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As evening fell, the tall and burly Khal Drogo licked his dry lips in frustration. The White City of Viserysburg, looming not far away, had become like an insurmountable mountain.
His arakh had long been thirsting to drink blood, but where was his opponent?
The opponent flew high in the heavens, appearing and disappearing like a ghost.
The dothraki had charged today as they usually did, but they still could not breach the White City.
Drogo looked around at the Screamers by his side; most had dark circles under their eyes and were listless.
Even more listless than the Screamers were the horses. The dragon's roars and flames in the deep of night caused the horses to panic and run wild involuntarily, leaving the entire camp without a moment of peace.
This was because Viserys's attacks were completely erratic and unexpected.
He chose randomly between the Hour of the Wolf and the Hour of the Bat, and his targets were never certain, leaving both the Dothraki and the tyroshi exhausted.
In this classical era, a camp stampede was extremely dangerous, and Drogo himself found it difficult to get any good rest.
Drogo knew the tyroshi's catapults and longbows were formidable, but he had no other choice. Drogo decided to use his numerical advantage to break through to the side of the moat and then attempt to storm the city.
If he didn't attempt a major siege soon, his army would face collapse sooner or later.
Drogo had fought hundreds of battles, but none had left him as enraged and frustrated as this war; he even felt a sense of powerlessness.
But Khal Drogo did not want to leave in disgrace. For the dothraki, failure meant death.
As a Khal, one could be tyrannical, but never weak like a woman or child. The sunk cost for a Dothraki Khal was too high.
Drogo had paid too high a price in sacrifice in the land of the Andalos; this was already a massive blow to his personal prestige.
Once Drogo spoke of retreating, he knew many Screamers would challenge him.
He was also a newly succeeded Khal, and he hadn't expected his Great Conquest of the Andalos to fall apart right at the start.
A single defeat in a duel or a single failed campaign could be the cause of a Khal's death.
The Dothraki had never had a stable order of rule or succession; when a Khal grew too old to ride or lost a duel, he would automatically be replaced by someone new.
Thus, the Dothraki Great Grass Sea had never seen a true Khal, the the stallion who mounts the world.
Just like Khal Temo during the siege of Qohor; Khal Temo led his Khalasar to charge the three thousand Unsullied eighteen times and attacked with a rain of arrows from horse archers three times, only to be fiercely repelled.
In the end, Khal Temo, his sons, all the Kos, his three Bloodriders, and tens of thousands of dothraki warriors fell on the battlefield, and the defeated dothraki could only retreat.
Drogo still had elite troops, and he remained determined for a final battle; it was hesitation and wavering that made him reluctant to leave.
"The grain and the high-quality pasture for the horses are all gone. We cannot stay consumed here forever, Drogo. Eating dead horses isn't a good long-term solution either," Khal Jommo said.
He was sometimes allied with Khal Drogo. Khal Jommo had originally intended to follow Khal Drogo to reap some benefits this time, because the Dosh Khaleen had said Drogo's son would be the the stallion who mounts the world.
He hadn't expected the war to be so agonizing, being worn down by the opponent in various ways.
"No food, no sleep—my warriors are suffering," Khal Jommo complained. Khal Jommo was much older than Khal Drogo, but his power was not as great as Drogo's.
"Wait a little longer," Khal Drogo said through gritted teeth. "I believe the Great Stallion will still bless us..."
"Inform my warriors to get ready. We cannot wait for another ambush. Tonight, carry grass mats and wooden boards to cross the river; we must conquer Andalfort," Drogo ordered.
"Let's do it that way, Khal," the Tyroshi Commander said. "My men can assist you."
The tyroshi, serving as intermediaries between the alliance and the dothraki, also took on the task of communication.
The morale of the Tyroshi Alliance Army had also reached its breaking point, and desertions had already begun to appear within the ranks.
Although it was currently just a trickle, suppressed by slaughter and high-pressure intimidation, if they did not strike soon, this army would eventually fall apart.
"Your people are better at swimming. I need their help," Khal Drogo said.
The tyroshi nodded. Both the Disputed Lands and Tyrosh were by the sea, and most of the mercenaries in the Tyroshi Alliance Army were good swimmers.
Daario had also arrived at Drogo's side. "I have prepared the most capable crossbowmen, longbowmen, and Scorpions. If the dragon appears again tonight, it will be the perfect time for us to slay it."
