Chapter 30: A Dothraki Surprise

Year 291 AC. Essos. Near the Horn of Hazzat Mountains.

The wind whistled in my ears, a whole world lay spread out beneath my feet, and in my chest, as always, a purely childish delight blazed. Flying had captivated me from the very first time and, I believe, seized me for the rest of my life.

I quickly realized, by the way, why none of the dragonriders wore goggles like pilots from the First World War. It was instinctual magic. A faint, almost imperceptible film of arcane energy shielded my face from the wind currents, making it perfectly comfortable to fly through the heavens with my face exposed.

Below me, Avero worked his great wings, aiding himself with wild magic from time to time. Massive torrents of inhuman power emanated from the young dragon’s body, sustaining him in the air and preventing a fall.

To the left, a thin strip of sea stretched out. Just a couple of miles from the mainland shore lay the large Yaros Isle, entirely covered with green trees and bushes. Wisps of smoke curled above a pair of small fishing villages; the peasants seemed to be smoking their catch. Invisible to a person walking on the road but clearly visible from a bird’s eye view, the galleys of my fleet lay hidden in the coves, ready at any moment to trap the enemy fleet between the mainland and the island’s shores, snapping the jaws of the trap shut and pressing in from all sides, denying any chance of retreat.

To the right, the mighty crowns of forest giants swayed along the road, rustling their emerald foliage. The forest also covered the mountains, whose peaks sliced through the clouds a few miles from the road. But it was not the local beauty that held my interest; after five days of camping near the presumed battle site, I had seen enough of the mountain slopes, the forest, and the sea. Far more compelling was the approaching enemy army.

In the vanguard, warriors under gold banners marched in neat columns. Their polished armor gleamed in the sun; their horses nervously snorted from time to time, sensing the nearby smoke of the legionaries’ fires, and their war elephants created small clouds of dust with every step. The Golden Company, always renowned for their discipline, training, equipment, and cavalry, had not failed to live up to their name, bringing eighteen of these tanks of the medieval world with them. I had seen a couple of elephants in Astapor, where aristocrats kept them as curiosities. These massive beasts, with their drivers and archers on their backs, are capable of breaking the ranks of any army and trampling even knightly cavalry. If you don't know how to fight them, they are an unbeatable military unit.

Following the ten-thousand-strong sellsword company were the forces of Meereen and Astapor. Thousands of slaves armed with poor spears, wicker shields, and thick cloth jackets. Hardly the equipment to save them from anything more than an arrow or a weak sword blow, but given their numbers, approaching twenty thousand, they were a formidable force. This militia was supervised by the Unsullied, numbering just under ten thousand, who also guarded the aristocrat-commanders of Meereen and Yunkai.

Turning Avero right, I flew over the forest along the long snake of the enemy army, which stretched for miles as it marched down the road. When I first approached the enemy within a few hundred yards, many in the host stopped, pointing fingers at the heavenly monster or wanting to flee entirely, but the Unsullied quickly restored order to the column, and the horde continued its movement.

Behind the ranks of the militia and the Unsullied marched warriors in light armor under the banners of Tolos, Mantarys, and Elyria. Five thousand sellswords sent by the temporary allies of Meereen and Yunkai.

Yet, the column showed no sign of ending, and to my shock, I saw a huge horde following the enemy army. Warriors in padded robes and mail shirts rode on their spirited horses, raising enormous clouds of dust. Their curved, scimitar-like swords, bows, and spears, as well as the guttural shouts of commanders in their distinctive, harsh language, left no doubt: the enemy had managed to hire an entire Dothraki khalasar. About fifteen thousand mounted warriors, masters of shooting from the saddle, whose tactics resembled the nomads from my past world.

Hell! My fists clenched, my heart skipped a beat, and my lips twisted into a grimace of anger. Everything inside me tightened unpleasantly with fear, and a shiver ran down my spine. The enemy had managed to fool me and my scouts twice. First, they pulled out the ace of a ten-thousand-strong Golden Company army, the finest sellsword company in all Essos, and now they had brought an entire horde of mounted archers, against whom the legionary infantry was nothing. They wouldn't even charge, like heavy cavalry; these savages would simply spend hours shooting my soldiers like hunters shoot partridges, from afar, remaining safely out of reach of the legions' spears!

