The warships had not yet fully moored when Drogo, aflame with excitement, barked:
"Bring me my horse!"
Whinnies—hoofbeats thundered.
From the rear deck the grooms led forth the khal's fierce red stallion. Drogo planted a foot in the stirrup, swung himself up with a surge of strength, settled into the saddle—and with a sudden slap of his arakh across the horse's flank, he and his mount leapt as one over the railing into the waters of the Rhoyne.
Crash!
Man and beast struck, sending up a fountain higher than a man.
"Your Grace!"
"Khal!"
His wild descent shocked all who watched. The ships stood ten spans high above the water. To leap from such height—without fear, without thought of death—was madness. Could even he emerge unscathed?
Yes. Drogo was no foolhardy brute. His stallion was sheathed in plates of beaten gold, proof against the river's blows. With the beast breaking the fall, and his own hide tough as leather, the khal rose unharmed.
A broad sandbank lay before the pier; Drogo had judged well, knowing the water here was shallow enough for the horse to find its footing and surge ashore.
Captain Corlenso was near frantic, scurrying like an ant on hot iron, crying out:
"Rescue the khal! You—yes you—fools, after him, now!"
Splash, splash!
Sailors plunged down ropes into the river one after the other, swimming hard toward the place of impact.
But they need not have worried. Whoosh! Drogo burst from the water astride his stallion, radiance incarnate.
The red horse reared, screaming its defiance to the sky.
Its cry stirred the three dragons upon the masts. They lifted long serpentine necks, smoke curling from their jaws, hissing and shrieking in challenge.
Hissss—kreee!
Their roars thundered across the river, drowning the jeers and ululating war-cries of the Dothraki gathered outside the town, silencing them with a terror only dragons could command.
Men stumbled back in awe, horses stamped and shied. Even hardened riders nearly flung themselves down to worship.
It was the dragons that had first split the khalasar, driving Aggo and the others to bend the knee to Drogo and Daenerys. Beasts that could grow without end, that breathed death and flame—what greater miracle had the world ever seen? To the Dothraki, they were gods made flesh.
Zako and Mors, no strangers to fear themselves, fought to hold their warriors firm.
"Steady! Do not lose yourselves to beasts! You are the bloodriders of Zako and Mors! Remember—"
But even they knew they could not master every horse. One more roar, and the mounts would break, scattering their riders in panic.
So they wondered: would Drogo unleash his monsters, and win the wager by dragon's fire?
He did not. To crush them with sorcery would be beneath him. He was the greatest khal. Against his own blood, he would fight in honor, Dothraki to Dothraki.
"Viserion, Drogon, Rhaegal!" Drogo thundered. "Away! Fly to the Unsullied!"
The dragons had learned their sire's words, some in the tongue of the horselords, some in the speech of Valyria. They obeyed. With a thunder of wings they soared to Grey Worm's ship.
The name Father of Dragons was spoken in every land, and now Zako and Mors, seeing with their own eyes, knew the tales were true. Yet rather than despair, they smiled with grim delight.
Drogo raised his voice:
"Zako! Mors! Gather your wits. A khal who pisses himself in fear has no right to face me!"
Such scorn cut deep. Their honor aflame, they roared as one:
"Drogo! One against one, perhaps we could not stand. But you would face two old khals together and call us weak? Your pride is too great! Today we will break your so-called legend, and strip you of the title Unbeaten King on Horseback!"
"Hah! To dream of breaking me is folly. Enough words—fight!"
Drogo spurred his stallion forward, arakh high, charging straight into their line.
The two old khals exchanged a glance, then steeled their wills. They waved their riders back and drove their own mounts on, one to either side, closing Drogo in the middle. One blade swept from the left, one from the right, twin arcs set to hew him clean in half.
It was a simple tactic, yet deadly. Drogo read it plain. His brow furrowed. To veer aside would be shame. To halt would be weakness. He was khal of khals. His honor was steel.
So he chose what men would call folly. He leaned in and urged his stallion faster still, racing headlong into the killing strike.
The crowd gasped. Madness!
Nearer, nearer—Drogo roared:
"Three strokes to fell you both!"
He swung Dragon's Spirit in a flashing half-circle.
Clang—crack! Clang—crack!
The two arakhs shattered as if made of glass.
Mors gaped at the ruin in his hand. "Impossible…" he whispered. His age-blurred eyes could not see how.
But Zako, younger and sharper, saw it true: the ripples of blood-red and black within the steel.
"Valyrian steel!" he cried. "An arakh forged of dragonsteel! Drogo—you mock us!"
Drogo's grin was wolfish. "Ah, so you know treasure when you see it."
How could he hide? His children were dragons, his wife the fairest woman alive, his blade a Valyrian masterpiece, his warriors the finest foot and horse in all the world. Greatness itself clung to him—subtlety was impossible.
In the heartbeat that they faltered, Drogo yanked his reins and swerved close to Mors. Dragon's Spirit flashed down upon the elder khal's arm.
The old man screamed, dropping his broken blade. His arm was spared—Drogo had struck with the flat.
The second blow fell upon his horse instead. With one monstrous stroke, the black stallion's head was severed clean.
Blood gouted in a crimson fountain. The crowd reeled, aghast. To behead a warhorse with a single swing—what man could do such a thing?
The beast toppled. Mors pitched forward, face-first in the mud. By the ancient law of the horselords, a khal unseated was a khal defeated. Drogo spared him no more thought.
Instead he turned, cold eyes locking on Zako.
That gaze froze him. Once before he had felt it—the stare that promised death.
"Zako," Drogo asked softly. "Do you still fight?"
To his surprise, Zako did not yield. He lifted his chin. "I fight."
"Why?"
Zako smiled through his fear. "I fled from you once. I fled from Jhaqo after. My life has been one long flight. No more. I swore before the Mother of Mountains to be a khal. I will fight for my khalasar that has never abandoned me. I will show the world Zako and his riders are no cowards."
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🐉 Dragon King of Ice and Fire
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