Only a month had passed since the black-and-red banner bearing the Three-Headed Fire Dragon rose above Meereen's walls, and the city was still adjusting to its new order and laws. The Free Folk busied themselves clearing the ruins, while some still queued to receive the newly issued deeds to land and houses.
The sounds of haggling gradually returned to the markets. Though there were fewer goods than before, at least the two sides of each transaction seemed to stand on slightly more equal footing.
The top floor of the ruling pyramid had once belonged to a Great Master who had since been nailed to his death. Now it served as the official residence of the provincial governor, Duke Arthur Dayne. He stood on the broad terrace, gazing toward the empty expanse beyond the city, his brow slightly furrowed.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
"Have the scouts returned?" he asked without turning.
His adjutant, an Unsullied commander, replied, "My lord, the third group of scouts has just reported back. They've confirmed that it's a Dothraki khalasar, a very large one. They estimate nearly forty thousand people, with over ten thousand fighting men. They're driving a large number of captives ahead of them, apparently Lhazareen, and heading toward Meereen. At their current pace, they'll reach the outskirts by the afternoon of the day after tomorrow at the latest."
"The Dothraki." Arthur tapped his fingers lightly against the stone railing. These horsemen of the grasslands rarely ventured deep into Slaver's Bay. Their appearance now came at a suspiciously delicate moment.
"Do we know which khal leads them?"
"The scouts didn't dare get too close, but they saw the emblem on the banners. It looked like a dripping, bloody arakh. Based on the intelligence we gathered from caravans earlier, it may be Khal Ogo's khalasar."