Artys Arryn POV
I looked at the body of Daario Naharis for a long moment before shifting my gaze toward Kaelen.
The giant, who stood a few inches taller than even the Mountain, met my eyes for only a heartbeat, his face as unreadable as ever.
"Master," he said quietly.
I followed his gaze down into the valley where the battle had finally begun in earnest.
The fighting raged along the eastern and western walls. Clouds of arrows rose and fell over the slopes, disappearing into the sea of mounted Dothraki as they tried to reach the walls.
Yet the main gate remained strangely quiet.
No arrows flew here. No swords met. No men screamed.
Only the slow groan of timber echoed through the pass as the gates began to open from within.
"The Second Sons have begun," Kaelen said.
"I can see that," I replied.
Pieces of shit actually thought they could betray me and take over everything I had spent four years building.
The heavy doors continued to part, revealing the narrow channel carved between the cliffs. The first Dothraki riders entered cautiously, their horses forced into a single column by the terrain.
Behind them came more riders.
Then more still.
An endless procession funneling exactly where I wanted them.
At their head rode a man who could only be Khal Mongo.
Even from this distance, he was impossible to mistake. Mounted upon a white stallion that towered over every other horse around it, the Khal seemed more giant than man.
His shoulders were broad enough to make most warriors appear like boys, while the long black braid hanging behind him was heavy with bronze bells that chimed softly whenever the mountain wind caught them.
There was an arrogant smirk on his face, the kind only a man already convinced of victory could wear.
"So that's Mongo," I muttered.
His eyes found mine almost immediately.
Neither of us looked away.
Good.
Let the bastard remember my face.
By sunset, one of us would be dead.
"Throw this piece of shit down," I said.
Kaelen neither nodded nor spoke. He simply bent down, grabbed Daario's corpse by the arm, and dragged it toward the battlements with the same indifference another man might show while moving a sack of grain.
Blood smeared across the stone beneath the body before, with a single effortless motion, he hurled it over the edge.
The corpse struck the rocky slope with a sickening crack.
It bounced once.
Twice.
Then continued rolling down the steep passage, its limbs twisting unnaturally, until it finally came to rest halfway between the gate and the waiting Khal.
I stepped forward until my hands rested upon the cold stone of the battlement.
Drawing in a deep breath, I let my voice carry across the valley.
"THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU BETRAY ARTYS ARRYN!" I shouted at the top of my lungs.
The words echoed from cliff to cliff.
Around me, soldiers who had only moments earlier watched the Unsullied butcher the Second Sons stood frozen. Some looked relieved. Others looked disturbed.
A few even looked afraid.
Good.
Fear spreads much faster than fire ever could.
"My lord."
The voice drew my attention from the valley.
Four soldiers stood beside long wooden planks, each thick enough to bear the weight of several men. Iron spikes protruded from their undersides, forged long and cruel, while behind them another group waited beside heavy barrels filled with lamp oil.
"Should we throw them now, Master Artys?"
I did not answer immediately.
My eyes remained fixed upon Khal Mongo.
The arrogant smirk had vanished.
The other Dothraki commanders watched him with growing concern.
Good.
Rage was a useful weapon.
Against undisciplined men, it often proved deadlier to its owner than to his enemy.
"Wait," I said quietly. "Let's teach him one final lesson."
I turned toward Kaelen.
"Kill that bitch. She's been a pain in my ass for long enough. Then send her head to her lover."
The Unsullied offered no reaction. He merely inclined his head before barking sharp commands in High Valyrian toward the men stationed atop the gate where the Khal's wife had been crucified only moments ago.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then steel flashed.
The woman's head separated cleanly from her body. It struck the slope with a dull thud before beginning its slow descent.
There was something unsettling about the way severed heads rolled.
They never tumbled as wildly as one imagined they should. Instead, they bounced once or twice before finding a rhythm of their own, spinning steadily down the slope like a ball.
Farther along the walls, arrows continued raining down upon the Dothraki below. Men shouted. Horses screamed. Steel clashed.
Yet around the gate itself, the fighting seemed to hesitate.
Archers paused with arrows half-drawn.
Soldiers leaned over the battlements to watch the rolling head.
Even hardened veterans who had spent years killing men could not help but watch as it continued rolling through the narrow pass.
At the bottom, it finally came to rest before the front hooves of Khal Mongo's white stallion.
