Khal Kerse led Daenerys to the enormous pit located at the heart of Vaes Dothrak, the sacred navel of the Dothraki people.
The place was steeped in a cold, solemn gloom. The air descended along the walls of the pit like an ancient breath, heavy with echoes and superstition. There, a group of dosh khaleen, wrapped in strange, worn garments, moved with ritual slowness as they prepared the ceremony.
In ancient times, that ritual required devouring the raw heart of a horse.
Kerse had changed it.
Tonight, the heart would not be eaten.
It would be offered to the flames.
There were many gods in the world… but very few were real.
Khal Kerse did not know for certain how many of those gods truly deserved the name, but he was completely sure of one thing: the so-called Horse God of the Dothraki was not one of them.
Now, all the dosh khaleen were under his authority.
Kerse stopped before the priestesses, holding a still-beating heart in both hands. Blood dripped slowly, and the steam rising from the warm flesh climbed into the night air, forming an almost unnatural contrast with the chill of the pit.
Behind him, his bloodriders knelt on one knee. They gripped short stone knives, still stained red, beside the corpse of a freshly sacrificed wild horse.
Kerse stepped forward and placed the heart before one of the priestesses.
His hands were covered in blood up to the elbows.
Behind her stood the other crones in a line: witches withered by time, faces carved with deep wrinkles and eyes that gleamed like flint in the firelight.
Daenerys watched from not far away. She kept her gaze fixed on the priestess, though her stomach churned. She swallowed and forced herself to endure.
The crones began to chant.
Their voices—deep and harsh—echoed through the pit as if awakening something that slept within the earth. Eunuchs added hay to a great bronze brazier, and the dry scent spread quickly. The smoke rose straight toward the sky, seeking the moon and the stars.
Then the priestess lifted the heart and cast it into the fire.
—For Thor, Horse Head —she intoned.
The heart crackled as it touched the flames.
Silence fell all at once.
Kerse could hear the distant song of nocturnal birds, the crackle of torches, the gentle lapping of the lake. The Dothraki waited, motionless, expecting the prophecy.
At last, the one-eyed crone opened her single eye.
She raised her arms.
—I saw his face —she announced in a trembling voice—, and I heard the thunder of his hooves.
—His hooves sound like thunder! —the others answered in unison.
—His horse was as swift as the wind. Behind him rode a khalasar that covered the whole earth, countless as the stars. Their arakhs were as sharp as silver grass.
The words seemed to flow without pause.
—The prince will be mighty as a storm. His enemies will tremble before him. The wives of his enemies will weep and sing laments. The bells in his hair will sing his coming, and those who live in stone tents will fear his name.
The crone turned her gaze toward Daenerys.
—The prince rides a horse… and he will ride upon the stallion of the world.
—Riding the stallion of the world! —the crowd roared.
The clamor filled the night.
Kerse smiled.
It was exactly as he had foreseen. Everything had been arranged in advance.
Even so, he could not help but recall the original fate of the son of Daenerys and Khal Drogo.
In the tales of A Song of Ice and Fire, gods abounded: R'hllor, the Old Gods, the Drowned God, the God of Cold, the Black Goat… and the Seven, whose existence had always been doubtful.
But the prophecies of the horse god never came true.
Neither in the books nor in the stories did Daenerys's children survive blood magic. The words of the dosh khaleen always ended as smoke.
From the perspective of prophetic accuracy, that god was false.
That reinforced Kerse's conviction: he could reshape that religion without fear of any punishment.
The one-eyed crone fixed her eye on Daenerys.
—What is the name of the horse that rides the world?
Daenerys instinctively brought her hand to her swollen belly, caressing it gently.
—His name will be… Rhaego Targaryen.
A deafening roar erupted among the Dothraki.
—Rhaego!
—Rhaego!
—Rhaego!
Kerse looked at Daenerys, surprised.
The name was the same as in the original destiny.
They had already agreed that the child would bear the Targaryen surname, but the name… that he had left to her. Though the choice caught him off guard, he accepted it.
Then he stepped forward.
His gaze locked onto the priestesses.
—Will my conquest of Westeros proceed without problems?
The crones looked at one another and began another ritual. Their chanting intensified, and the flames of the brazier danced, lighting their faces with a savage glow.
After a long moment, they spoke:
—The Horse King will emerge victorious in the conquest of Westeros.
There was wonder in their voices. Almost reverence.
Cheers burst forth. The Dothraki filled with renewed hope.
A satisfied smile appeared on Khal Kerse's face.
He turned to Daenerys, took her hand, and drew her close.
She looked at him with affection. Glories or calamities, she would follow him.
As they left the pit, Kerse had already received news of the confrontation between Viserys, Rhaenys, and Maegor.
As he walked beneath the star-filled sky, he began to form a plan.
Viserys…
It was time to decide what to do with him.