Night of the Bloody Arakh

Daenerys was surprised to find that her memory of Westeros's geography had become quite vague.

She found herself somewhat interested in the map.

The scroll slowly unfurled.

She recognized it. First came The North, then the Riverlands, the Vale, the Iron Islands, the Westlands, the Crownlands, the Stormlands, and The Reach.

Dorne lay at the end.

There was still a section left on the scroll. Had it included the Summer Sea as well?

But she immediately realized she was wrong.

The scroll rod rolled all the way down.

A chilling silver gleam lay across the final section of the map.

She had only blinked when a large hand moving so fast it left an afterimage snatched up the silver gleam, and it vanished completely from her sight.

Less than a breath later, the pained, furious roar of the man beside her jolted her awake.

She raised her head blankly.

Ah! A dagger was embedded in the Khal's chest!!

Ser Jorah was still locking swords with the Khal, his longsword against the Khal's arakh!

Everyone on and below the High Platform erupted into chaos!

The dull sounds of tables being shoved and chairs kicked over, the scrape of steel as swords were drawn and blades unsheathed, shouted orders, curses, screams, and panicked pleas for help all rose at once, a din like the end of the world.

Daenerys's legs gave out, and she dropped to her knees, staring dumbly at everything unfolding before her.

The quicker guests and servants fled the High Platform that was about to become an inferno, scrambling away in terror.

Three Bloodriders and more than a dozen Dothraki warriors charged toward the Khal.

Elin snatched the Beggar King's sword from his belt and ran straight at the panicked Illyrio nearby. The fat Magister had no guards now.

The Magister only had time to say, "No," before the sharp steel blade pierced his throat and was mercilessly pulled free.

The Magister collapsed to the ground, convulsing.

Blood foam choked him, leaving him only able to cough again and again. Then came ragged, tearing gasps, and finally, silence.

Elin laughed in satisfaction.

The Dothraki immediately turned fierce, bloodthirsty eyes on him.

Elin hurriedly tossed aside the bloody sword and dragged the wildly screaming Beggar King over to Pono and Jhaqo.

In the Dothraki words he had memorized by rote, he said, "Ko Pono, Ko Jhaqo, don't you want countless amounts of gold, wine, and slaves? This is the only chance! The city gates still need us!"

Pono and Jhaqo did not react.

Elin was truly anxious. Jorah Mormont could be chopped into minced meat by arahks at any moment.

Then suddenly—

A shrill cry of frenzied grief came from the Khal's direction.

Elin struggled to suppress the surging ecstasy in his heart. Drogo is dead?!

Pono and Jhaqo exchanged glances.

Two days ago, that armored Andal had brought them this little man. The little man had proposed a very appetizing plan.

Drogo was dead.

Drogo had no son. After him, who would inherit this Khalasar?

Every Ko had a chance, but it was even more likely that the Khalasar would break apart, with each Ko taking his own khalasar to form a new, smaller one.

But what if one or two Kos could avenge the Khal and fill every warrior's pockets with gold and slaves?

More and more warriors were drawn over by the chaos on the High Platform.

They saw corpses and blood everywhere, while the Bloodriders and armored men circled one another, fighting as they ran.

They looked to the Kos.

Ko Pono and Ko Jhaqo both recognized many members of their own khalasars among the crowd below.

The two exchanged another glance, each understanding the other's decision.

Two arahks flashed at once and charged at the other witnesses atop the High Platform, cutting down seven or eight people in only a few breaths.

Ko Pono raised an arm and roared, "The Magisters of Pentos colluded with the Bloodriders and these people to kill the Khal! Avenge the Khal! Kill these grass-eating vermin!"

Ko Jhaqo gave his command as well. "Go save that armored man!"

Their khalasars were the strongest, and with some deliberate arrangements, the followers of the two Kos made up more than half the crowd below the platform.

The warriors obeyed the Kos' orders, joining the battle with howls and immediately gaining an overwhelming advantage.

Someone tried to reveal the truth of the Khal's death, but the incoming arahks came faster and faster, drowning out every word.

What awaited them was a bloody purge.

At last seeing the outcome he had been waiting for, Elin relaxed and slumped to the ground. It seemed he would not have to die.

The fighting ended quickly.

Ko Pono and Ko Jhaqo led their warriors away in separate directions.

An eerie silence fell over the area around the High Platform.

Jorah, covered in blood, stood before Elin with one hand braced on his sword. "Drogo truly was a warrior worthy of respect. Perhaps far stronger than I was."

