If you're enjoying these stories, consider leaving a comment, review, or vote.
You can also visit the Pat** on at: CaveLeather
Viserys watched as the warhorses roared, the Screamers layering upon one another like crashing waves of a violent tide.
The horselords appeared en masse where the Valyrian Road met the Upper Rhoyne.
Originally, the Valyrian Road had served the commerce of the Great Empire of Valyria, but now, it had become the personal run of the Dothraki horselords.
Steeds galloped across the road, erasing the smooth commerce of the past.
Of the world's three great trade routes—the Overland Route, the Rhoyne Route, and the Sea Route—only the Sea Route remained somewhat normal.
The Tall Men of the interior had been all but wiped out by the Dothraki, the Kingdom of Sarnor destroyed. The tenth free city was gone.
The Rhoynar civilization along the river had been brutally ravaged; now, the region was not only cursed by the Sorrows but infested with river pirates.
I will reopen the two great trade routes and reforge the glory of the past, Viserys thought. But only after Drogo's power is extinguished.
The tall, burly Screamers, their braids ringing with iron bells, cracked their whips as they rode, wearing their favorite painted leather vests.
It was a pity Sunblaze was still small; otherwise, Viserys felt he could have melted the entire battlefield then and there.
"Take the White City!"
"Take the White City!"
"For Khal Drogo! Kill the milk men!"
The Dothraki Screamers gripped their arakhs, thousands of scouts crossing the river together like a swarm of black clouds.
The currents of the Upper and Little Rhoyne were average here, allowing the horselords to cross easily.
Khal Drogo's army followed the traditional Dothraki marching order, with little innovation. He was simply the youngest and strongest Khal, commanding the most men.
The Dothraki typically sent scouts first, followed by the main host and the khalasar's camp—the women, children, and old men. Those wielding great axes brought up the rear to finish off the wounded, while little girls scurried across the battlefield to scavenge arrows.
The vanguard spread out. Seeing no ambush on the west bank of the Rhoyne, they confidently doubled back.
The entire Dothraki horde moved north, following the Upper Rhoyne. Their target was the White City on the eastern hills: Viserysfort.
Viserys gazed down at the Screamers from afar, estimating there were at least thirty thousand of them. Khal Drogo had emptied his camp for this; he intended to wipe them out completely.
"Home, Sunblaze!" Viserys commanded. The dragon and he shared a mind.
The dragon climbed higher, spiraling before flying back toward Viserysfort.
Based on his observations, the Dothraki and the mercenary companies were attacking from two different directions.
The Dothraki would lead the main assault, while the Tyroshi and their sellswords would serve as auxiliary support.
The Dothraki hadn't even bothered to send an envoy. Perhaps they believed a city destined for destruction needed no pity or parley.
Viserys flew back to the fortress, and Sunblaze landed him gently on the ground.
As he slid from the dragon's back, his armored knights were already waiting.
Count Roland, the Castellan, and Hugo, the commander of the archers on the outer wall, stood ready.
"Sound the bells!" Viserys ordered. "Khal Drogo's main host is coming. They have reached the junction of the Upper Rhoyne and the old Valyrian Road, not far from here."
"At once, Your Grace."
"Now, the affairs of the court are vital. I leave them in your hands. I must command from the front," Viserys told Syrio, Rhaenys, and Fireworm.
These duties had been assigned before; this was just a final confirmation.
"Rest easy, Your Grace," Syrio said.
"This one swears by his blood to protect the True Dragon's family," Fireworm thumped his chest.
"Be careful, Your Grace," Rhaenys said, her voice laced with worry. Her black eyes were dark as onyx, and her lovely face was clouded with concern.
She had donned a suit of leather armor emblazoned with the red dragon on black, looking sharp and vibrant.
She had talent as a warrior and had trained under several masters: the Red Viper, Syrio, and Count Roland.
"Don't worry. In that armor, you truly look like a warrior woman," Viserys said to her.
"I pray for your great victory, Your Grace," Daenerys said. Though too young to fight, seeing everyone so serious made her understand the gravity of the war.
"The Warrior protect King Viserys! The King shall claim the prey he desires!" High Septon Uther shouted.
"Mother Rhoyne shall bless the King! Bless our warriors!" The elders of the Privy Council cried out, their voices stirring the air like unfurled banners.
"Your Grace, the Golden Company has appeared west of the Upper Rhoyne and established camp. They wish to meet with us."
As the middleman, Illyrio had pulled strings on both sides. The smooth communication between Andalos and the Golden Company was surprising.
Illyrio thought he would have the last laugh, but Viserys had his own plans.
Regardless, the arrival of such a large army required a courteous reception.
"Don't be afraid, boy. I'll be right back," Viserys stroked Sunblaze's snout.
The Heart Spell maintained a connection even over distance, and Viserys's pyromancer talents strengthened it. Though the distance wasn't vast, he could call Sunblaze from anywhere around Andalos.
"Shall we ride out together?" Agos asked. A crack cavalry unit to greet the Golden Company.
