On the outskirts of Myr, Gendry gazed out over endless skies and drifting clouds, over hills and forests brushed with the colors of autumn.
Banners of every color rippled in the wind like tireless beasts.
The envoys from Qohor and Norvos arrived together. During the Century of Blood, when Volantis sought to conquer the other Free Cities, Qohor and Norvos formed an alliance that has endured to this day.
"Welcome," Gendry said warmly as he received the envoys.
Both city-states were mysterious and strange. One worshipped the Black Goat, while the other followed the order of the bearded priests.
"Sinister, distant cities," Qyburn thought as he stood among those greeting the visitors, quietly observing the two delegations. The envoys did not carry the smell of goats, so at least they appeared to be ordinary diplomatic missions.
The hooded priests of Qohor offered living sacrifices of cattle and horses, and they also sacrificed condemned criminals with small knives. In times of great crisis, the city's high nobles would even offer their own children. The faith of the Lord of Light had some followers in Qohor as well. And then there were the darker things. In Westeros, Qohor was often called the City of Sorcerers, a name hinting at the divination, blood magic, and necromancy said to flourish there.
"The news has already reached the east, so the west must light its own fires. Khal Drogo regards Zekko's death as a great humiliation," the envoy from Qohor said.
Behind him stood ranks of Unsullied like a forest of spears, wearing bronze spiked helmets and carrying shields and long spears.
"Drogo intends to launch a full invasion?" Gendry asked, studying the Qohorik envoy. The man had brought five hundred Unsullied as guards.
"I believe so, my lord," said the bearded priest-envoy from Norvos. "Drogo wants to restore the prestige of the horsemen and make us fear the Horselords again. The most effective way to intimidate everyone is to destroy one or two city-states outright."
The holy guard accompanying the envoy from Norvos looked terrifying. Each soldier bore the brand of a long axe burned into his chest. At the age of sixteen, they underwent a religious ritual in which they were wed to their battle-axes. They were forbidden to marry and swore their loyalty to the bearded priests alone. They wore heavy horsehair vests and leather armor reinforced with iron plates, along with iron half-helms fitted with sharp spikes. The shafts of their long axes measured six feet, making them look especially formidable.
Gendry watched the soldiers of Qohor and Norvos with great interest. The holy guard of Norvos favored a brutal, forceful fighting style, not unlike the way he wielded a warhammer himself. As for the Unsullied used by Qohor, they remained the classic light spearmen. The more powers he could gather to his side, the more possible it would become to form a united army.
"Lord Gendry, this is a matter of life and death. You must defeat Drogo. Otherwise no one will be able to withstand his wrath," the envoy from Qohor said gravely.
Qohor and Norvos lay closer to the Dothraki Sea, and their anxiety was plain. Khal Drogo was young and powerful. One Myr alone would likely not satisfy his fury. This was not about gold. It was about honor.
Qohor in particular had nearly been destroyed by the Dothraki many years ago. The city stood along the Qhoyne, a tributary of the Rhoyne, at the edge of the vast Forest of Qohor, east of Norvos and north of Volantis.
"How far has Drogo progressed in his preparations?" Gendry asked.
"Drogo will first go to see the Dosh khaleen, and then he will gather his army," said the envoy from Qohor.
"The Dosh khaleen are the order of old crones who reside in Vaes Dothrak," Jorah said quietly. "They are all former khaleesis, the widows of dead khals. They live permanently in Vaes Dothrak. Among the Dothraki they hold the highest honor and status, serving as prophets who foretell the future and interpret omens. Eunuchs attend them."
Jorah had once lived among the Dothraki and understood the customs of the horselords well.
"We cannot simply sit and wait for the screamers to cross the Rhoyne. We must take action," the envoy from Norvos said.
Gendry could hear the fear in the man's voice. Drogo commanded the largest khalasar in the Dothraki Sea, with more than forty thousand warriors under him, undefeated in battle. If they marched west in full force, the devastation would be immense.
The envoys from Norvos and Qohor frowned when they saw Gendry remain silent.
