NOVEL NEXT Chapter 215: Khal Drogo
Abandoned his khalasar.
Jhaqo, once Drogo’s Ko, had been a warrior of unmatched strength, second only to Drogo himself. But now, he was stripped of the status and power needed to stand among the Khals as an equal. He had lost not only his warriors but also his 'quasi-Bloodriders,' who were now crippled and useless. Faced with Ogo’s mockery, Jhaqo could not muster a single word in his defense.
"Jhaqo, can you tell us about the battle that day?" asked another Khal, an elderly man with gray hair named Motho. He commanded a Khalasar of aged Dothraki, making his Khalasar one of the weakest. Yet, Motho held a certain level of respect among his people—after all, even the youngest and strongest Dothraki would eventually grow old.
Upon hearing Motho’s request, Jhaqo’s dull eyes suddenly flickered with fear, as if the vision of that towering, burning pile of corpses had resurfaced before him.
"Jhaqo! Are you deaf?" Ogo barked impatiently, annoyed by Jhaqo’s silence.
Among the Dothraki, social standing was brutally clear: whoever commanded the largest Khalasar, the most warriors, and the fiercest fighters had the loudest voice. Perhaps Ogo would have once shown Jhaqo respect, but now, Jhaqo was nothing more than a defeated man, a dog without a spine. Etiquette no longer mattered.
Jhaqo didn’t dare to protest. His throat dry, he swallowed mechanically, though there was no moisture left in his mouth.
"That day, I had my warriors stationed on a hill," Jhaqo began, his voice trembling. "We sent out at least 300 scouts, but not a single one returned with a warning... This Viserys, he uses sorcery! His army appeared on the hilltop like ghosts, and we had no time to react. There was also a force of Unsullied who cut off our retreat..."
As Jhaqo recounted the events, the expressions of the Khals grew more solemn. Though he had been defeated, both he and Drogo had once commanded great respect for their abilities. To see such a formidable Ko, now reduced to terror, disturbed them deeply.
The Dothraki’s greatest strengths lay in their scouts and their mobility. If these were neutralized, they would stand no chance against the "milkmen" clad in iron armor. The Dothraki were not ignorant; they understood the advantages of armor. But long-held customs and limited resources had prevented them from mass-producing armored warriors. Without these, their traditional methods of warfare were at a dire disadvantage.
"Hmph! You've been beaten, Jhaqo! You're no longer a proud Dothraki—you’re nothing but Lamb Men! A Lamb Men without bones!" Ogo sneered, his words dripping with contempt.
He knew exactly how much ground 300 scouts could cover. For Viserys to have slipped past that many without detection was unthinkable. Jhaqo must have sent out “ugly” scouts—unworthy, incompetent warriors—and that, in Ogo's mind, was the cause of his defeat.
"Could there have been a traitor?" suggested a thinner Khal, voicing a possibility that was easier for them to accept.
"A traitor?" Jhaqo echoed, bewildered. He couldn’t understand why there would be one; as far as he knew, the men he trusted should have been loyal.
Knock, knock, knock.
While the Dothraki leaders continued their discussion, a steady rhythm of footsteps echoed through the hall, accompanied by the faint jingling of bells. The men turned toward the doorway and saw a large, muscular figure entering. As the figure passed through, his broad frame blocked the light, casting the hall into shadow.
The men quickly rose to their feet, and the sound of bells filled the hall. The Khals bent slightly in respect, while their Kos, Bloodriders, and sons knelt.
The man was Drogo.
His long, black braids, reaching down to his thighs, swayed gently with each step, adorned with golden bells that gleamed like stars. Even silver bells were a rare honor among the Dothraki, and the bronze bells Drogo had once earned as a boy had long been discarded.
Drogo was the greatest Khal of all, undefeated in battle. To the Dothraki, he was the living embodiment of victory and courage.
Thump, thump, thump...
As Drogo ascended to the throne at the center of the hall, his three Bloodriders took their positions behind him. Sitting on the throne, Drogo looked as though he had been born to rule from that seat. The stone throne, inlaid with precious gems, only enhanced his imposing presence.
It was then that the others noticed something unusual—a "milkmaid" stood beside Drogo’s Bloodriders, an oddity in the midst of such a gathering.
After a tense silence, Drogo finally spoke in the harsh, guttural tones of the Dothraki language, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Jhaqo, tell me why you have returned alive."
The sound of Drogo's voice sent a shudder through Jhaqo's body. Trembling, he replied, "Great Khal Drogo, Viserys sends you a message."
At the mention of Viserys's name, the Dothraki chiefs perked up, their interest piqued.
