ALL NOVEL Chapter 10: The Banks Of Death
Being forced to make an appearance just when I decided to make the day count by bringing life into this miserable world felt ironic. Now, instead, I had to watch people unload a damn boat. Whoever these prince and princess are, they have good taste in gifts. As the crates were opened, there were swords and women's clothes—a lot of women's clothes. Looking at Maria and then back at the clothing, I somewhat understood. Since a city fell for three women, I must be seen as some woman-loving savage. They aren't entirely wrong, but I can't see my favorite woman wearing these dresses. Still, I'll make her wear them.
The swords, on the other hand, looked out of place in the hands of my men. As I watched the unloading continue, two men approached, carrying a crate half the size of the others and bringing it directly to my feet. Jogo drew his arakh and pried the crate open. Inside was an ornate arakh with a polished blade and a handle designed in the motif of a horse, supported by a golden stallion and a polished silver stallion. Well, that was a nice touch. I drew the blade from the crate, inspecting my reflection in the polished surface before swinging it lightly. When I looked up at the crew, they had stepped back. I chuckled at their reaction, and my bloodriders stared at me as if I had grown a second head.
"What? Am I not meant to laugh?" I said. Their expressions changed further, as though I'd gone mad. Smirking, I hooked the blade onto my waist and turned my attention back to the ship. The last of the crates and carpets were being removed, and I watched the crew's eagerness to leave. Within thirty minutes, the galley was already turning to depart. It was amusing to see.
Looking at the barrels and crates, I turned to Jogo and Maria. "Handle this mess. Keep what you want, and give what you don't to the tent area." Saddling my horse, I surveyed the activity around me. The bustle had slowed, and I began noticing new Dothraki who had stumbled across my khalasar and decided to stay. As smaller khalasars lingered near mine, members of my own khalasar began moving closer to the city. To maintain order, more of my warriors patrolled the borders, ensuring outsiders stayed away. Those who overstepped were killed.
Warpaint became a way to distinguish friends from outsiders. Even slaves were marked. Dothraki women of my khalasar wore the jawbones of men defeated by their partners as visible symbols of status. These practices seemed to evolve naturally. They imitated how I decorated myself for battle, a tactic meant to induce fear that had grown into a marker of rank. Hunting in the nearby forests introduced more diversity to our appearance. Helms crafted from tiger skulls became signs of prowess, and pelts and bone sculptures adorned many.
Despite being a people who seldom built structures, they were remarkably skilled at creating symbols of power. The macabre twenty-meter pyramid, growing by the day, was proof of that. The old woman, Mirri, always seemed entranced by it. There were two cages now. I didn't know what the man in one of them had done, but judging by his bloody crotch, he must have touched something that didn't belong to him. If he was being punished with exposure like the Qohorik, he had likely touched what was mine. My displays clearly played into some deeper, mysterious forces, but for now, it didn't matter.
Westeros ,In the small council chamber of the Red Keep
In the small council chamber of the Red Keep, yellow banners adorned with crowned stags—the heraldry of the Baratheon dynasty—hung on the walls. At the head of the table sat the king of said dynasty, a man who now resembled a fat giant. Robert Baratheon had let himself go and was continuing to do so, already halfway drunk by the time the meeting began. Beside him sat Jon Arryn, an old man and the Hand of the King. The honorable foster father of Robert had watched his ward dishonor everything they once stood for. Even so, Jon ruled in the king's place, holding the realm together as best he could. Recently, however, troubling rumors had reached his ears concerning the Targaryen siblings.
"Let us begin. Varys, if you please," Jon said, offering the stage to the eunuch. The Master of Whispers stepped forward, his sly smile in place.
"The little birds in the continent of Essos sing of death that rides," Varys began cryptically, "for a city has fallen to this horde of death."
"Speak clearly, eunuch," the king barked in disdain, his irritation palpable.
"My apologies, my king. I was merely feeling wax poetic. It is said that the two dragons have taken sail to the city of Qohor, a Free City that has fallen to the Dothraki. This Khal—known as the Undead Khal—leads the largest growing khalasar. A deal is rumored to be in the works: this Khal will marry Daenerys Targaryen in exchange for an army."
A laugh of scorn came from the lords. Petyr Baelish, ever the schemer, spoke up. "And you think this horse lord will cross the sea to conquer Westeros? Forgive my insolence, but why would these savages entertain such a thing? They'd most likely take the girl and kill the boy for us."
Varys's smile never wavered. "My lord, you are too quick to dismiss. This Khal shares much with our king."
Robert interrupted with a roar. "You dare liken me to those horse fuckers?"
"Not at all," Varys said smoothly. "I am merely drawing likenesses. It is said the city of Qohor was burnt and its people slaughtered because they killed his wife."
The council chamber fell into stunned silence. Varys continued, "If this Khal can lay waste to a city for a mere girl, then what would he do to keep his wife happy?"
For the first time, Robert put down his cup of wine, his expression turning serious. Jon Arryn spoke up. "Can we get rid of this Khal or the Targaryens before they meet?"
Varys shook his head. "As we speak, the Targaryens are likely docking their ships on the riverbanks of Qohor to meet with the Khal." His tone betrayed a complicated mix of frustration and resignation. His thoughts drifted to a rogue magister who had stolen the siblings away and moved so quickly to hand an army over to them.
Robert struck the table with his fist. "I don't care how you do it, Jon, but I want the heads of those two dragon spawn. I will not suffer those inbred fucks reproducing with savage horse lords!"
