"I am telling the truth, it's true! The Dragon King! You know him! The Dragon King! Targaryen! Targaryen!"
"Dragon King?"
The anger in Drogo's eyes faded by more than half, though the curved blade in his hand did not move away.
Even people living in the most remote corners of the world had heard of the riders who once conquered the world on the backs of dragons.
Drogo was no exception.
It was only after the fall of Valyria that the Dothraki had been able to run wild across the grasslands.
The vast plains had even been renamed the Dothraki Sea.
Otherwise, sheep and horses alike would have become food for dragons.
Illyrio explained the situation in Westeros, and how the Targaryens had guarded the key passages and bullied Pentos, the old friend of the Dothraki.
"Khal Drogo, we have come seeking your aid. That Targaryen has brought great amounts of gold.
"They also possess dragon eggs. Viserys has both a niece and a sister. They carry the blood of the Dragon King. Perhaps one day they could bear you the stallion who mounts the world."
Illyrio spoke with dazzling persuasion, tempting the unmatched khal before him.
He felt no guilt.
Viserys had told him clearly to persuade the horse lord to attack Gohor. How he did it was up to him.
Though Illyrio did not fully understand Viserys's intentions, he respected them.
He also held back certain information. For example, he said nothing about the sea horses, the warships.
He believed it would be wiser to reveal such things only after Drogo had already committed resources and effort.
Otherwise, the khal might be frightened away too soon.
Drogo was clearly intrigued.
The curved blade lifted away from Illyrio's throat, and the tension in the tent eased.
The Dothraki Sea was enormous, and Drogo had only been a khal for two years. It was not strange that he knew little of the Free Cities.
Seeing that Drogo had withdrawn his blade, Illyrio continued to add fuel to the fire.
"That Viserys is no simple man. Though he is an exiled royal heir, he has never been defeated since taking power, just like you."
Drogo turned his gaze toward Illyrio like a flash of lightning.
Viserys had never been defeated. Neither had he. That sounded like a worthy opponent.
Drogo spoke a long speech in Dothraki to the men around him. With each sentence he spoke, the excitement of the horse lords grew.
The scene resembled a wolf pack before a hunt, with the wolf king rousing his followers.
Through the translator, Illyrio understood what Drogo was saying.
Drogo declared that the Dothraki had never captured a city. This, he believed, was a shame.
His dream was to conquer the great cities of Essos. But Viserys had interfered with his friendship with Pentos, so this matter had to be resolved first.
The so-called tenth city could also serve as practice.
Drogo believed that a city founded only a few years ago could not compare to those that had existed for centuries.
It would likely fall easily beneath his khalasar.
Yet Drogo acknowledged Viserys as a worthy opponent. He would not simply charge blindly into war.
Instead, he intended to make demands first, creating a reason for war.
"Khal Drogo says that Viserys must send ten thousand slaves. His sister must also be sent to the khal.
And the gold you have shown us must be delivered as well, no fewer than one hundred chests."
Hearing the translation, Illyrio knew that war between the Targaryens and the horse lords was inevitable.
The scene felt strangely familiar.
A few years earlier, Braavos and Pentos had come to Gohor demanding compensation and loans.
In the end, not only had they gained nothing, but Viserys had trapped them and carved away a great deal of their wealth.
They had not recovered from that loss even after several years.
Now the walls of Gohor were tall and strong, and its soldiers numbered more than thirty thousand.
If the fleets were included as well, Illyrio doubted Drogo would truly have a chance.
Drogo turned and spoke quietly to one of his bloodriders. The man stepped forward and told Illyrio that he would accompany him to Gohor.
Meanwhile, in Gohor, Viserys had already predicted that the Dothraki might invade.
He ordered his men to gather as many civilians as possible from both banks of the Rhoyne who had not yet come under Targaryen rule.
One of his former guards, Gorys, was given this task.
Gorys had served as Viserys's guard for five or six years. He was fully capable of independent command.
Now he led a force of three hundred men.
According to Viserys's arrangements, he would return to the Claw Isle peninsula later that year.
Partly to visit his family and bring them money. Partly to recruit new students for the academy.
Most importantly, he had reached the age to marry.
Given his status, many families were eager to offer their daughters. But Gorys rejected them all.
He had openly declared that he hoped to one day become a member of the Kingsguard.
Gorys and his men traveled by boat to the Golden Plains, far from Gohor.
The name alone made it sound like a fertile land. Yet because of the threat from the Dothraki, Viserys could only establish a few outposts there.
Stable agricultural production was impossible. If the region could be secured, it would greatly increase future grain output.
Gorys led his men to the southern edge of the Golden Plains.
Here the Rhoyne was at its widest.
It even formed a great lake. Many fishing villages were scattered around its shores.
Gorys's task was to persuade the villagers to move north to Gohor.
The village chief soon came to meet him.
He appeared to be about fifty years old. Though he had changed his clothes, the smell of fish clung stubbornly to him.
Inside, he was deeply uneasy.
In this age, soldiers of any banner meant trouble for common people. And the men Gorys had brought were fully armed and clearly dangerous.
"You mean the horse lords are coming?" the village chief asked, fear plainly visible on his face.
Seeing that reaction gave Gorys confidence.
Anyone afraid of the Dothraki could be persuaded to leave quickly.
"Yes. If you travel with us to Gohor, His Grace Viserys will protect you." Gorys repeated the words he had been trained to say.
But the village chief surprised him.
Instead of worrying about the khal, the old man worried about the fish in the lake.
"My lord, this is the best season for fishing. Could you give us some time? One month at most."
"Old man, what matters more, fish or your life?" Gorys's deputy snapped impatiently.
As soldiers of Viserys, they had never needed to worry about food.
The harsh tone frightened the village chief so badly that he began to tremble.
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