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The red comet's tail slashed across the morning light like a fresh wound torn open in the sky, bleeding over the endless plains of Andalos.
Viserys stared at the bleeding star. According to the old signs, the red comet would hang there for a long time.
The Dothraki called it Shierak Qiya—the Bleeding Star—because it only appeared after slaughter.
The battlefield had finally reached its end. They had waited through the night until dawn, and it was a night none of them would ever forget.
The burning pyres had devoured every last corpse. The ancient, unchanging earth remained.
"Get some milk for the hatchlings," Viserys ordered.
He let the baby dragons taste milk first—call it a stand-in for mother's milk. Soon enough they'd be on roasted meat and growing fast.
"Your Grace, the Tyroshi coalition is finished," Count Roland reported. "The Company of the Cat, the Stormcrows, and the Brave Companions are almost wiped out. I've been overseeing the cleanup of their supplies. Most of their paymasters are dead, but the prisoners are talking. The Dothraki finances are a total mess, though."
The horse lords' idea of money was primitive as hell. Buying and selling was unmanly to them. They traded through gifts—giving and receiving—and the payback didn't always come right away.
"A massive score," Ser Agos chuckled. "The field's littered with dead cats, dead horses, and dead crows."
"Leave the cleanup to you and Donnel," Viserys said. He trusted both men's experience and ability completely.
"True Dragon Khal!"
"True Dragon Khal!"
The kneeling Dothraki shouted his name in their own tongue, faces pressed to the dirt.
With this victory, Viserys had just absorbed a huge number of screamers. The biggest prize was manpower. One big win and the gold poured in like a river. War was bloody, but damn if it wasn't the fastest way to get rich.
Not to mention the supplies they'd seized. But the real jackpot was the people and horses. Khal Drogo's khalasar had over thirty thousand warriors; Khal Jhaqo's had more than ten thousand screamers. Together they had been the strongest force on the Dothraki Sea. Even after the heavy losses, tens of thousands of screamers remained. The even greater wealth came in the form of strong, tall Dothraki warhorses.
There were also Dothraki women and children, and boys too young to braid their hair yet. With these horses, Viserys no longer had to buy mounts from across the world. Andalos could finally build a proper elite cavalry.
"Bring me a mirror," Viserys commanded.
"Here, Your Grace," Dick Crabb handed one over.
Viserys looked at his reflection. Still handsome as ever—but now completely bald. He'd gone bald… and grown stronger. It was temporary, though. His hair would grow back.
"Gentlemen, we didn't fight just for Andalos today," Viserys told them. "We fought for its future!"
"The future belongs to Andalos," Crabb declared loudly, "and to King Viserys's era."
"Damn right," the squires agreed.
"Lords and envoys, this string of battles has worn me out. Looks like I won't be able to share breakfast with you. How about a grand feast tonight instead?"
"No problem at all," the Governor of Qohor and the Norvos envoy bowed, understanding completely.
"You two come as well," Viserys added. "Ser Harry. Your Highness."
"As you command, Your Grace," Bald Harry and the Broken Prince replied carefully. They had zero leverage here.
"Let's move," Viserys said, heading back to Viserysfort with his group.
The exhausted but still fired-up Andal warriors quickly spotted their king. Every eye locked onto the young ruler.
The morning air was chilly. Viserys noticed a young Andal soldier shivering slightly. He unclasped his black-and-red cloak and draped it over the boy.
"Long live King Viserys!" the teary-eyed soldier shouted, swearing eternal loyalty on the spot.
The rest of the army erupted in cheers. On the walls of Viserysfort, soldiers and smallfolk alike roared his name: "Long live King Viserys!"
Viserys drew his longsword, the blade gleaming faintly. "Long live the Warrior! Long live the Andals!"
"Long live! Long live! Long live!"
The Andal soldiers led the charge, swords raised. Tens of thousands of voices thundered across the plains, loud enough to shake the sky.
It was an incredible sight. Every soldier cheered—Andal troops and civilians, Windblown fighters, Golden Company men, even the Dothraki warriors.
The Governor of Qohor watched the army, his face going pale. Drogo was dead, and the new Targaryen rising in his place was far more dangerous.
The Qohor man glanced at the Norvos priest, seeing the same storm of thoughts in his eyes.
They watched Viserys mount Sunblaze and fly low over the field. The ancient blood of Valyria's Dragonlords had taken a massive step forward.
"The storm is coming," the Qohor governor murmured as he watched Viserys's back.
With Khal Drogo and Khal Jhaqo dead, the Tyroshi were next in line for brutal payback. Viserys was bloodthirsty as hell. The Archon of Tyrosh had kicked the wrong iron plate this time.
The Norvos envoy nodded. After this earth-shaking battle, the game in Essos had entered an entirely new chapter.
Viserys returned first to the King's Tower. After a battle like that, some sleep was mandatory.
Before resting, he left the two girls in charge of the newly hatched dragons—the priceless treasures reborn. The girls formed the first ring of protection. Later, heavy hitters like Fireworm, Syrio, and Agos would take over to keep both princesses and dragons safe.
"Your hair?" Rhaenys asked, staring at his bald head after the battle.
"Just a little wear and tear," Viserys said softly.
Rhaenys sensed there was more to it and knew she'd get the full story eventually.
The newborn dragons looked like scrawny little kittens. But dragons were creatures of magic, nothing like cats or dogs. When they spread their wings, the difference was obvious. A dragon's wingspan was three times its body length. Each wing was translucent, delicate skin stretched tight over long, thin bones, shimmering with color. Their bodies were mostly neck, tail, and wings.
"They only eat cooked meat," Viserys reminded Rhaenys and Daenerys. "You two can each pick one. They're small now, but they'll grow fast."
"Got it." Rhaenys ordered servants to char some beef. The hatchlings immediately started fighting over it like little snakes.
Rhaenys and Daenerys watched the magical creatures in awe—better than any toy they'd ever had.
Viserys glanced at the three remaining eggs in the nest. Maybe they'd hatch later. Hatching these five had already been a miracle beyond words.
He left the girls to play with the dragons and climbed into his velvet bed for some rest. Even for a warrior built like him, a battle that intense took its toll. His energy and recovery were just far better than most men's.
The storm Andalos had unleashed was about to sweep across both continents. Viserys didn't love war, but war kept marching straight toward him.
For the next move, he was already thinking about where to strike next to make the storm hit even harder.