READ NOVEL ONLINE Chapter 5: The Undying Tide
Vaes Dothrak was meant to be a few days away—three, to be exact. Well, it's been three months. Why? The Great Dothraki Sea is vast, teeming with hundreds of nomadic tribes, all subsets of the Dothraki. Some specialize in trade, others in slavery. My bloodriders, emboldened by victory after victory, began taking trophies of their own.
We left Vaes Dothrak a day ago. My sister stayed behind with two blonde sex slaves, one hundred servants, and three hundred riders to keep her safe and attend to her needs. The journey to Pentos was slow, far slower than I had hoped. We fought countless khalasars along the way—some led by khals, others by khos—and faced their full forces in retaliation days later. My khalasar had grown to over six thousand mouths to feed, and our travels were no longer swift.
Sometimes we stayed in villages for weeks or even months, dismantling larger khalasars piece by piece. Each victory brought new captives and supplies but also more mouths to feed and more complications. The slow pace grated on me, but my bloodriders knew better than to question it.
I was becoming infamous as a collector of women. My men brought me captives of all hair colors, eye colors, and skin tones. These women were mine—untouchable. Any Dothraki man foolish enough to break this rule faced the harshest of consequences: many became eunuchs, a warning to others.
Despite my reputation, I rarely indulged in the spoils. Maria, a clever woman with a sharp tongue, once asked me why. She was my favorite, known around the camp for her intelligence and fearlessness. She translated during negotiations, assisted in planning, and often entertained me with her wit.
We were camped outside Omber, a walled city by the sea. I sat in my tent, half-listening to a merchant's pleas. The man was offering a bribe for my khalasar to move on. "If I'm hearing you right," I said, my tone bored, "you're offering to pay me to leave."
Maria translated my words as she braided my hair, weaving her fingers through my ponytail and dreadlocks. The merchant glanced nervously at her, then at my bloodriders, their bodies painted in black and white skeletal patterns, their gazes unrelenting.
"Yes," the man stammered, his voice trembling. "Thirty thousand gold coins, three hundred cattle, four hundred goats, and one hundred horses—if you'll leave and take the smaller khalasars with you."
Maria repeated his words, her tone calm and composed. My bloodriders nodded in approval, clearly pleased with the offer. I opened my eyes, studying the merchant's anxious face.
"We will accept your generous gifts," I said lazily. "But we'll remain here for ten days. My merchants will sell what we don't need. Now leave my tent. You smell of flowers and pig fat."
Maria relayed my message, and the man fled, drawing laughter from my bloodriders.
Omber, like many other cities, cowered before us. My khalasar had earned a reputation for brutality: pyramids of heads, night raids, and precise, silent attacks. While other khalasars charged loudly, we struck like ghosts. My original men had learned to fight with discipline, but the newer recruits—wild and reckless—had to be broken of their bad habits. They killed indiscriminately, then sought women to satisfy their lust. That behavior didn't last long under my command.
Five days later, Kota and Doromon returned with two thousand new riders. They had heard of my growing legend, and their leaders had chosen to join me, hoping to become my first khos. Another five days passed before we rode for Norvos, our destination now clear.
Our journey took us to the border of Qohor and Norvos, where we camped near the forest's edge. As we set up camp, we spotted another khalasar—Khal Zekko's. His horde was massive, over ten thousand riders strong, their presence loud and unruly. My own horde, disciplined and silent, watched from the ridge.
"Jogo," I said, turning to my bloodrider, "who are they?"
"Khal Zekko, my khal," he replied. "The city may have called for his protection."
"They have more men than we do," I muttered.
"The rest of our khalasar is a day behind us," Doromon offered. "We can wait."
"No," I said firmly. "We attack tonight. No fire arrows. Normal arrows only. Waves of five hundred. Hit and retreat."
The attack began under the cover of darkness, the moon obscured by clouds. I led the first wave myself, my horse galloping silently across the plain. Arrows rained down on Zekko's camp, chaos erupting as his men scrambled to respond. Before they could regroup, we retreated, only for another wave to strike minutes later.
Wave after wave descended upon Zekko's men, sowing confusion and fear. By the eighth wave, his camp began to fight back, but their efforts were disorganized. On the tenth wave, I led the charge, my horde crashing into their lines like a storm.
In the midst of the chaos, I faced Zekko himself. The man was a giant, his arak crashing against mine with brutal force. I fought with two araks, striking in an unrelenting rhythm. He blocked one, sacrificing an arm to stop the other, but not before landing a devastating kick to my thigh. Pain shot through me as my leg buckled, the bone shattered.
Despite the agony, I pressed on. Zekko, bloodied and kneeling, looked up at me with defiance in his eyes.
"I am Khal Rohan Sunak," I said, dragging my arak toward him. "Come, die by my hand."
With a final swing, I ended him. My vision blurred as the pain threatened to overwhelm me, but I refused to fall. Doromon rode to my side, lifting me onto my horse.
"Zekko is dead!" he roared. "Khal Rohan has killed your khal! Surrender or die!"
The fighting ceased, Zekko's men laying down their arms. My khalasar had claimed another victory, but the road to Norvos—and Khal Drogo—lay ahead.