With that, the king staggered out of the council chamber, leaving the others to consider his volatile decree.
Back in Essos
On a ship navigating the Rhoyne, bound for Qohor, the gully held cargo deemed important. Reports from the first crew to visit Qohor had been unsettling. The men returned with tales of a fearsome new Khal who held great regard for his women. One woman was said to command Dothraki riders like servants, an astonishing display that intrigued those aboard the ship.
Below deck, Daenerys Targaryen, her silver hair catching the dim light, struggled to learn the nuances of the Dothraki language. Beside her, Viserys sipped wine, his disdain evident.
"Why must she learn the savages' language? The brute should be grateful we grace him with our presence," Viserys sneered.
Before he could take another sip, their benefactor seized the cup. "Your Majesty, that's enough. These savages, as you call them, are known for taking, not bargaining. The fact that this Khal is willing to speak means he's willing to listen. If you wish for him to fight for your cause, you must win his favor."
Viserys furrowed his brow, his patience waning, when the captain's urgent voice interrupted. "We have a problem."
The passengers gathered on deck, gazing at the riverbank where dozens of Dothraki riders stood, their numbers swelling into hundreds in the forest beyond. Among them, a man wielded a castle-forged steel sword—a rarity among the Dothraki. A woman rode beside him, addressing the ship in the Common Tongue.
"The Khal sends us to escort you to the port," she announced. "We will be coming aboard."
The merchant, though surprised, managed a composed reply. "We welcome the gesture."
A small boat ferried four Dothraki to the ship. The riders moved with practiced ease, scaling the sides as if they'd done so a thousand times. They helped a woman aboard—bronze-skinned with straight black hair and brown eyes—and then a towering black man, scarred and broad, at least seven feet tall. Two twin riders with intricate red-and-black face paint followed, their long braids adorned with skulls.
The woman coughed lightly to draw attention. "I am Maria, and these are the Khal's bloodriders, Bejan and Braga. This is Mhaz Khu Zhah—call him Zha—and this is Ko Mohr. Zha is a gift for the princess, Daenerys Targaryen. He will obey only her commands."
Zha stepped forward, his massive frame towering over Daenerys. Before he could reach her, Viserys intervened, sneering, "And where is my gift? Is it you?"
The reply came swiftly—a crack of a whip followed by Viserys being dragged toward the bloodriders. A kick to the stomach and a punch to the face left him dazed.
"Stop them!" Daenerys cried, her voice trembling yet firm.
Zha stepped in, effortlessly pulling the bloodriders away and dragging Viserys back, depositing him at Daenerys's feet like a scolded child. The giant man met her gaze, his innocent eyes contrasting with his fearsome appearance. Tentatively, she patted his cheek. "Good work."
Viserys, humiliated, muttered in shock, while Maria chuckled. "My apologies if there was any misunderstanding. The Khal's generosity is in allowing you to meet him. Your fate lies in his hands. As for me, I belong solely to the Khal."
Maria turned to the bloodriders, speaking in Dothraki. Braga spat venomously, prompting a merchant translator to explain, "He says the prince must learn his place before joining the 'bound ones'—or perhaps it's 'the caged.' It's hard to say."
The following day, the ship approached the empty docks of Qohor. Thousands of Dothraki lined the riverbanks, their war paint and bone decorations creating a fearsome sight. Among them was a rider on a massive black warhorse, clad in scaled armor. The rider wore a horse skull headpiece that obscured his face.
Daenerys stepped off the ship, followed closely by Zha. She greeted the Khal in broken Dothraki, "Mori Maan, Vezhof Khal!" (Greetings, Great Khal).
The Khal's voice, deep and commanding, resonated from behind the skull mask. His words in Dothraki were translated: "Why does a child speak to me directly? Do you no longer seek an audience?"
Viserys finally found his courage, stepping forward alongside the merchant. "Great Khal, we seek an alliance. These are the true heirs to the throne across the sea, carrying the blood of the dragon," the merchant began, only for Viserys to interrupt.
"I am the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms! I demand your army!"
The Khal remained silent, his presence unnerving. He ordered a white horse to be brought for Daenerys. Zha lifted her onto the saddle, steadying her as they rode forward. Despite the intimidating scene, Daenerys's curiosity overcame her fear. "Why do you hide your face?" she asked in broken Dothraki.
The Khal removed his headpiece, revealing war paint and sharp features. Placing the grotesque mask on Daenerys's head, he said in broken Common Tongue, "You see what Khal see."
The gesture elicited laughter from the gathered Dothraki, though Viserys felt insulted. When he tried to approach, Zha held him back with a firm grip, silencing him without a word.
As they approached the pyramid of skulls, Daenerys noticed men in cages. "Who are they?" she asked.
The Khal responded in Dothraki, and Maria translated. "They are the caged ones—men who overstepped or defied the Khal."
One man, emaciated and near death, drew Daenerys's gaze. Maria elaborated, "He was once the leader of Qohor. The others took women that did not belong to them. Now, they guard our enemies in death."
A group of elderly Dothraki men approached, begging the Khal to witness their final ride. As they performed a ritual suicide before the pyramid, Daenerys recoiled, and the Khal shielded her eyes from the grim sight. "Lay them to rest well," he ordered solemnly.
Unbeknownst to Daenerys and Viserys, the blood spilled in the Khal's domain carried a strange, powerful energy—a dark magic tied to the monuments and rituals of the Dothraki. It remained dormant, waiting to be wielded by its creator.