Moonlit night, atop the Forbidden Peak, a single sword arrives from the West and an immortal descends from beyond the heavens.
Dany wished she could do that as well.
Yet while she could deliver a sword strike from the West, a horselord could not soar like an immortal.
And in the deep of night, even with torches burning and tens of thousands of riders spreading across the plains, it was still impossible to clearly see the duel taking place on the distant platform.
Therefore, the khal's challenge had to be held in the early morning, without any poetry or ambiance.
Overnight, the horselords used mud and wooden planks to construct a four-meter-tall platform beside the Womb Lake.
The square platform was fifteen meters to a side, backed by green hills and the clear lake, with a lush grassland stretching into the distance. It was, in a way, a site of exceptionally good feng shui.
After the crone of Vaes Dothrak prophesied Dany's identity as "the rider of the world's great stallion" the previous night, Dany had ascended the altar and issued two oaths to all khals, bloodriders, and kos.
One of these oaths forbade her from wearing Valyrian steel armor, although she was allowed to use a Valyrian steel sword.
Thus, when Dany stepped onto the life-and-death arena in the thin, golden glow of dawn, she was dressed entirely like a horselord.
She wore a Dothraki painted leather vest that left her strong, rounded arms bare, olive-green silk trousers that were light and wide, and leather sandals tied up to the calves, exposing five bright, seashell-like toenails.
Around her waist hung a luxurious golden belt in true khal fashion, made of dozens of small, intricate medallions linked together.
From her head hung a dozen silver braids down to her shoulder blades, each one carrying tiny bells of gold, silver, bronze, and iron that jingled with every step.
In each hand she carried a broad-bladed greatsword as tall as her shoulder.
She looked every bit a fierce Dothraki warrior-woman.
With a deep thud, both swords—still sheathed—were thrust an inch deep into the muddy platform. Dany rested one hand lightly on a sword hilt and looked toward the front row of khals gathered below.
"I want to become the Khal of Khals. Who agrees? Who objects?"
The morning breeze stirred her braids, and the fingertip-sized bells chimed in harmonious tones.
Her voice was calm, yet it resonated clearly in the ears of everyone present.
The one-eyed crone, leaning on her staff, called sharply, "Daenerys will accept a challenge from any khal, bloodrider, or kos. Either she will be acknowledged as the Khal of Khals, or she will shed her blood at the foot of the Mother's Mountain."
This was the true way the rider of the world's great stallion was born.
It was not that the crone's prophecy automatically crowned her.
Among the horselords, the greatest rule was that the strongest fists command obedience.
The prophecy of the dosh khaleen was merely a blessing, an acknowledgment of qualification.
The rider of the world's great stallion could only emerge from the most brutal slaughter.
Any of the twenty-six khals, seventy-eight bloodriders, more than three hundred kos from the twenty-six khalasars, or even ordinary warriors with more than ten bells in their braids, could step onto the platform to challenge Dany.
If they won, they could not become the Khal of Khals. But if Dany defeated all challengers, she would be automatically crowned. All the horselords across the Great Grass Sea would swear allegiance to her.
It was the fastest and most authoritative path to becoming the Khal of Khals, though no one had ever succeeded.
There was another, slower method: conquer all khalasars in the Great Grass Sea and become the only khal.
But khalasars could run, as shown by the old khal Moso.
When Drogo lived, Moso had constantly monitored Drogo's khalasar and avoided them deliberately. After Drogo died, Bono became the strongest khal on the plains, and Moso immediately began avoiding Bono's group as well.
"Gogo, you go." In the silence among the khals, the gray-haired Khal Moso addressed his bloodrider.
Gogo was a stocky, short horselord in his forties, his brown skin crisscrossed with white scars.
With a sharp ring, Dany pulled the left sword from its sheath. The dark-red blade gleamed with a wicked radiance beneath the sun.
The blade was three fingers wide and four feet long (1.2 meters), with a crossguard shaped like the open jaws of a black dragon.
Even for Valyrian steel, it weighed twelve pounds — a standard two-handed greatsword.
Yet Dany stood steady, holding it effortlessly in one hand, raising the blade toward Gogo as he climbed the steps onto the platform.
Gogo was dressed much like the khaleesi herself: leather sandals, silk trousers, a belt of bronze medallions, his hairy chest exposed, and at his waist a massive arakh.
The hilt of the blade was palm-wide, extending in a cruel curve for four feet, the edge gradually narrowing toward the tip.
"When I cut off your little head, I will take one of your golden bells and tie it into my hair."
Gogo bared a mouthful of black-yellow rotten teeth and approached with a vicious grin.
A red flash seemed to streak before everyone's eyes. When they blinked, the khaleesi had already taken two leisurely steps back, her long sword sliding slowly into its sheath. Three steps away, Gogo's grin was frozen on his face as a thin red line split from the bald top of his head, down his forehead, nose, mouth, and belly.
Gogo fell cleanly in two, his entrails spilling out with a wet splash.
A sound like a warm water pouch hitting the ground echoed.
Then came the sickening hiss of arteries spraying blood from the severed corpse.
A murmur of shock rippled through the watching horselords.
They were accustomed to death and hardly feared it, but Gogo had been a bloodrider. Dying this quickly was unsettling.
"Moso! Your blood of my blood is dead. Come up and keep him company!" Dany shouted down at the old khal.
The old man's face paled, then flushed red. Avoiding the khaleesi's dazzling, star-like gaze, he signaled with his eyes, and his remaining two bloodriders drew their blades and cautiously ascended the wooden platform.
