The night Daenerys "gave birth" to Rhaego, a commotion swept through Drogo's khalasar, but it wasn't caused by Kohoro.
The Old Bloodrider, moved by Daenerys's words, quietly led five hundred elite cavalry from Khal Drogo's khalasar around the camp's defenses and galloped north under the cover of darkness. They exploited the chaos of that night, though they were not its cause.
During the night's unrest, the entire camp was filled with shouts and the neighing of horses, and torches blazed like stars scattered across the land. Ser Jorah strictly forbade anyone from entering or leaving and personally led a force that killed seventeen Horsemen who attempted to storm Drogo's grass tent palace.
By morning, Aggo had pieced together the truth from the smoke-filled ruins of the camp: Bonokou had left Drogo's khalasar with over twenty thousand Dothraki Screaming Warriors. The disturbance had stemmed from a clash between the rebels and the loyalists.
Though Bonokou had appeared compliant in recent days, he had been secretly contacting the leaders of the smaller *khas*. While the other great *kous* were still focused on Drogo's grass tent palace, he had already realized that whoever was strongest and had the most horses would always rule.
Drogo's khalasar was the most powerful in the Great Grass Sea, boasting over forty thousand Screaming Warriors. Including the teenage knights, they had more than fifty thousand combat-ready soldiers.
Bonokou immediately seized twenty thousand Screaming Warriors, leaving the remaining twenty thousand to be divided among a dozen Kou. In a single night, Bonokou—no, Bonokao—became one of the strongest Khals on the Dothraki Sea.
The chaos caused by Bonokou's departure was merely the beginning; it marked the prelude to the collapse of Drogo's khalasar. Over the next two days, more than ten other Kou continued to carve up the remaining followers, wealth, slaves, and livestock.
On the fourth day, Daenerys stood on the hill, surveying the horizon. Where Khal Drogo's khalasar had once spread like a brown blanket across the red earth, the blanket now lay folded and refolded, until only a small patch remained—a stain on a red floor, occupied by Daenerys's own Khas.
The Dothraki were forced to abandon the land immediately. To stay would mean death. Without water or fodder for their horses, the nomadic Horsemen could not survive.
Everything had unfolded as Daenerys had predicted.
No, she had overlooked one thing.
The Dothraki revered the Dosh Khaleen far more deeply than she had anticipated.
The Dosh Khaleen—the widowed Khaleesi, the Dothraki's wise women, the administrators of Vaes Dothrak, the priestesses on the Mother of Mountains, and the planners of the Great Grass Sea's major campaigns.
*Thud-thud-thud.*
At dusk on the fourth day, against the backdrop of a massive red sunset, a thousand elite cavalry thundered across the horizon, their hooves kicking up long plumes of dust.
It was Jhaqo.
Outside the Grass Palace, beyond the wooden palisade, Ser Jorah led over a hundred Dothraki knights, their blades drawn, standing in formation.
"Yip, yip!"
Jhaqo's warhorse reared high, its front hooves striking the air. The swirling sand made Jorah squint slightly.
"You left. Why have you returned?" Jorah's voice, muffled by his helmet, boomed out.
*Thud!* Jhaqo said nothing, instead hurling a dark, bloody object toward Daenerys—a human head dripping with gore.
It rolled to a stop at her feet. She saw the aged, scarred face: eyes wide with fury, mouth agape as if protesting the injustice of fate. But Dothraki warriors do not protest. Even in the face of the most brutal destiny, they roar their battle cries.
Kohoro, before his death, had still been defiantly shouting his war cry.
*Thud, thud, thud!*
Horse after horse, knight after knight, rode in a wide arc before the tents, expressionless as they dropped bloody human heads onto the ground.
Soon, the heads piled up into a small mound.
Four nights prior, Kohoro had taken five hundred elite cavalrymen. Now, at dusk, under a blood-red sunset, Jhaqo Qoa returned with five hundred mangled human heads.
"Where is my son?" Daenerys asked, her voice hoarse, her gaze lowered.
Jhaqo Qoa beckoned to a knight behind him, who handed him a four-meter-long wooden pole.
He raised the pole high, ensuring everyone could see it.
"Ah!" Irri, Doreah, and several other handmaidens cried out in despair.
The slender pole was topped with a small, melon-sized head. Its bronze Dothraki skin, black hair like Drogo's, and almond-shaped eyes with pale violet irises were unmistakable.
"Why?" Daenerys's face turned deathly pale, her body swaying precariously as she glared coldly at Jaqo. "Didn't Kohoro tell you about my oath? I only swore to keep this child safe. The Dosh Khaleen will witness my vow. He poses no threat to you."
Jaqo grinned, his smile twisted and cruel. "Killing the son of the previous Khal is a tradition of the Horsemen. Everyone knows this."
"Everyone knows this!" his followers roared in unison.
"Your oath, your agreement with the Dosh Khaleen—Kohoro told us everything. But that's not our tradition. The great horse-riding people don't care for this. Everyone knows this!" Jaqo laughed boisterously.
"Everyone knows this!" his followers roared again in unison.
"You?" Daenerys paused, then asked. "You're nearly a day's ride behind Kohoro—at least three hundred kilometers. It's impossible you caught up. Did Bonno make a move?"
