Campfires twinkled distant through the morning fog, so many they revealed the shape of the land beneath them, the rise and fall of mountains. Jhaqo's Khalasar took up the entire valley, and even that could hardly contain his horde. An entire valley choked with the most savage and brutal killers that the Dothraki people had ever produced. Twenty thousand men, and within a day they would surround Rhaego, sealing the last of the valleys and mountain paths to the east.
Rhaego moved the myrish glass from his eye and handed it back to Relequo. "So, what do you think?" he asked the sellsword.
"There's too many of them." he spat into the mud. "I'm leaving."
"Well now," Rhaego threw an arm around him. Relequo didn't look like much but he was solid, all muscle and bone. What set him apart though, is a killer's mind; chaos, threat, bloody murder, none of that fazed him. Every moment of a crisis he'll be considering the angles, tracking weapons, looking for an opening, taking it. Rhaego pulled him close, hand clapped to the back of his neck. He flinched, but to his credit he didn't reach for a blade. "Suppose that wasn't going to happen. Just for the sake of argument, suppose it was only you here and twenty of them out there. How would you win then, Relequo?"
He bit his lip, staring past Rhaego into some other space. "They're crowed in, Rhaego. In that valley. One man against many, he's got to be fast, attacking, moving. Each man is your shield from the next." He shook his head, seeing the Khal again. "But you can't use an army like one man."
Rhaego nodded and supressed a smile, his thought's coming together. "We'll see."
As he walked down through the camp Mylessa fell in beside him. "Khal Jhaqo has a much bigger army than you," she said. No other form of greeting.
"Yes, he does." He kept walking, casually nodding to his men.
"He could beat you," she said.
"They might win. If each of my men doesn't kill twenty of theirs then there's a good chance, especially if he surrounds us in an open field."
"How far away are they? She asked.
"I'd say they're camped about three miles off," he gave an artless shrug. "Perhaps they'll be on us tomorrow."
"You should attack now then," she said. "Before they surround us."
"I know." It sounded so simple, but the truth is he had hardly enough of a fighting force to attack with. With the combined strength of his two hundred riders and the thousand sellswords of the Silent Sphinxes he still had barely a fraction of Jhaqo's Khalasar.
"I have a way of helping," said Mylessa suddenly. "Though I don't think you'll like it."
"Speak."
Mylessa bit on her bottom lip. "R'hllor will save you if you give him something, though it would require blood magic, the likes you would not be comfortable with."
Rhaego fixed his gaze upon her, the intensity of his glare making her wince. "Would you be comfortable with it?"
"I serve my god and I serve you," she insisted. "This time the both of you would benefit."
"You mean to give someone to your flames." It was more a statement than a question.
"I mean to save you and those whose lives you hold in your hands.
Rhaego gave her one final look and then turned his back to her, walking over to where a collection his men were waiting.
"Gerion! Are the men ready?"
"They are." He nodded.
Rhaego drew his axe. The sudden feel of the mighty weapon resulted in a pleasant surge of excitement. "Let's go."
They walked four abreast, the tallest men hunched to save scarping their heads on rough-hewn stone. Every tenth man held a torch and at the back of their column they almost choked on the smoke. Rhaego's own torch showed little more than the ten yards of the tunnel ahead, twisting to take advantage of the natural voids and fissures. His scouts had discovered the tunnels some three days previous, and in those three days Rhaego had it drilled in them to walk the paths in order to make preparations. Another fifty yards and a stair took them onto the slopes via a crawl space.
Rhaego took a long breath of fresh air. Out on those slopes in the coldness of the wind, with the mountains high and silent on all sides, it felt good to be alive. And if it has to be, he thought, a good day to die.
Far below them, Jhaqo's horde had started to move, the long serpent of riders in their attack formations. Perhaps the Khal thought he was being clever by trying to launch an attack earlier than what Rhaego and his men had predicted, but in the end it made no matter. He would be upon them soon enough.
