At their head was the burly Jhaqo Khal.
His muscular torso bare, he brandished a huge arakh, a bloodthirsty grin twisting his face and an endless hunger for slaughter and plunder burning in his eyes.
He had pillaged and slaughtered his way west from Haystack Hall in the Stormlands, passing Bronzegate, Felwood, Blackhaven, and Nightsong before arriving here.
Along the way, the horsemen in his army had grown ever more spirited; even stray dogs they encountered on the road received a couple of slaps.
Now Jhaqo Khal paid no heed to the armies of the Reach and the Westerlands on the battlefield, as though they were merely ants in his path.
His target was the battlefield before him, and all the wealth and lives upon it that could be plundered.
Kill! Kill! Kill!
Jhaqo swept his curved blade forward, pointing toward the chaotic battlefield at Ashford.
The next instant, more than thirty thousand Dothraki cavalry charged savagely into the armies of the Reach and the Westerlands as they fought fiercely.
Addam Marbrand's face instantly turned as white as paper.
Jon Fossoway's vision went black, and he nearly fell from his saddle.
The Dothraki swept across the southeastern corner of Ashford Meadow in an instant.
The first to bear the brunt were some Westerlands infantry fighting House Cuy's defenders at the battlefield's edge, along with even greater numbers of fleeing Reach infantry.
Squelch!
Crack!
"Aah!" The sharp crack of curved blades severing bone, the dull thuds of horses sending bodies flying, and desperate screams instantly mingled together.
The Dothraki made no distinction between friend and foe.
Everything before their horses was prey.
The Westerlands soldiers' sturdy armor could not offer complete protection against the fierce strokes of Dothraki blades and the high-speed impact of their horses; they were engulfed and torn