Looking back at the Golden Company riders, encased in knightly armor, I practically groaned with frustration. The most my own cavalry could do was parry an attack by an equal force of sellswords, while the Dothraki would simply rain clouds of arrows down on the legionary ranks. Even if the First and Second Legions stood their ground, protected by their shields and excellent armor, the army of New Ghis and the Unsullied phalanxes would clearly be destroyed sooner or later. And what remained would be swept away by the enemy Unsullied, who would send the militia meat in first. Hell! Sixty thousand against thirty thousand, and such a vast disparity in cavalry…

Shifting my gaze from the marching columns, I looked out at the water where the war galleys of Yunkai and Meereen were sailing under canvas. There were no major surprises here; their estimated number exceeded my own fleet by about half.

May the dark demons of Hell devour them all! What am I to do? In just a couple of hours, the enemy army will reach the location we chose as the field for the first, and as we thought, the decisive battle of this war.

The road in that area abruptly widened due to a cleared forest, where local peasants were planting wheat. The plan was to array the First and Second Legions in the center and assign the left and right flanks to the warriors of New Ghis and the Unsullied, thus fully leveraging our superior equipment and training while preventing the numerically superior enemy from using its full strength at once. Now, our own trap was working against us.

There was certainly enough space for the Dothraki mounted archers to fire upon our ranks without fear, all while keeping their distance. If our cavalry, hidden in a prepared spot in the forest, charged out and tried to strike the flank… they would easily be countered by the heavy riders of the Golden Company. What would the enemy plan next? Most likely, after a long bombardment, the Dothraki would give way to the Meereenese and Yunkish militia, which would simply wear down our army—superior in quality, but not in numbers. Then, the heavy fist of the Golden Company infantry and the enemy’s fresh Unsullied would fall upon our tired, exhausted, and wounded legionaries and Unsullied. It would be a complete rout…

Glancing doubtfully at Avero’s horned head, which had grown another couple of yards, I turned my attention to the horde of nomads. Dragons are very strong and resilient, but they tire too. A young dragon like mine could never destroy an army even half this size, and I still needed to deal with the enemy fleet, which was my original task.

Looking at the seemingly endless Dothraki horde, I clenched my teeth harder, leaned forward slightly, and pulled the necessary artifact from the saddlebag attached to my saddle. A black, oblong cylinder of obsidian lay in my hand, gleaming on its dark, seemingly melted sides in the sunlight.

A Glass Candle. A Valyrian artifact found with its twin brother in one of the Astapori Masters’ treasuries. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been able to find any scrolls describing how to use this obsidian object, and Maester Aemon had merely shrugged, saying he never took an interest in magic during his time at the Citadel. But Liao unexpectedly came to the rescue. The Aeromancer explained that the Valyrian Freehold often warred with Yi Ti, and some artifacts of the people who ruled the skies were taken as spoils of battle. Glass Candles are a paired artifact by which mages can communicate over great distances, the limit of which has never been established.

Magic flowed like a stream from me to the obsidian cylinder. A small flame, shimmering with all the colors of the rainbow, shone on its tip, and a moment later, Liao's anxious voice manifested in my mind.

“Is something wrong, Senior?”

“Yes. The enemy has many more troops than we expected. They are accompanied by an entire horde of nomads, more than fifteen thousand mounted archers, against whom we are powerless.” I replied mentally to the YiTishman.

“Yadebe no mode!” Liao cursed crudely in YiTish. “What are your orders? We cannot retreat quickly; the road narrows behind the field where our troops are arrayed, and infantry cannot possibly outrun cavalry.”

In his anxiety, the Aeromancer switched to his native tongue. Fortunately, by now I could speak it more or less decently, practicing pronunciation with my air mage every evening.

“Tell Commander Darry that I will not be able to coordinate the battle from the air as planned. He must take full command. I will burn these damned wild nomads. I’ll start with the rearguard, so the back ranks will gallop forward in terror, causing even more chaos. I’m not sure I can destroy most of them, but this will be enough for those sons of donkeys and sheep to completely break their ranks and fall into utter panic. I think the Dothraki will be taken out of the equation entirely. You will only need to follow the plan and grind down the enemy forces by fighting defensively. And yes, tell Daeron to attack the Unsullied and the militia, not the Golden Company. The enemy army commanders are there, and it will be more effective than a frontal attack against equal cavalry. The enemy cavalry and elephants will be held by the legions and scorpions.”

