The slave translated Viserys's words into harsh Dothraki. The riders opposite answered with low, rumbling grunts of acknowledgment.
After a quick, muttered conference among the bronze-skinned warriors, Kos Bono spoke again, his voice rough as a grinding stone.
"Kos Bono wishes to hear the prince's proposal."
The translator was shaking so badly he could barely stand, sweat pouring down his face from the killing pressure in the air. He wiped his forehead with a trembling hand.
"I don't understand," Lavaros Rainbow Beard turned to Daario, frowning. "Didn't you explain our purpose to them beforehand?"
"I only arranged the meeting," Daario shrugged, tone light but eyes sharp. "I'm not here to negotiate for you. I got you to the table. The rest is your problem."
"Your Grace," Ser Jorah Mormont urged, voice steady. "Dothraki hate long-winded speeches. Be direct. Cut straight to the heart of it."
"Or… just draw steel," Eleonora added quietly, trying to cut the tension.
On this dead-silent grassland the joke fell flat and awkward.
Viserys gave a small nod. His gaze stayed locked on Bono as he spoke with calm, regal authority. "Northwest of the Rhoyne lie Myr's rich plains—gold, slaves, and grain in abundance. Their walls are weak, guarded only by soft merchant levies with no real fighting strength. To reach them you must first break through our lines… and you cannot. Nor are we willing to bleed for Myr's cowards."
The prince paused, then continued, voice ringing clear. "In the name of Volantis's Triarchs I promise this: our army will not block your khas if you march northwest. In exchange, you and your men must leave this land forever and never return."
The slave translated word for word, sweat soaking through his robes.
Daario watched the Dothraki faces closely, tension tightening in his gut.
Bono's warriors' eyes began to gleam—clearly tempted. Only Bono himself remained stone-faced, thick brows knotted, lips pressed into a hard line. His warhorse pawed the ground restlessly, snorting short and sharp.
This was not a good sign.
"Kos Bono asks why he should betray the head of all khals for a few shepherd villages?"
The slave's voice trembled as he continued.
"Because Drogo brings you only death," Viserys answered without a flicker. "He has assaulted Volantis twice and been driven back both times by slaves and citizens.
I already defeated you once on the Rhoyne. If necessary, I will do it again.
While other kos die for nothing in Drogo's service, you, Bono, can claim all of Myr's wealth for yourself.
One raid where you don't have to share the spoils with your khal would be enough to swell your khas—perhaps enough to make you khal yourself."
His voice suddenly hardened, each word a hammer blow. "Choose, Bono. Wealth and life… or flight and death."
Fierce argument exploded among the Dothraki, voices rising angrily as they failed to agree.
Daario's hand drifted to his arakh hilt. Gods, don't let these savages start butchering each other right at the table.
A sharp bark from Bono silenced them instantly. Once again the only sounds were the restless horses and the whispering wind.
In the heavy silence, Bono turned back to Viserys. Suddenly his throat erupted in a string of short, savage snarls.
Like a beast roaring.
"Kos Bono is willing to accept the proposal," the translator stammered, "but he demands a gift worthy of such respect."
"What does he want?" Viserys asked coldly.
"Kos Bono requests a gift."
"It is Dothraki custom," Jorah murmured in explanation.
Viserys looked at Bono. "And what kind of gift does he want?"
The next moment Bono thrust out his arm and pointed straight at Eleonora Darennis beside Viserys, letting out a harsh, demanding shout.
The slave translator nearly collapsed. His voice came out a terrified squeak. "Kos Bono… demands this woman be given to him… as a gift."
Eleonora's brows slammed together. Murder ignited in her eyes.
Daario's jaw clenched so hard his teeth clicked.
By all the gods—everything had been going smoothly until this mad bull demanded the Sword Saintess of the Dragon Claw. He was deliberately sabotaging the talks.
"No."
Viserys spoke the single word softly, but the chill in his voice froze Daario's spine.
"Tell him to name another condition."
"Kos Bono wants only this woman," the translator squeaked, on the verge of pissing himself. "He says refusal would be an insult to him."
"Then he can accept our terms without a gift," Viserys's voice was ice. He would not yield an inch. "If he considers that an insult… then let him enjoy an honor he will only receive once in his life!"
The air turned to stone.
The explosion came instantly.
Daario's fingers locked tight around his blade. He knew words had failed. Steel was about to speak.
But before he could move, Bono let out a deafening roar.
The Dothraki words were short and vicious. Daario barely caught the meaning.
Blood for insult!
Bono slammed his heels into his horse and charged straight at the Dragon Claw party like living thunder.
The Dothraki moved with terrifying speed.
Bono's arakh came down first, aimed at Viserys's head, the blade howling through the air.
Viserys was ready. He twisted gracefully in the saddle, wrist snapping as half his longsword cleared the scabbard to meet the blow.
Clang—!
The ring of steel split the night.
Bono's arakh came down with the full weight of man and charging horse. Viserys's arm locked like iron and held the blow dead.
Seeing the first strike fail, Bono spun the blade with incredible horsemanship and slashed horizontally at Viserys's throat.
Viserys leaned away sharply. The edge scraped across his pauldron with a screech of metal.
The instant Bono's momentum shifted, Viserys thrust straight at his face.
Bono jerked his head back. His horse reared in the chaos.
In that moment of confusion, Bono's eyes locked on Lavaros Rainbow Beard holding the red dragon banner. With a surge of murderous light he abandoned Viserys, wheeled his mount, and slashed at the unprepared Tyroshi.
Lavaros reacted fast, raising his blade to block. Steel rang again. The impact split his palm open and nearly tore the weapon from his grip.
Bono's second blow came immediately after—brutal, unstoppable. It smashed Lavaros's defense aside.
Seizing the opening, Bono flicked his wrist. The arakh sliced across the green-bearded man's throat at a vicious angle.
The cut was fast and deep. Blood fountained from Lavaros's severed throat. He let out a wet gurgle and toppled heavily from the saddle, crashing into the dirt. His limbs twitched once, twice, then went still.
Bono ripped his blade free and wheeled back toward Viserys.
Viserys didn't retreat. He drove his heels into his horse's flanks, lunging forward half a step. As he evaded the arakh, his longsword flashed upward in a savage rising cut, striking the front leg joint of Bono's warhorse.
The razor edge sheared through tendon and bone. The horse screamed in agony as its leg folded. The massive animal crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust, throwing Bono from the saddle.
The kos hit the dirt hard, rolling once. He coughed up blood from the impact and scrambled back toward his men, trying to regroup.
That was when betrayal struck.
One of the Dothraki warriors did not move to protect his kos.
Instead he reversed his arakh and drove it straight through the back of Bono's neck.
The blade punched clean through and emerged from the front of his throat, blood streaming down the steel and dripping from the tip.
Bono's body went rigid. His eyes bulged in shock and disbelief. No sound escaped him. He toppled face-first into the dirt and lay still.
The warrior had just calmly murdered his own kos.