Myr lay close to the sea, and Tyrosh was even more a maritime city. If the alliance of the two cities were forced to sacrifice an arm to save the body, they could still flee by sea. But Qohor and Norvos were truly inland cities. They were willing to pay, just as they once tried to appease the Horselord, now seeking to curry favor with any power capable of standing against the horsemen.
"To deal with the Horselord, we are willing to provide five hundred Unsullied. In addition, there will be gold, weapons, brocades, fine timber, wood carvings, furs, silver, tin, and amber," said the envoy from Qohor.
"Norvos is also willing to send two hundred long-axe slave soldiers," the bearded priest from Norvos added. "Gold as well, along with textiles, tapestries, and fine oak."
War was one of the fastest ways to extract wealth. With the Dothraki attack looming, it would be a pity not to squeeze a little more gold from several of the Free Cities.
"I believe we can discuss this in greater detail," Gendry said, clearly pleased with the envoys from the two cities. After all, they were offering a considerable amount of gold.
Inside the map hall, Gendry explained the war that might soon unfold to the envoys from Qohor and Norvos. It was, in a sense, a strategic exercise.
"This is the Rhoyne. This is the old Valyrian road. And here lies the Dothraki Sea." Gendry pointed across the map tapestry as he spoke. "Drogo will pray in the sacred city, then gather the screamers who follow him. Along the way he will likely attack other khalasars and absorb them. By the time they march against us, there may be fifty or sixty thousand screamers, just as in years past."
The faces of the Qohor and Norvos envoys turned pale at once, fear gripping them.
Many years ago the Dothraki had risen in the east, sweeping across the lands like a storm. They destroyed the Empire of the Tall Men and were only stopped at the walls of Qohor. Now Khal Drogo, enraged by Khal Zekko's defeat, seemed intent on bringing destruction upon the civilized world once again.
"The Dothraki have a prophecy. Perhaps you have all heard it," Ser Jorah said in a low voice. "The stallion who mounts the world. Drogo may believe the prophecy refers to himself, or perhaps to his son."
The Qohor men shuddered. Of course they knew the legend.
The khal's horse would run swift as the wind. His khalasar would spread across the earth beyond counting. The arakhs in their hands would be as sharp as grass blades. The khal would strike like a storm. His enemies would struggle before him without end. Their wives would weep blood in grief. The bells in his hair would sing of his coming, and the milk men who lived in stone tents would tremble at his name. Riding his horse, the khal would become the stallion who mounts the world.
"Enough, gentlemen," Gendry said firmly. "In the past the Dothraki united under a single khal, and now Drogo seeks to swallow the Dothraki whole. Think about it. We are all citizens of civilized societies. Drogo would destroy that civilization."
"Indeed."
"Indeed."
The envoys from both cities nodded repeatedly.
"Let us sign a short-term agreement," the envoy from Qohor suggested. "As allies, if one city is attacked by the Dothraki, the others must come to its aid."
"There is no need to rush," Gendry replied. "We are not some sinister alliance. We are civilized men standing against a barbaric world."
"But if Drogo truly brings fifty or sixty thousand screamers, my lord, how will you deal with them?" the envoy from Qohor asked.
"If the Dothraki ravage the Disputed Lands or raid towns without confronting our main army, that would be their best strategy," Gendry said. "But if they come to Myr in blind fury seeking a decisive battle, that will be their worst mistake. Then I will make him suffer an even worse defeat than the one he suffered beneath the walls of Qohor."
"Myr's defenses are strong," the envoy from Norvos said, "but sixty thousand screamers are still a terrifying force. May we ask how many troops you can currently field?"
"I command three legions: the Wolf Pack, the Free Legion, and the Second Sons Legion. In addition, there are the Dothraki screamers who serve as my vassals," Gendry replied.
"My lord, that may not be enough," the envoy from Qohor said cautiously. "For the sake of security, we suggest that you urgently purchase a large number of Unsullied from Slaver's Bay. You possess both the wealth and the need. If your gold is insufficient, we can even cover part of the cost."
Gendry smiled faintly.
"I do not need Unsullied. With the soldiers I already have, it will be enough to stand against the Dothraki."
The envoys from Qohor and Norvos exchanged uneasy looks. To them, the confidence of the young man sounded like arrogance. In their eyes, only the Unsullied were truly reliable soldiers.