Rhaego and his men came down the slopes west of his campsite in a bronze wave, swords, daggers, and shortbows. The Dothraki were no strangers to the bow, they were among the best and the men of the Silent Sphinxes learned some of their skill fast enough. Three hundred curved composite shortbows and all wielded by skilled hands.
Jhaqo's scouts saw them. That had never been in doubt, a Khalasar that big had to have had plenty of trained scouts. Rhaego's men moved quickly, while Jhaqo's scouts hurried down. Moving quickly down the slopes on foot and in armour is hard, on horseback it's impossible. A few of the men managed to get down in one piece, but many more tumbled and were crushed under their horses.
They managed to make it down only seconds behind the first word of their advance, and long before that word could be acted on. Rhaego could feel the burn in his legs, the cool breath hauled in and the hot breath came out. There was a river of sweat under his leather chestplate, and hard leather it was. Cured and boiled in oil, padded fur underneath, no plate or chain- he needed to move.
When he gave the shout, the men stopped on the rock field, scattered on the slope, two hundred yards from their position, close enough to smell them. All of them, at least the ones they could see before the roll of the mountains hid the vast expanse of their advance, rode without haste, confident.
He didn't need to tell his men, they started to loose their shafts immediately. The first screams carried the message of Rhaego's attack far more effectively than the scouts still hunting for their breath, and aiming for the thickest knots of men made it hard to not find a target.
They managed a second volley before the first of the enemy started to charge. Jhaqo's own archers could hardly find targets, loose amongst the rocks and the long morning shadows. Another volley and another, hundreds killed or wounded with each flight. The riders came up charging as fast as they could, though the incline of the slopes and the barrage of arrows culled most of them and sent the tumbling corpses of horseflesh back down, colliding with those behind them in a chain reaction.
There was confusion in the ranks, entire columns breaking open in the chaos. The Khalasar was tearing itself apart trying to reach them, something which brought a smile to Rhaego's face. "The Dothraki are masters when on the back of a horse, riding towards an enemy on an open field," Ser Jorah had once told him, "but they have no patience, no mind for strategy and hardly ever fight outside their element." Up in the rocky side of a mountain, Rhaego removed Jhaqo from his element. By the time they finished their tenth volley around four thousand men were slain.
Eventually Jhaqo managed to reorganize his men into something resembling order and moved his archers closer. Unlike before these men managed to pick their targets betters and sent enough arrows back at Rhaego's men to actually clean off a few. The young Khal had to duck down close behind the rock to avoid the flying death that was being sent at him, and caught sight of a man three paces to his left catch an arrow through one ear and emerge out the other. When he glanced up he saw that Jhaqo had sent a score of men up the hills on foot, arakhs gleaming the sunlight, the protection of the archers keeping Rhaego's own suppressed. So he's not half the fool I thought he was….
"Gerion," he growled. "Be ready to order a retreat."
"We probably should have done that a few minutes ago," said the Lannister. "don't you think?"
"Just get ready!"
The first of Jhaqo's warriors were upon them then, purple faced and breathing heavy. Rhaego let one get close and swung his axe forward, letting the man run into it. He continued on like that for a while until one of them seemed to finally notice the corpses and slowed himself down. He came in swinging his arakh, still huffing and puffing from his run. Rhaego jumped back to avoid the sweep of his blade then swung his large axe and took the man's head off.
Gerion gave the order and his men turned and fled higher up the mountain, after swinging his axe about and cleaving another enemy in two, Rhaego ran up with them. Jhaqo's men soldiered on behind, struggling and struggling to push their exhausted bodies up the incline; some even tripped and rolled into others.
He caught up with the Lannister and Relequo a few minutes later, his chest burning from the effort. "Have a few squads set up near those ridges," he said in between huffs and puffs. "Feather them with a few more arrows."
"And when those horselords reach us?" asked Relequo. "It looks like he's sent more than half his horde up after us."
"We just need to slow them down," replied the young Khal, a little more lustre in his voice. "When I give the signal, and your men are to safety, Gerion and his men will be ready with our little surprise for them."
"Seven fucking hells, you want me to do more running up this bloody rock?" asked Gerion before turning and spitting a wad of phlegm at the rocky ground.