Elin smiled and asked, "Then why are you the one standing here?"

Jorah smiled as well. "He was wounded first, and he didn't have this armor that only cowards wear. Besides, it was close-quarters fighting on foot. It would have been stranger if I had been hurt."

"The Dothraki are better off fighting on horseback."

Elin pretended not to see the few bloody wounds on Jorah's body. In truth, he understood that such injuries were nothing in a melee.

He looked around.

The Beggar King was curled up nearby, muttering to himself, while Daenerys remained motionless on the ground.

He climbed to his feet and walked toward the Princess. "Your Highness, Elin has the honor of informing you that we will soon be returning to King's Landing. The Crown Prince is waiting for you."

Daenerys stiffly turned her head and looked at the servant she had never dared trust, terror filling her eyes.

Ser Jorah consoled her. "Your Highness need not panic. As long as you do not resist, we will never harm you. Nor will His Majesty the King or the Crown Prince."

Daenerys understood which Majesty he meant—the Usurper, not her brother.

She curled into herself helplessly.

Ko Pono and Ko Jhaqo, who had left earlier, had already dealt with all the "outsiders" and gathered their two groups of warriors before riding back.

Dothraki words rang out.

Jorah translated for Elin. "They want you to fulfill your promise. Open Pentos's gates and let them avenge the Khal."

Elin sighed mournfully. "The Magisters were too irrational. How could they assassinate the Khal simply because they feared his strength? What a pity. Now beautiful Pentos must bear the Dothraki's wrath."

"Tell them we can leave at once."

The Sunset Glow had completely vanished.

Pentos had not noticed anything unusual. The grasslands outside the city were neither too near nor too far away, and it was hardly strange for the Dothraki to make some noise there.

Besides, would mounted savages really attack a city at night?

With such thoughts in mind, and with the gates long since quieted down, the city guards who worked for coin naturally settled in to enjoy their dinner, utterly unaware of the blades lurking in the shadows.

These were several dozen desperate Mercenaries Elin had hired with Golden Dragons.

Their task was simple: wait beside the eastern gate, take Elin's appearance as their signal, kill every gate guard, ensure the gates remained wide open, and then receive ten times the remaining payment afterward.

The clatter of hooves drew closer.

A figure slowly rode in through the city gate, and the Mercenaries saw the signal.

The guards huddled together over their meal were wholly unprepared. Nearly half were killed or wounded in the first clash, while the other guards farther away and the scattered civilians had neither the time nor the strength to offer aid.

Yet before the Mercenaries could take control of the gate—

Rumble—

The ground shook violently. Oppressive thunder roared in from beyond the city, mixed with faint cheers and howls.

A charge of forty thousand cavalry!

Jorah led the Dragon House siblings through the gates first. After joining Elin, they only rode faster and faster, galloping nonstop toward the western harbor.

Only a few breaths later, countless Dothraki riders shrieked as they stormed through the city's vulnerable gate.

The hopeful Mercenaries and the few guards still struggling were instantly trampled into mud beneath the horses' hooves.

The Dothraki had entered Pentos.

Amid the sea of blood, Ko Jhaqo—no, Khal Jhaqo—appeared.

He declared harshly, "The people of Pentos bought the forgiveness of the great Khalasar with gifts, yet now they have broken their sacred oath and used despicable means to kill Khal Drogo! Unforgivable!"

He raised his bloody arakh high. "As punishment, feast to your hearts' content, warriors!"

Ooooh—woo!

The bloodthirsty greed of the Dothraki riders was fully ignited. They had to avenge the Khal!

For one night, no blades would be sheathed.

Everywhere the eye could see were lambs awaiting slaughter.

Fortunately, Elin and the others had already escaped aboard the ship prepared in the harbor. Had they been even a little later, Elin would not have known whether the Dothraki arahks were friends or enemies.

The ship had already raised anchor.

Elin and Jorah stood on deck, watching Pentos grow brighter and brighter behind them.

Those were the flames of death.

Elin was excited yet uneasy. The mission was complete, but would His Highness truly wish to see Pentos's Bloody Night?

Chaotic footsteps sounded behind them.

The captain and a dozen sailors approached with swords and knives. "Hey, Elin. You know I'm from Pentos, right?"

Elin hid behind Jorah. "None of your families are in the city, are they? What do you intend to do?"

The burly captain spoke one word at a time.

"We need more money."

How much? Elin did not know, but he would soon find out.