The horse snorted violently and stepped sideways. Several riders tightened their reins in surprise, while the surviving Second Sons stared in horrified silence.
Mongo did not so much as glance downward.
His eyes remained locked on mine.
Good.
He had already stopped seeing his wife.
All he saw now... was me.
For several long moments, neither of us moved.
Two commanders.
Two armies.
Separated by a thin passage.
"There," I murmured to myself, knowing he could never hear me across the distance. "The head of the bitch you travelled hundreds of miles to save."
There would be no negotiations now.
No surrender.
No possibility, however remote, of ending this without bloodshed.
That possibility had died the moment her head left her shoulders.
At last, the Khal moved.
He dismounted, reached down, and lifted the severed head by its tangled hair. He stared at it for only a heartbeat before his massive hand slowly clenched into a fist.
Then he threw back his head and roared.
I couldn't hear the words from this distance, but I didn't need to.
That wasn't grief.
That was a challenge.
The riders behind him answered with a thunderous cry of their own as horses lurched into motion. The narrow pass erupted into movement as thousands of hooves struck stone and the Dothraki surged forward together.
"Fire!" I shouted.
The first volley of arrows fell among them almost instantly.
From both walls, shafts rained into the confined passage, cutting down riders before they had covered even twenty yards. Horses collapsed beneath them, throwing their riders into those following behind.
More arrows came.
More bodies fell.
The dead began piling upon one another, turning the narrow valley into precisely what I had wanted.
A kill zone.
The cliffs denied them room to spread out. The dead denied them room to advance. Every corpse became another obstacle for those charging behind.
Exactly as planned.
"Now," I ordered.
The soldiers heaved the wooden planks over the battlements. They tumbled end over end down the slope, the iron spikes flashing before crashing among the fallen horses and men.
One after another, the oil barrels followed, splitting apart against the rocks and flooding the pass with thick streams of lamp oil that seeped between the bodies, soaked the wooden planks, and spread across the stone.
Only once the last barrel disappeared over the edge did I turn away.
"Inside."
Without hesitation, Kaelen and the others followed me through the gateway. A moment later, the great wooden doors swung shut behind us with a deep, thunderous boom that echoed throughout the fortress.
The locking beams crashed into place one after another, sealing the entrance with a series of dull, solid thuds.
Outside, the Dothraki were still coming.
The pounding of thousands of hooves carried through the timber, joined by the muffled cries of men and horses trapped within the narrow pass. Even without seeing it, I could picture the chaos unfolding beyond the gate.
Riders struggling to push forward while those in front fell beneath the relentless rain of arrows.
Horses crashing into one another.
The dead piling higher with every passing moment.
Exactly as intended.
"Give them something warm," I said.
Kaelen understood immediately.
"Fire arrow."
The order echoed up the tower.
Above us, an archer stepped into position, nocked a single arrow wrapped in burning cloth, drew the bowstring back to his ear, and released.
For a single heartbeat...
Nothing happened.
Then the world exploded.
A deafening roar shook the entire gatehouse as the lamp oil ignited all at once, racing across the stone like liquid sunlight before climbing over shattered barrels, broken planks, dead horses, and fallen riders alike. The confined passage became a furnace.
I could not see the inferno from where I stood inside the gatehouse.
I didn't need to.
The heat reached us even through the thick oak doors.
Then came the screams.
Not the cries of warriors locked in battle.
Those were different.
These were raw.
Full of pain.
The desperate shrieks of men who knew there was nowhere left to run.
The same narrow pass that had trapped them beneath my arrows had now become their pyre.
No army, no matter how fearless, can march calmly through fire.
For several long moments, no one spoke.
Every man inside the gatehouse simply listened as the chaos unfolded on the other side of the gate.
Eventually, Kaelen stepped beside me.
"Master," he said quietly. "I think we may have overdone it. The gate is made of wood. It won't hold if the next wave reaches it."
"It won't have to," I replied before he could finish.
Even if it burned down, it no longer mattered.
The gate had already done everything I had built it to do.
Kaelen studied my face for a long moment.
"Is there something else on your mind, Master?"
"Yes," I said with a small smirk, my eyes never leaving the closed gate.
"What?"
For a few more moments, I listened to the screams outside before my smile widened.
"Now..."
"It's time to kill their Khal."
POV Ends