Rhaego frowned. "It's either you and your men run up to the position or you run down into that screaming mess."
The Lannister considered for a moment before a bright smile crossed his face. "You make a good point," he turned around to the soldiers at his side. "COME ON MEN, UP WE GO!"
Once Gerion and his group hurried upwards, Rhaego sat hunched back down with the others and took out his bow. He pulled out a few arrows and planted them in the earth, point down, where he could get to them quick. Doing his best to settle his nerves, he notched a shaft to his bow and half-drew the string, taking aim down towards the screaming mass. "Wait for it," he whispered to himself. "Wait for it."
Just when he could make out the shape of the first man's bearded face, Rhaego loosed his shaft. The arrow struck the man through the chest, and he screamed and tumbled over into the man running behind him, dragging the two of them down. It was a good shot but he didn't have time to think on it, he was far too busy fumbling for another arrow. His second fell short of the mark, but he still managed to hit his enemy in the leg, enough to make him fall face forwards into the stony soil and tumble away.
The mountain is doing half the work for us, he reflected, whilst reaching for his next arrow.
"Pick your targets!" Relequo was shouting, "pick your damn targets!"
Despite their efforts, the enemy was approaching steadily then and Rhaego waved his axe in the air. "FALL BACK!" he screamed, "FALL BACK!"
And so the men did, hurrying up as fast as their legs would move them up a few yards to the spot. Rhaego hurried after them, and once he saw that they were up near the position he waved his big axe around in the air, making sure the sun shone of the steel, bright enough that Gerion could see through his eyeglass.
High on the sides of almost every valley, of all but the highest gorges, the loose rocks gather too thickly, perched too precariously. When Rhaego was still a boy, fond of stories and eager to hear about Westeros, Ser Barristan had told him about a place in the Seven Kingdoms called the Vale, he said mountains of immense size ruled the place and that during winter storms the mighty rocks would shake free and run like rivers of stone. Rhaego was eager to see such a thing in action and had Gerion search out such high places the day previous.
They felt the ground tremble beneath their feet. The noise, like a millstone grinding, rattled teeth in loose sockets. In moments one whole half of the mountain had been set in motion and Jhaqo's thousands vanished as the dust rose and stone churned flesh into a bloody pulp.
Relequo whistled in disbelief. "You mad fuckin horselord."
"There's still work to be done," he breathed unsteadily, half amazed at what he'd just seen despite himself. "We'll regroup with Gerion's men and return to camp."
As he made to walk past he heard a gurgle come from the ground and looked down to see one of Jhaqo's men lying in a pool of his own blood, an arrow sticking from his unarmoured gut. "Please," he groaned, "mercy..."
Relequo laughed and made to draw his dirk but Rhaego stopped him up. "I think I might have a use for this one."
Mylessa ran out to greet him as he and the others returned to camp, an excited smile on her pretty face. Her smiles froze once she saw his men dragging in the wounded man and dump him unceremoniously before her. "What is-"
"-You say your Red God can help?" he practically growled over her. "Then here, give this one to your flames. I still have at least eight thousand riders ready to swarm in and run us down, so if your God is going to do something then he better do it quick!"
The red woman looked down at the wounded man with an apathetic look on her face. It was cold, almost inhuman how she casually examined his broken body. "Yes he will do, so long as he is alive when the fire takes him. R'hllor will be pleased."
Mylessa seemed to have more influence within his Khalasar than he had originally thought and when she asked them to raise a pyre many were quick to do as she instructed. Rhaego could only stand by and watch as they chained the wounded man up to a stake. He was too badly injured to put up any really fight and could only grumble and cry out for mercy as the men stacked split logs and broken branches under his feet. Mylessa herself gently doused him with oil and then stood back, arms raised high. "Lord of Light, hear us, protect us."
The priestess raised her head toward the mid-afternoon sky. "We beseech you Lord, take this offering and know that we are ever faithful and loyal to your splendour. R'hllor, we give you this evil man, we give him to you so that your cleansing fires might burn away the darkness in his soul. Let his vile flesh be seared and blackened, that his spirit might rise free and pure to ascend into the light. Accept his blood, oh lord, and give your chosen. Grant strength to Prince Rhaego's blade so that he might shed the blood of your enemies."
