Treating envoys in such a vile manner would usually provoke outrage. But aside from the two Ghis piglets' subordinates, everyone else found
Treating envoys in such a vile manner would usually provoke outrage. But aside from the two Ghis piglets' subordinates, everyone else found it exhilarating. Even Daenerys, who wasn't allowed to witness the spectacle herself, felt a faint sense of regret.
Having been Khaleesi for almost two years, Daenerys couldn't help but absorb some of the Dothraki's savage spirit.
Under Drogo's iron rule and Daenerys's persistent guidance, their underlings had become more restrained than before. Otherwise, things could have been far worse—the Dothraki had never been known for restraint.
Besides, the audience in the throne room was limited. Even if this had taken place in a reopened fighting pit before tens of thousands, the crowd would only have felt fired up, not horrified.
Even if news of it spread, Drogo and his followers, thick-skinned as they were, would feel nothing but pride. They would gladly see their brutal and unyielding nature broadcast across the world—such was the Dothraki way.
Though Drogo was known for acting on impulse and defying protocol, this time he had surprisingly abided by the unwritten rule of war: envoys are not to be killed.
That said, he wasn't content to let them go without consequence. He ordered that each envoy be branded—on the left cheek, the emblem of the dragon-horse hybrid that symbolized the city; on the right cheek, the word "freedom."
Daenerys found the punishment too cruel to watch. But Drogo justified it as a way to spread their ideals, to show the slaves of Yunkai and Meereen that love and hope still existed in this world.
Daenerys could find no argument against him. Her husband's vision was not only aligned with hers but even more comprehensive than the ideal world she had imagined. It made her admire him all the more.
After a period of adjustment, the warriors had adapted to their heavy armor. Keeping his word, Drogo ordered the army to set out the next day—toward Yunkai.
This decision confused many. Until now, he had spoken of reopening the Khyzai trade route. Even his threats to the envoys had centered on it. Why change direction at the last minute?
Surrounded by muscle-bound men with little sense, Drogo felt a certain resignation. As king, he could have stayed in his pyramid, enjoying food and drink while his subordinates waged war. But none among them were fit to be entrusted with such responsibility.
To avoid catastrophic losses, he had to lead personally—playing both father and mother to his troops.
In the dry wit of his former life, Drogo snapped, "You idiots probably don't even know what 'feint' means. Doesn't matter. Just fight the way I tell you to."
The camp erupted in roaring chants: "Khal! King! Wise and Invincible!"
Neither Drogo nor Daenerys saw any need to consolidate their many titles. The more they had, the more impressive they seemed—a living testament to their status as war gods.
In truth, Drogo had no real interest in Slaver's Bay. Once it stabilized, he intended to move on to more challenging territories.
The next morning, Drogo appointed Daenerys as Hand of the King, entrusting her with the power she had longed for. He left behind a garrison of one thousand braid-warriors and three thousand Unsullied to defend Astapor. The rest marched with him in grand formation.
Of the three dragons, he brought only the calmer white one, Viserion. The other two were still small and too unruly. Viserion may not instill terror yet, but he certainly added to the army's grandeur.
Truthfully, Drogo didn't think Astapor needed that many troops to guard it. His reputation and that of his army were deterrent enough. Even if the gates stood wide open, only Yunkai and Meereen would dare act. The rest of Slaver's Bay would flee before challenging the Khal.
Even if an enemy managed to seize Astapor, they would be on edge constantly. And once Drogo returned, their doom would be certain.
Crossing the desert, Drogo led his army into a road carved through a white birch forest. Always considerate of his warriors, he set a rhythm: three hours of marching followed by one hour of rest. Thanks to this, their spirits remained high.
After a day of relatively easy travel, they reached the fork where the road split toward Yunkai and the Khyzai Pass. As night fell, Drogo ordered camp to be made. Fires were lit, meat roasted, and the men dined heartily. Wine was drunk sparingly—there would be time for celebration after Yunkai fell.
With Drogo at the helm, the tension of the coming battle felt distant. Their morale remained strong.
After dinner, Drogo settled into his command tent, sipping barley wine as he listened to the reports of his scouts.
One scout, bloodied and bruised, gave his report on the Khyzai Pass:
"Khal, a large, well-equipped force is stationed at the crossroads. The central standard bears the harpy clutching whips and iron collars—Yunkai's slave-soldiers. The right flank flies the banner of four black lightning-crows—the Stormcrows. The left flies the broken sword of the Second Sons."
Drogo frowned. "Large? How large?"
The scout hesitated. "The enemy has scouts placed ten leagues beyond the pass. Ours were all ambushed. I only saw their camp from afar before escaping wounded."
Experienced commanders wouldn't reveal their strength unless certain of victory. Drogo didn't blame the man and said gently, "You've done well. Go to Angher and have your wounds treated."
He had not deployed counter-scouts. His army was strong enough that spying didn't concern him.
Only one scout had returned from the pass, but all those sent to observe Yunkai returned unharmed.
"What of Yunkai?"
Another scout replied, "Khal, the city is on high alert. More patrols, more archers and stone-throwers on the walls. But few officers with bronze-disc cloaks or tall helmets were seen. I believe the Wise Masters have been fooled—they've sent most of their troops to the pass."
Drogo nodded. "Good thinking. You stay. The rest of you may go."
The scouts bowed and left. The remaining one asked cautiously, "What does the Khal require of me?"
Drogo stroked Snowball, his white lion companion, and grinned. "You seem sharp. I want you to take my beast and scout how many soldiers are at the pass."
The scout turned pale. That road was death.
Marpoxy, the Enlightenment Prophet who had joined the campaign, interjected: "Your Grace, it's too dangerous. What if your beast is hurt?"
Though a man's life didn't match the lion's value, the scout dared to hope the Khal would agree.
But Drogo replied proudly, "My Snowball is the fastest creature in Slaver's Bay. Do you really think a few sentries could harm the Lightning Scar?"
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