"That works. Before the main course arrives, let's go take a look at our allies!"
"I leave the rest to you, Prince Oberyn."
"As you command, Your Grace."
Viserys had donned his silver-plated Rhoynar armor, with a surcoat of black and red.
He slung the Valyrian steel greatsword, "Dominator," across his back.
Viserys led Agos, Garin, Jalabhar, and Crabb. The elite cavalry thundered down the hill, exiting the West Gate, crossing the lowered drawbridge, and heading toward the river.
As Viserys rode down the hill, the city bells began to toll loudly. The sound of war.
First the bells of the White Castle, then the alarm bells of the city below.
Viserysfort moved like a clockwork machine. From the hill to the city, everyone sprang into action.
Four massive trebuchets were ready, piles of round stones the size of skulls beside them.
Longbowmen, scorpion crews, and crossbowmen lined the walls. Dark murder holes and scorpion ports stared out like the eyes of the Stranger.
"Hurry!"
"Hurry!"
"Marksman" Hugo shouted orders. As commander of the longbowmen, his burden was heavy.
Originally, the Andalos army specialized in guerrilla warfare—fighting bandits or raiders with superior numbers. Now, they faced a large-scale war measured in tens of thousands.
Viserys saw the Golden Company's camp standing on the riverbank.
The golden war banners of the mercenary company fluttered from tall poles around the camp.
The camp was situated by a small tributary, laid out with impeccable order. It was a camp even Viserys had to admire.
As a premier mercenary company, the Golden Company maintained strict military discipline.
Deep trenches surrounded the camp, filled with sharpened stakes. Tents were arranged in rows with wide avenues.
Latrines were built downstream, waste washed away by the current.
Horses were tethered to the north. Beyond the horse lines, some twenty elephants roamed by the water, playing with the reeds.
Viserys eyed the grey beasts. Indeed, no warhorse could stand against an elephant.
But Viserys had a dragon. That changed everything.
The sentries grew nervous and rushed to notify the Captain-General.
Viserys reined in his horse and waited.
Moments later, Myles Toyne, the Captain-General, emerged with a group of high-ranking officers.
Myles Toyne; the Paymaster, Harry Strickland—fat, with a big round head and gray eyes, combing his thinning hair to cover a bald spot.
The Captain of Archers, Black Balaq from the Summer Isles, wore a magnificent cloak of green and orange feathers.
The Spymaster, Gorys Edoryen, pale-skinned, with a leopard skin draped over one shoulder and hair as red as blood, styled into oiled braids at the ends, though his pointed beard was black.
The officers stared at Viserys. The scene was somewhat farcical; whether feigned or real, they were here to fight for the Red Dragon.
Seeing Viserys's splendid armor and the massive greatsword, the officers had to admit he had a regal air. This was the legendary Prince—pity he was of the Red Dragon line.
Viserys studied Myles Toyne. Ser Myles had big ears, a crooked jaw, and the largest nose Viserys had ever seen.
It was hard to imagine such an ugly knight had a famous, handsome ancestor—the dashing dark knight, Terrence Toyne.
Legend said Terrence was so handsome that he not only starred in songs but stole the heart of King Aegon the Unworthy's mistress.
"We come to aid Andalos, and for your promise, Your Grace." Myles dismounted and bowed respectfully.
It looked sincere, though Viserys couldn't tell how much was real. After all, this man was one of Jon Connington's best friends.
The Griffin, Varys, and Myles—the pact of three.
"Your Grace, the Golden Company stands ready. May we enter Andalos?" Myles asked.
"No need. For now, I need a supplement of longbowmen. Focus your energy on the Tyroshi auxiliaries," Viserys said bluntly. "The Tyroshi have called in several sellsword companies and hired freelancers from the city."
"As you command!" Myles bowed.
"But the Dothraki are trickier than you imagine. We..." Myles implored.
"I fight with my back to the city. I have trebuchets and scorpions. No need for extra men inside for now; I just need some archers first."
"Understood." Myles lowered his head, unhappy. This wasn't the script he expected. He thought Viserys would gladly swallow the ten thousand men into his city.
This young man was cunning and capable.
---
On the walls of Viserysfort, Hugo watched the enemy line, thick as smoke. He saw the silhouettes of the screaming warriors.
But the horselords didn't attack immediately. Instead, they drove a group of people forward.
They appeared to be Lhazareen—flat-faced, short, with hair cropped short—and some runaway slaves who hadn't made it to the city in time.
The Screamers cracked their whips, forcing the captives toward Viserysfort.
The mounted warriors laughed, whipping the captives again and again.
They laughed as they beat them, blood staining the captives' skin, forcing them to run toward the White City.
But the captives could never reach the walls. The Screamers used their whips to trip them, hooking their ankles.
Finally, as the captives crawled, the Screamers grew bored and pinned them to the ground with arrows.
Hugo clenched his fist. It was a show of force. The Dothraki were always cruel to the defeated.