“Understood,” Liao answered curtly. “What about the fleet?”

Wincing with annoyance, I replied.

“Avero won't have enough left for the galleys as well. Narvos and Zirarro have better-equipped boarding crews, and they are reinforced with Praetorians; they will manage, though not without losses. End communication.”

“Acknowledged! End communication!” the YiTishman echoed.

Tucking the dimmed artifact back into the saddlebag, I had the dragon bank sharply and turn around. While we were speaking, the horde had passed behind us, and Avero was now flying straight towards the Dothraki rear. A mental command, and the young dragon shifted toward the road, beginning its descent.

Fifteen thousand mounted warriors is a great many. A whole sea of galloping horses and riders occupying the entire width of the track, over three hundred yards. After all, it wasn't strictly a road but rocky ground free of the forest and the sandy beach along the coast. In length, the khalasar stretched even further, covering several miles of the route.

The approach happened in just a couple of minutes and was marked by Avero's booming roar. The steppe warhorses, though accustomed to the loud sounds of battle, were clearly unnerved. Some reared up or bolted forward, mixing the already less-than-neat ranks of the nomads. The Dothraki howled and ululated, turning in their saddles mid-gallop to loose arrows at the dragon. Those shafts that reached the fiery reptile merely bounced harmlessly off its tough scales. One arrow even managed to hit my chest, but only clinked fruitlessly against the Valyrian steel breastplate. By then, my helmet was already on my head, so I wasn't overly concerned about my safety; Valyrian steel made me practically invulnerable to enemy projectiles.

“Raaaarh!” the dragon exhaled flame.

The fire, nearly white-hot from its temperature and resembling a fiery tornado, crashed down on the Dothraki ranks in a tight stream. In seconds, the flames incinerated the horses' hair and manes and inflicted monstrous burns over the entire skin surface of both mounts and riders.

“Ahhhh!” The Dothraki screams mingled with the horses' neighs, creating a deafening cacophony of sound.

Despite the thin magical shield, the heat still struck my face in warm currents of air, and the dragon continued its low-level flight along the road, spewing clouds of scorching flame onto the heads of the horsemen. Reaching the columns of Tolosi sellswords, I burned their rearguard, which was already being swept away by the Dothraki, maddened by terror, who were galloping right over their allies to escape the horrifying fire.

Turning the dragon, I surveyed the scene before me. The fire had only managed to damage the central ranks of the horsemen, who were moving right in the middle of the road. Their flanks were untouched, but that did them little good. Horses and riders, burning alive, galloped at full speed without regard for the path, rushing not only forward but also toward the sea and the forest, hoping to hide there or simply driven mad by the pain. Piles of human and equine bodies lay scattered on the sand and earth like broken dolls after their collisions, filling the air with deafening screams and neighs. The heavy stench of charred flesh and blood struck my nostrils. The broken legs of the horses were often adorned with white shards of bone that had pierced through the muscle and skin to the outside.

Executing a turn, I flew along the forest line where the Dothraki had managed to mostly survive and even maintain their ranks. After all, a single burst of flame couldn't cover a road fully three hundred paces wide, but this was easily solved by the number of volleys.

“Raaaarh!” A new column of flame crashed down upon my enemies.

******

Year 291 AC. Essos. Near the Horn of Hazzat Mountains.

The long moments of waiting finally came to an end. Darry even breathed a sigh of relief when the enemy vanguard appeared from around the bend.

The battle, which had begun long before the clash of opposing infantry and cavalry, would now finally commence on land as well as in the air. When Viserys transmitted the news of a fifteen-thousand-strong Dothraki horde through Liao, Willem was ready to order a retreat at that very moment. Two hours would have been enough to barricade the road with dozens of felled trees and withdraw towards Astapor, constantly delaying the enemy army with delaying actions and ambushes.

Darry had faced Dothraki detachments in battle a couple of times and understood perfectly that infantry, no matter how strong, simply could not engage a mounted archer, who would successfully shower them with arrows from his bow. But the Emperor had given a different command. The battle was to be fought.