One of the men lit the pyre with a torch. A few wisps of smoke began to rise. The man began to cough, and muttered a few more pleads. The first flames appeared, darting and dancing from log to log, in moments the stake was engulfed in fire. Soon the man began to scream for mercy, though given his already bloody wounds his voice was strained and soon Mylessa began to sing in the tongue of Asshai.
After a time the screaming stopped.
Rhaego watched Mylessa, the same woman he had held in his arms, the same woman he shared a bed with, and found himself shivering. There was something deeply upsetting about how she watched the flames lick at the dead man's flesh.
He turned to walk away when he heard her lyrical voice call out. "Sometimes you can only win if you're prepared to sacrifice everything, please remember that my love."
Rhaego watched her for a moment, trying to read her blue eyes for hidden thoughts, but in the end turned away without another word.
"Does Jhaqo take me for a fool?"
The messenger was little more than a boy, and winced every time Rhaego spoke. "He only wishes to speak with you before the battle," the boy told his feet, too afraid look the Khal in his purple eyes. "You may bring as many riders as you want; he swears by the Great Stallion that he will not attack before the great battle to come."
"Fine, I shall meet the old man," he growled. "Now run back and tell your master!"
Once the boy was gone from the tent, Gerion took a stood up from his seat, looking at the Khal as if he might not be Rhaego at all. "You want to make terms with him?"
Rhaego couldn't help but snort a laugh. "Gods no, and he wouldn't offer terms. Jhaqo was once a Ko of my father and has been feared by most since my sire died. I have killed half his Khalasar; he has no choice but to slay me or else risk looking weak before his men. The two of us will fight, and I'll win."
Gerion looked at him for a moment and then gave a casual nod, as if he didn't care either way how it would go. "Very well then, I suppose you'll want me out there?"
"I do," he said as he rose to his feet and grabbed his axe. "And you too Relequo."
The green haired sellsword took a mouthful wine before speaking. "Oh joy."
The flames of the torches that hung about camp flared as Rhaego passed, infecting him with a strange passion. As he mounted his red stallion he felt as though he was being watched, and gripped his great axe firmly as he rode out.
Khal Jhaqo stood waiting, dust and blood splattered over his leather vest and pants. His bloodriders sat behind him, their eyes focused on Rhaego's own warriors. Gerion had his same lazy grin plastered over his comely face, Relequo was examining his nails, and Jakerhro looked back at them, grim faced.
Rhaego rode over to Jhaqo.
"So this is the spawn of Drogo," Jhaqo's voice was throaty and raw, yet held a rough arrogance to it. "Would that I killed you in your mother's womb, and prevented all this."
"A man such as you would prefer to kill a babe than a grown man," laughed Rhaego. "Would you like to taste my axe old man?"
Jhaqo spat. "I won't let them burn you, when I am done I will take your head and send it off to your whore mother and…" his face twisted into a mask of pain and he coughed roughly. "and…I'll…I'll…" soon he was wracked with coughs, deep and choking. Rhaego's eyes widened when he realised what exactly the Khal was choking on.
With each exhale of breath, with each laboured cough, thick smoke emerged from the man's mouth. His dark eyes soon became red with tears as he grasped at his throat, smoke continuing to billow out of his face until finally he was wracked with a fit so powerful that it sent him from his horse. Jhaqo clawed at his throat. "Bastard!" he choked out, trying to crawl. Suddenly his whole body shook with agony and the flesh of his throat began to glow with light, and then rip and tear and blacken as flames burst up from the back of his mouth and consume his body entire.
The bloodriders he had chosen took one look at their Khal and then at Rhaego and turned away, as fast as their mounts would take them.
Relequo looked like he was about to be sick. "By the Gods….what is this?"
Rhaego looked down at the charred corpse that had once been Jhaqo and frowned. "This is what revenge looks like."