They followed the rules and did not swarm her. The tall, thin one remained at the last step while a burly middle-aged man with dark-red foreign braids stepped forward first.
Warned by Gogo's fate, the red-haired warrior was far more cautious. His gaze locked onto Dany's shoulder, he approached slowly, then suddenly struck.
His arakh left a sweeping white arc in the sun. Dany's sword rang from its sheath, faster than his attack, the two blades meeting with a crisp, resonant hum.
"Gods!"
This time, the reaction from the horsemen below was even more intense, as if a ladle of cold water had been poured onto boiling oil.
They widened their almond-shaped, clearly defined black-and-white eyes, staring in disbelief at the point where the blades clashed.
The bright, curved sword forged from Qohorik steel now had a nick the size of a soybean.
That alone was nothing; the horsemen were well aware of the power of Valyrian steel.
But while the bloodrider with dark-red braids gripped his blade with both hands for a sideways strike, the Khaleesi blocked it with a single hand on her milky-white greatsword.
Yes—her right hand had drawn a greatsword with a milky-white blade as well. Its blade was also four feet long but even broader, nearly four fingers wide, and its hilt ended in the open jaws of a white dragon.
It was obvious that the white sword was heavier, yet she still held it one-handed and steadily caught the bloodrider's violent blow.
Every horseman present knew exactly what that meant.
Her single-handed strength surpassed his two-handed force.
But…
The horsemen stared with puzzled almond eyes, glancing back and forth between the bloodrider with the dark-red braids and the Khaleesi. His bulk was practically the size of three of her.
"What are you daydreaming about?" Dany gave a slight laugh. Her body spun halfway around, and the greatsword in her hand moved with the agility of a dagger. With flawless precision, it slipped past the arakh like a delicate willow leaf and drifted lightly across the horseman's neck.
A soft slicing sound followed. The snow-bright sword was stained with fresh red, and the headless neck spewed a mist of blood two feet high.
Under the newborn morning sun, the horsemen felt an inexplicable, tragic beauty.
Before the eunuchs could step up to collect the corpse, the tall, lanky man waiting on the steps opened his blood-red eyes, let out a howl like a madman, and swung his curved blade in a silver-bright web that crashed down toward Dany.
At last, a bloodrider fighting with his full strength was no longer pathetically slain in an instant.
The two clashed fiercely for seven or eight exchanges. When the lanky man's muscles were burning with lactic acid and he was gasping for breath, Dany maintained her steady, unchanging rhythm, broke through his blade-web, and split open his chest.
Below the platform, old Moso's face had turned waxy pale with terror.
With the bloodriders dead, it was his turn to take the stage. In truth, a truly brave khal would go up first; only after his death would the bloodriders come out to avenge him.
"You used magic!"
His cheek muscles twitched, and his voice scraped dryly as if his throat were filled with ash.
"Coward!" Rakharo shouted mockingly.
"Coward!" Aggo and Jhogo echoed.
"No woman could have that much strength!" Old Moso twisted his face and roared hoarsely.
"Strength is not magic, and magic cannot give you strength. Everyone knows that," the one-eyed crone said coldly.
"Everyone knows that!" cried the many Dosh Khaleen.
"Everyone knows that!" all the horsemen shouted.
Old Moso's lips quivered as he turned to Bono for help.
"Everyone knows that," Bono said coldly.
Moso's old face turned blue, red, white, and yellow in rapid succession, like a flickering lantern.
"If you don't go up second, you might as well call me grandfather!" The old horseman glared at Bono, left him with that line, and climbed onto the platform with his blade. He didn't last a single move. Dany knocked the arakh from his hand, and like a wooden peg, he snapped in two.
Old Moso was not quite dead. Dragging his blood-soaked intestines, he crawled to the edge of the platform and shouted, "Bono, get up here!"
Bono closed his eyes and pretended to be dead. Old Moso let out a final furious scream and died with his eyes open.
The eunuchs began collecting the bodies and covering the bloodstains with yellow earth.
Dany lifted her white sword, gently blew away the line of blood on the blade, raised her head toward the assembled khals, and said calmly, "Anyone else?"
The khals frowned. No one answered.
"Khal of khals!" Rakharo shouted, raising his arakh.
"Khaleesi, Khal of khals!" Qhoro and the others led five hundred young horsemen in shouting with him.
The khals below looked grim. They seemed eager to try, yet kept glancing around at one another.
Their almond eyes flashed with anger as they stared at each other. The awkwardness was palpable.
Bono exhaled and quietly said a few words to the group of red-eyed horsemen behind him.
At once, fifteen horsemen stepped forward and shouted toward the platform, "I challenge you!"
Dany frowned. "Who are you?"
A middle-aged horseman in his early forties stepped out and said, "We are the sons of Khal Moso."
"All right."
Dany nodded, drew the other red sword, held one blade in each hand, and pointed at Moso's sons. "My time is precious. You can come two at a time."
"What? Did I hear that right? She wants to fight two at once?"
"How arrogant! A woman…"
"Even Khal Drogo in his prime wouldn't dare be this bold."
"She's looking for death. Does she think that beating that old Moso means she's invincible?"
The horsemen muttered angrily, righteous indignation on every face, as though Dany's behavior insulted them all.
But the result was brutally clear. Moso's sons fell like stalks of wheat, cut down by the whirlwind of blades she wielded.
In the final round, the woman even fought three at once. One step, one kill. After three steps, six mangled corpses lay on the ground.
Blood made the platform slick, and the throats of the spectators ran dry.
(End of chapter)
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