Jhaqo took a deep breath and said, "Viserys sends a message: we are not to harm his people, and he challenges you to single combat. If you defeat him, he will surrender everything he possesses. But if you lose, the Dothraki must never cross the Forest of Qohor."
"Insolent boy!" A voice erupted from the crowd before Jhaqo could finish. The speaker was a Khal in his forties, with a few strands of gray in his hair, yet his presence radiated the vigor of youth. This was Zekko, who frequently led his horses to graze near the outskirts of Qohor—territory directly impacted by Viserys's challenge.
Viserys's actions were a direct affront to Zekko's interests. Moreover, Zekko considered himself well-versed in the ways of the Free Cities. He believed that these people, who cowered behind their walls, lacked the courage to face the mighty Dothraki warriors in open combat. To Zekko, Viserys’s proposal was not only a violation of Dothraki interests but also an insult to their honor.
However, it seemed Jhaqo wasn’t finished. "Viserys also said that if he wins, you must cease accepting gifts from Pentos or any of the Free Cities."
"Kill him!"
"How dare he challenge Drogo? Does he really think he's invincible?"
"Who does he think he is? He's just a coward hiding behind armor!"
The Khals erupted in anger. Whether their outrage was genuine or performed for Drogo’s benefit, they knew they had to show it.
At that moment, the “Milkman” Drogo had brought into the hall knelt before him, speaking urgently. "Great Khal Drogo, you must not fall for his tricks. This Viserys is without honor. He strikes from the shadows. He used this tactic to steal Tyrosh, to sneak up on Pentos—he even dabbles in witchcraft. I saw him kill over 200 pirates in an instant with dark magic!"
The speaker was Luwas, a survivor of House Berent. When Viserys and the Red Viper Hoyt attacked Pentos, Luwas had been there, trading with merchants.
He managed to escape unharmed and now sought the Horselords' power for revenge. He was adamant that Drogo should not agree to a one-on-one fight with Viserys.
In truth, this was also why Drogo had brought Luwas to the gathering. Drogo himself was reluctant to face Viserys in single combat. His undefeated record came from thoroughly understanding his enemies, and Viserys’s strength remained something of an enigma.
When Luwas mentioned Viserys’s alleged use of witchcraft, the faces of the assembled Khals paled. The Dothraki had a deep-seated fear and hatred of witchcraft, and the mere suggestion of it was enough to unsettle even the bravest among them.
"Khal, you must not accept his challenge! A demon lives within him!" Cohollo, one of Drogo’s Bloodriders, spoke up from behind. Bald, with a hooked nose and a mouth full of broken teeth, Cohollo’s appearance was far from endearing, yet his loyalty to Drogo was unquestionable.
Under Drogo’s deliberate manipulation, Viserys had been transformed in the minds of the Dothraki into a figure akin to Gul'dan—a sinister sorcerer with insidious and cruel methods. They believed their Khal could defeat Viserys in open combat, but they feared that Drogo might fall victim to treachery or dark magic.
Drogo had cleverly cultivated this image to preserve his own prestige. By portraying Viserys as an evil sorcerer, Drogo could avoid a direct confrontation without losing his honor. However, as Khal, he still needed to protect the Dothraki's honor and interests.
Sensing the moment was right, Drogo finally spoke. "The lives of more than 3,000 Dothraki warriors cannot go unavenged! The honor of the Dothraki must be upheld, and Viserys must pay the price!"
"Yes! Make him pay the price!" the Dothraki shouted in unison, their excitement building, though there was an undercurrent of absurdity to it all.
At that moment, the old Khal Motho spoke up again, "Great Khal Drogo, I have a suggestion."
"Speak," Drogo replied, though in truth, Motho was also part of Drogo's orchestrated plan.
"We can send one or more of our warriors to fight him. Then, we can renegotiate the terms for the victor's reward," Motho proposed.
Drogo didn’t respond immediately, instead looking up at the sky as if deep in thought, contemplating Motho's suggestion.
"Khal Drogo, I will fight for you!" Cohollo declared, stepping forward.
"Khal Drogo, my son will fight for the Dothraki!" Ogo exclaimed, pushing his son forward.
"Khal Drogo, I will fight for the Dothraki!" another warrior shouted, followed by a chorus of volunteers.
The Dothraki were fired up. The thought of Viserys as a sorcerer no longer intimidated them. If they were to die, they knew others would avenge them, and they saw this as an opportunity to win even greater rewards for their Khalasars. Deep in their hearts, they believed that no sorcery could stand against the unstoppable force of Dothraki iron hooves.