Through the Myrish eye, which Viserys inexplicably called a spyglass, he could observe the young Targaryen’s actions tolerably well. The Emperor’s scouting flight had turned into a full-scale aerial attack. Darry could only watch as the dragon descended over the road, belching clouds of fire, flew along the highway several times, then banked sharply and landed somewhere in the center of Yaros Isle. The forest obscured the view of the enemy army, but Willem was certain there was utter pandemonium.

Darry’s thoughts were confirmed by the enemy army, which covered the remaining distance to the field in twice the time planned. They were still getting off lightly, the bald knight mused. Considering the chaos wrought by Viserys, the enemy troops had surprisingly quickly restored their ranks and continued their march.

“Prepare,” Willem snapped the command.

“Battle stations!” the officers relayed the order throughout the army. Surveying his troops, Darry nodded with satisfaction. He himself, accompanied by a hundred mounted Praetorians and a couple dozen messengers, stood on a hill. Before him lay the neat ranks of the newly created Valyrian Empire’s host.

To the left, the Unsullied phalanxes, their helmets gleaming in the sunlight, blocked the sandy beach. They were commanded by their own officer, who had previously gone by the name Green Beetle. By Viserys’s command, the warrior eunuchs were given proper names, and the commander was now named Wilhelm. Darry didn’t know what it meant, but the young Targaryen assured him it was a proud and glorious name.

The center of the army was held by the First and Second Legions. They were commanded by Willem's deputy and Daemon, respectively. The right flank was held by warriors whose equipment was very similar to the Unsullied. Two out of three legions from New Ghis, totaling ten thousand men, were under the command of Grazdan mo Lorkhaz, the heir to House Lorkhaz. Viserys had still managed to extract two-thirds of his vassal's forces, and the lord of House Lorkhaz had sent not only warriors but also experienced commanders with his son, who in fact exercised command over all the soldiers in place of the still-inexperienced Grazdan.

Somewhere in the forest, the commander of the heavy legionary cavalry, Daeron Reraxes, lay hidden. By Darry's order, he was to break through to the enemy's command post and deprive the entire opposing army of its supreme command in one stroke. Satisfied with the troop review, Willem Darry turned his gaze to the enemy ranks already forming five hundred paces away.

The Yunkish and Meereenese army was intimidating. Twenty thousand slave militia were placed in the vanguard, currently being beaten and shoved into crooked ranks by overseers. The slaves, who were intended to be the first to crash into the army of the newly created empire, were equipped with leaf-bladed spears made of surely poor iron, wicker shields covered in rawhide, only good for protection from arrows, and padded jackets that were more likely to soften a wound than truly protect the body from a thrown pilum or a descending sword blow. The enemy had decided not to spare their own slave-militiamen, who were only meant to wear down the legions, not defeat them. Yesterday’s servants, potters, cleaners, and other rabble were not the kind of men who could destroy even a single legion, even in twice their numbers. Closer to the forest, opposite the New Ghis warriors, the enemy was arraying the heavy cavalry of the Golden Company and the war elephants. It seemed the sellswords had chosen an easier target, having already heard of the fearsome reputation of the pila and legionary formations against cavalry.

“All scorpions must be repositioned behind Grazdan’s men before the battle begins. If the masters don't make it in time, they should hang themselves on the nearest branch. The priority target is the elephants,” Willem said loudly, stroking his beard, and again pressed his eye to the lens of the Myrish eye, paying no mind to the three messengers who had instantly galloped off, mercilessly spurring their horses. The Golden Company infantry formed up behind the militia, directly opposite the First Legion, while the enemy Unsullied, numbering about nine thousand, chose to take on the Second.

Opposing the warrior eunuchs of the Valyrian Empire, who had already been freed and even put on yearly pay of four gold coins, were only about four thousand light-armored warriors under the banners of Tolos, Mantarys, and Elyria. The enemy had undoubtedly decided to crush the Valyrian Empire’s legions first, and only then turn to the Unsullied, who were strong but inferior in training and equipment to the legions. The sellswords were only needed to hold the eunuchs in combat.

As for the Dothraki... they were simply absent. They had not reached the battlefield. Viserys, after landing to rest in the woods of Yaros Isle, transmitted via the artifact that a third of the surviving and mobile horsemen had simply turned and galloped in the exact opposite direction of the battle, leaving the corpses of their kinsmen along with the wounded from the panic.

Just as the sails of the Yunkish and Meereenese galleys, slightly lagging behind the army, appeared, the enemy army began its advance…