former city of Qohor was no exception. The damp heat of the forests surrounded us as we stood on the outskirts of the city, a good thirty or forty minutes from the main camp. This open plain was where the chariot riders and the Dothraki cavalry trained to move as one. Among the men were boys as young as eleven, being shaped into warriors.
Hundreds of smaller groups spread out across the field, each group its own miniature army. Around forty thousand Dothraki were in training, mastering the use of arakhs, bows, spears, and lassos. Chariots—some with two riders, others with three—raced across the field in coordinated movements. Unlike the others, my chariot was a massive thing, pulled by four black horses, a symbol of my growing dominance.
Mellario, the Norvoshi woman standing beside me, looked over the vast training grounds with an expression that barely masked her unease. As she observed, two hundred slaves were brought before a Dothraki ko training the younger boys. Their shackles were removed, and each was handed a spear, an arakh, and a wineskin. After being embraced by the ko, they were thrown straight into training.
Mellario turned to me and asked, "You're freeing your slaves?"
I glanced down at her. Being a short man, I rarely looked down on anyone, but Mellario was shorter still. I replied, "There were a hundred thousand slaves—now, most are dead. Overworked, or dead giving birth. I told them: make weapons, make clothes, mine, and farm. Survive, and you'll be free to join my khalasar."
I gestured across the training fields. "Unlike your armies, we can move with these numbers at a pace you can't imagine. So, ask yourself—do you want to be worked to death before joining my horde? Or treated as a breeding mare? You might manage to give me two or three more children before you perish."
Maria, standing on my other side, translated my words into the Common Tongue. Mellario's expression darkened—not fear, but anger. Her composure was impressive, but I could tell she had seen enough to understand the scope of the threat I posed.
Mellario took a deep breath and spoke with careful precision. "I cannot speak for the bearded priests who accompany me, but the nobility will surrender. They will not raise arms against you."
Her gaze shifted back to the field, where siege engines stood in rows. Pulled by eight black horses, these massive constructs were on wheels, ready to be deployed. The sight clearly unsettled her.
"I could even arrange a meeting for you with my husband's representatives," she continued, her tone shifting to something more seductive, "once you decide to cross the Narrow Sea."
City Square, Skull Pyramid
"Make way! Close down the square! The Khal orders it!"
Doromon's deep, grizzled voice echoed through the city square. A towering figure, even among the Dothraki, he stood before the monument—the Skull Pyramid. He had placed many of the skulls there himself.
A carriage rolled to a stop nearby, its design marking it as one of the Khal's own. Kota, another giant of a man with dark, scarred skin, stepped out and held the door open. A girl emerged, her once-black hair now streaked with silvery hues, her purple, slit-pupiled eyes catching the light. She moved with purpose toward the macabre pyramid, her face obscured by a bone mask.
A tent had been erected around the monument, shielding it from the crowd. The girl entered quickly, heading straight for the shrine. On the altar sat three large, black-patterned dragon eggs, each nearly five feet tall and covered in cracks.
"Keep your face covered," Kota said, draping his feathered vest over her head. It was a gesture of loyalty, as Dothraki men believed their Khal's women should be seen by no one but him. Daenerys found it irritating but complied. She understood her role: she was the Khal's property, a potential Khaleesi, and this required certain sacrifices.
Her attention turned back to the eggs. A faint noise filled the tent—a soft, persistent cracking. Then, a piercing shriek split the air as one of the eggs shattered.
The creature that emerged was no ordinary dragonling. It was larger than any newborn dragon she had ever heard of. Jet black with blood-red eyes, it moved on its winged forelimbs, its reptilian head craning as it surveyed the room. It locked its gaze onto Daenerys, curious and calculating.
Two more piercing cries followed as the other eggs broke apart. The second dragon was a deep blackish-green with vivid green eyes. The third was darker still, with golden eyes and small golden nubs that promised to grow into majestic horns.
All three hatchlings focused intently on Daenerys, screeching incessantly. Their cries echoed through the tent, loud and jarring.
"They might be hungry," Doromon said in Dothraki, his voice tinged with unease. He turned and exited the tent, scanning the area until his eyes fell on a cow tied to a cart.
Cutting the beast free, he dragged it back toward the tent, ignoring the murmurs of the crowd. "You'll get another cow from the Khal's stalls," he said gruffly to a nearby man.
The crowd parted, watching in silence as Doromon re-entered the tent with the struggling animal in tow. The dragonlings screeched louder, their cries reaching a fever pitch as they caught the scent of fresh blood.