Qohor, a free-trade city-state on the continent of Essos, had once been a colony of the Valyrian Empire. Its strategic location along the east-west trade routes of the continent had brought it immense wealth. After the Doom of Valyria, the empire collapsed, and Qohor became an independent city-state, now ruled by its high-ranking nobility.
At dawn, the first light tore through the darkness, awakening all life.
The noise caused by the gradual gathering of the Dothraki army naturally alerted the Qohor scouts who closely monitored them. They hurried back to Qohor City, over sixty miles away from the Dothraki camp.
"The Dothraki are coming!"
This shocking news spread throughout Qohor, terrifying both commoners and nobles alike. Earlier, two Dothraki tribes had clashed near the Darkflow River outside the city, and the envoy they sent had disappeared after entering the Dothraki camp. Now, the Dothraki were marching toward Qohor.
Inside the city, the followers of the Light King Rahlo conspired to burn the statues of the Black Goat. The resulting chaos had not yet subsided. Ordinary citizens were anxious due to the consolidation of surrounding villages and the sudden closure of the city gates. Meanwhile, the prophecy of the blood-witch Bass Porter spread rapidly among the nobility. The nobles longed to flee the city. In short, Qohor was riddled with crises.
Moreover, Qohor had not experienced war for over four centuries. The situation was urgent, yet no one inside the city knew how to respond. With no better options, the high nobles entrusted the city's defense completely to Commander Saro Cote. Lacking quick wits, Saro relied on one thing above all: caution. Under his leadership, swift decisions were made: defend the walls at all costs, keep the gates closed, maintain order among the citizens, negotiate with the followers of Rahlo, and finally send for aid from Novros.
Novros was an ally of Qohor. During Valantis' attempt to rebuild the Valyrian Empire, the two city-states had joined forces in the Fire-Ship Battle at Dagger Lake, defeating Valantis and crushing its influence in the upper Lorn River. Novros was also the closest city-state to Qohor.
For the cautious Saro Cote, he trusted the well-trained, disciplined Immaculates over the complacent and poorly trained Qohor locals, and even over mercenaries whose loyalty could be bought. Therefore, urgent troop reinforcements were not part of his emergency measures.
At midday, the blazing sun hung overhead, scorching the stone walls, with no wind stirring the still air.
Saro Cote, a noble himself, could not match the endurance of the Immaculates. After only half an hour on the wall, he needed to cool himself with water from a well.
At that moment, ripples appeared on the surface of water in a bronze basin. Hesitation turned into increasing alarm as Commander Saro Cote, panicked, threw his towel back to a slave, rushed to the wall, and leaned over the battlements to look outside.
Smoke and dust rolled like thunderous waves, and the Dothraki cavalry charged like a violent storm, a sea of riders overwhelming the horizon. From atop the high wall, Saro Cote felt Qohor seemed small and insignificant, like a solitary grain of sand on a distant coast. He muttered:
"Black Goat… this is truly the Dothraki Sea."
Over thirty thousand Dothraki warriors roared, their horses' cries piercing through the clouds and soaring into the sky.
Möngke, riding his massive crimson warhorse, charged up a hill outside the city. His long black braid flowed behind him, the many bells jingling with each movement.
He surveyed the walls, noting the dense black-spiked helmets—clear signs that the Qohor defenders were prepared. The warriors beneath the spiked helmets were the famed Immaculates.
A Dothraki rider approached Qohor City carrying the bound envoy Morey Hertig. He stopped outside arrow range, threw the gagged Hertig off the horse, and then, in front of the city's soldiers, cruelly severed the envoy's limbs. After flaunting his dominance briefly, the rider rode off.
Möngke, standing atop the hill, shook his head helplessly and sighed. One could not expect too much from the Dothraki's sense of subtlety. He looked at the writhing Hertig on the ground, silent and like a helpless worm, and wondered why no one had removed the linen gag—without screams or wails, how could they intimidate the enemy?
Fortunately, Hertig was a person of status. Two Immaculates descended in a basket from the wall to take him back into the city.
Old Orfer seized the moment, riding outside and shouting loudly in Valyrian:
"This man is named Morey Hertig, a masked priest of the Black Goat and envoy sent from Qohor to Möngke Khal's camp. He told us that the blood-witch Bass Porter, using blood magic, obtained a prophecy: Möngke Khal will breach Qohor City with the help of the flames, leaving the city strewn with decapitated corpses. The followers of the Black Goat will wail helplessly in the flames. Möngke Khal delivers a warning: open your gates and submit, or on the day the city falls, all Black Goat followers will be exterminated."
Indeed, Commander Saro Cote's cautious strategy proved correct. The Immaculates held the main defensive positions, and morale remained intact.
Yet the commander's mind was not at ease. His cold gaze swept over his slaves.
Seeing the Qohor noble-born officers, their slaves, countless archers, and conscripted laborers—all local—he realized his plan was futile. Unless he killed them all, the information could not be contained.
Möngke observed the walls, noting no stir of unrest. He knew his psychological tactic had yet to work.
He then glanced at the Immaculates carrying Hertig in the basket, estimated the distance, raised his spear, and charged down the hill like an arrow.
A hundred paces out, he threw the spear with all his strength. It flew like lightning, pinning one Immaculate to the wall.
Only after a moment did the city respond. Sparse arrows flew at him, doing little harm, sliding off his skin. The warhorse flinched in pain, but Möngke dared not linger—who knew if the next shot might be a giant bolt?
"Möngke Khal!"
"Möngke Khal!"
The Dothraki warriors showered him with fiery gazes, shouting his name in fervor.
At this point, the psychological tactic was in motion but had not achieved its full effect. For now, the rumors in the city were allowed to spread.
Without siege engines, over thirty thousand Dothraki cavalry could only stare at the walls in frustration, flaunt their strength briefly, then retreat to camp to prepare for a siege.