Crouching Viper Hidden Dragon

Chapter 37

The Race part 2…

Robb started riding again trying to catch up with the rest of the pack. It was harder than he'd thought. All around him wagons and barriers were on fire. The smoke from these fires was horrendous. He'd tried to cut some time moving as close to the barricades as possible, it was a huge mistake. He was teary eyed from the smoke and his lungs were on fire.

He'd lost sight of the Dothraki that challenged him and was sure that it mattered. That Dothraki wanted to show that he was the best. He knew, sooner or later, he'd be waiting for him. Robb was still navigating the burning hulks that were in his path when he got blindsided again. Another Dothraki was waiting behind the smoke to spook his horse.

He was thrown from his mount and crashed right next to a burning wagon. If he was only a few feet to the left, he was sure he'd look worse than the hound. The Dothraki that had spooked him was young and arrogant. Already, he could hear his laughter permeate the air. This rider wasn't the one that blindsided him from before, no, this was just an arrogant jackass that wanted a name for himself. Robb shook his head at the injustice. Was this where his quest for glory would end? Was he destined to be the wolf that was blindsided? The blinded wolf. Is that what he would be called?

He was about to despair more when the Great Jon came out of the smoke and ham fisted the rider. He didn't have time to deliberate when the Great Jon spoke to him.

"Get off your ass and grab this cunts horse! It isn't over and I'll be damned if I let these horse fuckers show me up."

Robb grabbed the Dothraki's horse and rode up next to the Great Jon.

"Thanks, my lord."

The Great Jon just grunted.

"Thank me later. The next lap is with wooden weapons and I'm sure they'll be waiting for us."

The Great Jon and Robb rode together as fast as they could. The heard the crowd gasp and cheer in front of them. It looked like the crowd was getting into the spectacle of death and maiming that came with the race. The skittish Westorsi were now embracing the violence before them.

Robb dismounted and went to mount his new horse.

"How many are left?" he asked the stable boy.

"Just five. You and him versus three others."

Robb nodded; he was ready to take off but the boy stopped him.

"Your weapon my lord!"

Robb almost forgot. He thanked the boy and made his way to the rack. There were wooden clubs, mallets, and swords. He picked the sword while Great Jon picked a club.

Robb and the Great Jon went around the track and found no one left to challenge them. He saw some dead Dothraki and some with burns worse than the hound, but none that were fit to fight. Robb shook his head. If this is what they do for sport then he could just imagine their ferocity on the battlefield.

The Great Jon stopped his horse and motioned for Robb to do the same. Across from them, near the finish line, were three Dothraki screamers. The one who challenged Robb and his subordinates. Robb didn't understand them. The race could have multiple winners. They didn't have to wait for them.

The main rider motioned to his subordinates and they charged. They engaged him and the Great Jon on horse while their commander pranced around the finish line, not even thinking about crossing it. Robb ducked as a screamer almost bashed his head in with a club. He tried to deflect with his wooden sword but realized to late that it was useless. He never fought in close quarters mounted combat. He couldn't get enough space to swing his wooden sword while the Dothraki riders alternated between him and the Great Jon creating space. One of them clubbed his horse effectively throwing him from his mount.

Once he was thrown the other riders disregarded him. They thought him weak and unskilled. They focused on the Great Jon. They rode past him in different direction while hitting him from his sides. They hit him whenever his focus was divided. It devastating. The Dothraki rode like they were part of their mounts. Every move they had was sure footed. Every motion was deliberate.

Robb got disgusted with his ineffectiveness and picked up his sword. He hid behind a burning cart and waited. They were riding towards the Great Jon once more when Robb made his move on one of the riders. He took his wooden sword and aimed for the horse's legs. He had perfect timing. The horse buckled and threw his rider almost killing him. The Great Jon was hit one more time, knocking him out. It was Robb against two riders and no one was left to help him.

He took the Great Jon's mount and his club. The rider who had clubbed the Great Jon unconscious rode to his master. He started to talk with his master when he was met with a club to the face. He was knocked out by his own master. It seemed that the rider wanted glory for himself and only himself. He was booed by the crowd and Robb could almost see him relish in it.

Robb looked at him and realized what he wanted. He didn't want to charge him but, he knew not charging would brand him a coward. He knew that the smart thing would be to withdraw from the field but, Robb was young, and his pride and the North's pride rung in his ears.

He started the charge. Slow at first but, with ever increasing speed the space between them evaporated. At the final moments, Robb raised his club to the air. The Dothraki did the same. When Robb went to hit him, all he found was air, the Dothraki had ridden side saddle and went for his horse's legs. Robb was thrown from his horse again. The Dothraki commander had done to him what he did to the screamer before him.

Robb stood up and was glad. He still had no major injuries. He was about to make his way into the inner track when a club hit his back. He fell to the ground. He saw the Dothraki riding away and was angered. The Dothraki had beaten him but, he wouldn't give the Dothraki the satisfaction.

Robb stood again. The Dothraki had almost crossed the finish line when he looked back to see the young wolf trying to stand. He growled his displeasure and turned back. He rode hard and swung again. Robb tried to dodge him at the last minute but, he had been nicked in the ribs. Again, Robb went down.

The Dothraki had not ridden far when he turned around. Disbelief littered his face as the young wolf tried to stand again. The Dothraki was more than a little impressed. Normally, he'd bash the fool's head in and make sure he'd never walk again, but, this was his first race. These Westorsi were soft but, this northerner had earned his respect. Perhaps in time, with more races under his belt, this Northerner would give him a challenge.

Robb was haggard and he was sure he had a few broken ribs when he heard the hooves roaring towards him. He had just looked up when the Dothraki went side saddle again and delivered an uppercut to his unsuspecting face. Whenever he even thought of the race, many nights after that one, he saw Goro's face. It was the face he saw when, Northerners praised his horsemanship, it was the face he saw when leading men into battle, and it was the face he saw whenever he told the young ones about his time in the race. Goro had taught him a lesson that day. It was a lesson; he'd never repeat again.