Khal Jhaqo was leading his Bloodriders in a frenzy of slaughter at the center of the battlefield, reveling in the pleasure of killing.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the army charging in from the south.
"Ha!"
Jhaqo let out a short roar, a flash of offended savagery crossing his face.
He thought this newly arrived army had come to steal his prey, or to encircle and destroy him.
In his simple mind, everyone on the battlefield who did not belong to his khalasar was an enemy.
He wheeled his horse around, pointed his enormous curved blade toward the Dornish army, and roared an order to some of the finest Bloodriders at his side.
Thousands of blood-crazed Dothraki riders immediately abandoned the routed remnants of the Reach and Westerlands forces before them. Howling, they turned and smashed into the newly arrived Dornish army with even wilder roars.
Quentyn was directing his soldiers to surround and destroy a small band of Westerlands infantry still putting up stubborn resistance when he suddenly felt the ground shake violently.
He looked up in shock. Through clouds of dust that blotted out the sky, countless Dothraki riders were charging straight at his formation, waving curved blades and roaring.
They were so close that he could even make out their savage, bloodthirsty eyes.
"No! Stop! We're allies! We're Dornish!"
Quentyn's face went deathly pale, and he cried out involuntarily.
He waved his arms desperately, trying to make them understand.
But the horsemen charging at full speed could neither hear nor understand his shouts.
"Shield wall! Quickly! Spearmen! Form a circle! Hold them back!"
Daemon Sand reacted first, shouting fiercely, horror showing on his face.
The well-trained Dornish soldiers displayed exceptional discipline.
Amid their officers' hysterical shouting, the soldiers on the outside