(Author's Note: The *A Song of Ice and Fire* series uses Imperial units. I've converted miles and leagues to kilometers for easier understanding, so when I refer to 'leagues' or 'miles' in the future, they will mean kilometers.)
"Kohoro's forces never escaped Bonno's cunning pursuit. We all joined the chase later. But I was luckier—I stumbled upon Kohoro's remnants. Hahaha!"
Jaqo threw his head back and laughed triumphantly, waving his spear like a victorious banner.
"They truly were Drogo's strongest guards. Five hundred men charged left and right, killing nearly three thousand of ours. Only thirteen cavalry remained when I found them, and I personally severed the head of a Bloodrider and a young Khal."
He shifted his braid from his back to his chest, pointing at the bells. "Even though they were old, young, disabled, or weak, I added two more bells to my braid. After all, I'm a Khal now. A Khal should have a long braid adorned with bells, each representing a victory."
Like the Manchus of China, Dothraki men tied their hair into a braid at the back of their heads from childhood. When they suffered defeat in battle, they would cut off their braids as a mark of shame.
Thus, the world would know of their disgrace.
At Dothraki feasts, seating arrangements were determined by the length of one's braid. Warriors with long braids received greater respect, sitting closest to the Khal and on higher cushions. Those with short braids were relegated to the walls, seated on tattered mats on the floor.
A long braid represented a Dothraki's honor, while the number of bells tied to it commemorated their victories.
Khal Drogo had never lost a battle in his life. His khalasar was the largest, and his braid was thick and long, reaching below his hips.
His jet-black braid was completely wrapped in tinkling bells. When there was no more room on his braid, he even braided his beard into small braids, each adorned with a string of bells.
At that moment, Jhaqo Qoa counted the capture of Kohoro and the infant he guarded as two victories.
*You will regret this day,* Daenerys thought, her anger burning as she condemned Jhaqo to death in her heart.
*Jhaqo, I hope you live at least five more years.*
"What do you plan to do now? Kill me? Or your former Khal?" she asked coldly.
"She didn't even cry?" Jhaqo muttered to Mago, turning his head. "She's as hard as a wolf. We've all lost."
Four days earlier, when Khal Drogo's khalasar had disintegrated, Mago had used the chaos to abduct Eroeh, Daenerys's Lamb Men handmaiden.
He violated her a second time, then rewarded Jaqo's new khalasar by letting them take turns riding her. To complete his revenge for Eroeh, whom he had snatched from Mago, he even severed the poor maid's head and tossed it near Daenerys's tent.
The incident had occurred over half a month earlier. During Drogo's attack on the Lamb Men's town, the young woman Eroeh had been captured by Mago and publicly gang-raped by the Dothraki. Daenerys Targaryen happened to pass by at that very moment.
She intervened, stopping the Dothraki warriors from defiling Eroeh and taking the woman as her own slave. This violated Horsemen tradition—even a Khal could not arbitrarily claim a subordinate's spoils. It was only through Drogo's authority and strength that Daenerys managed to suppress the matter.
Mago, a formidable warrior now serving as Jhaqo Qoa's Bloodrider, had proposed the idea of hanging the infant's severed head on a wooden pole.
He had even wagered with Jaqo whether Daenerys would faint from shock.
But Daenerys shed not a single tear. Instead, she fixed them with her bewitching violet eyes, staring at them like they were already dead. They had never expected this, and they had lost everything.
"Woman, I swore an oath at the Mother of Mountains never to harm my Khal. Everyone knows this," Jaqo shouted at Daenerys's Khas, his horse prancing nervously.
"Everyone knows," Mago echoed.
"Everyone knows!" Jaqo's followers chimed in unison.
Jaqo continued, "A Khaleesi who has lost her Khal will never be touched by another Dothraki man. She will be sent to Vaes Dothrak to become one of the Dosh Khaleen. Everyone knows this."
"Everyone knows it!" Mago shouted from the side.
Among Daenerys's Khas, Aggo stepped forward. "When the Khal is buried, we will escort the Khaleesi back to Vaes Dothrak."
"Hmph, my khalasar will be waiting for you on the north bank of the Lhazar River. Don't think you can escape," Jaqo said coldly.
They were at the edge of the Red Waste. To the north lay the scattered settlements of the Lamb Men, and crossing the Lhazar River would lead to the boundless Dothraki Sea. To the south stretched over a thousand kilometers of desolate desert.
He surveyed the small camp, the whip in his right hand cracking through the air with an eerie crack. "Now, surrender the Khal's property, which no longer belongs to you."
"The slaves, warriors, and livestock were all plundered by them long ago," Ser Jorah said, frowning.
"Iron Man, I want this palace," Jaqo said, pointing his whip at the grass-curtained structure behind Daenerys. "Only a Khal may reside in a Khal's palace. The Dosh Khaleen have no need for it."
Jorah turned to look at Daenerys, his right hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his left hand quietly lowering the visor of his flat-topped iron helmet.
But Daenerys shook her head at him and turned to Quaithe. "Tell the women to dismantle the tents."
(End of Chapter)