Daario kept his anger hidden in his heart; he had prepared his best experts.
"Khosro, take the best men of the unit and follow the command of this blue-haired tyroshi," Khal Drogo instructed his Bloodrider. Khosro had cold eyes, nimble hands, and a penchant for hurting others. People considered him the most cruel-natured of Drogo's Bloodriders.
Khosro had a double-curved dragonbone longbow and was also a fine archer.
Khal Drogo led his subordinates, but he could not attack the tall fortress and deep moat of the White City. Now he also needed the strength of the alliance.
"As you command, Khal," Khosro said arrogantly.
"Thank you, Khal," the blue-haired Daario said with a deep bow. The Dothraki archers had never been weak.
"I have made it very clear: the one atop the dragon, clad in silver armor, is Viserys!" Daario said.
"The one in silver armor is Viserys!"
"We can see that for ourselves." The Dothraki archers also gripped their weapons, having long wanted to turn that Viserys into a pincushion.
"I only want Viserys's head; I want to destroy this city. As for the rest, I will give you a portion to deal with," Khal Drogo said to the tyroshi and Daario.
"The Khal is wise." The tyroshi were also very satisfied. In terms of military might, the Dothraki tribal forces were superior to theirs.
When Khal Drogo spoke, it naturally carried great weight. It was not easy to obtain some tangible benefits from the Dothraki.
The Tyroshi Alliance Army had long understood that in the slave trade network forged after the Century of Blood, the Dothraki were also a vital link.
When the Khals traveled to the Free Cities, they would also wear fine clothes and spray on perfume.
Looking at it now, Viserys was the one breaking the balance of the world; he was more dangerous than a Khal.
"Regarding the slaves you obtain, the Archon is willing to offer gifts to take those hands off you," the Tyroshi Commander promised. They were truly greedy slave traders.
The Dothraki had no concept of currency; their habit when dealing with Magisters was to accept a gift and then return a gift of their own.
The night was deep, and the sound of hooves trampling the earth was like thunder.
The dothraki launched their largest-scale attack since the beginning of their offensive.
The Tyroshi Alliance Army was also interspersed among the Dothraki ranks. As mercenaries, although they hated accepting such a task, they had to accept the challenge.
After all, if the army truly collapsed, the Tyroshi Alliance Army would be souls under the hooves of the Andalos or the dothraki.
Viserys looked at the violent light and fire in the distance; they finally couldn't restrain themselves.
The violent shouts of thousands of men and horses came, rising and falling.
This was their desperate gamble. Viserys felt that these numbers seemed greater than just Khal Drogo's tribe; perhaps Khal Drogo had his own allies.
Viserys, surrounded by his Squires, looked at the distant scenery. Since the war began, he had remained steadfast on the city walls.
"Inform the longbowmen: if these alliance troops and Dothraki are willing to come, let them come into the moat, right to the water's edge."
"As you command, Your Majesty!"
The catapults were a different sight in the darkness; besides stones, they would also send barrels of burning pitch.
The arms of the catapults rose again and then the sound of horns blared.
The Dothraki army continued to charge forward. Their numbers were concentrated, but their thick formations were spread out, allowing many to dodge the catapult attacks.
The soldiers of Viserysburg encouraged each other, and the longbowmen cheered each other on.
The catapults roared from behind the great White City, like a poem bringing death.
The moat, which looked narrow from a distance, had now become a chasm of death.
Many soldiers were targeted by concentrated arrow fire and fell stumbling into the moat.
"Quick!"
"Quick!"
"Quick!"
The Dothraki Screamers were on the riverbank. They wanted to bypass the moat but to no avail, so they served to protect the tyroshi sailors.
The tyroshi sailors were the first to enter the river, taking the grass mats and wooden boards from the Dothraki. They needed to build some artificial bridges and even burn down the gates of Viserysburg.
"Where is the dragon?" Daario wondered in confusion. He had organized all the powerful bows and great crossbows, but no one came forward.
Many mercenaries poured into the icy river water. As more and more people arrived, they even saw the thick iron chains of the drawbridge. Cut the chains, and then the next gate would be reached.
On the shallows of the river and within the moat, the eager figures of the enemy crowded together. The attacks from the White City had even weakened slightly, giving the attacking tyroshi a sense of security.
Although arrows and falling stones were still raining down on them, they were already halfway to victory.
The sailors in the Tyroshi Alliance Army worked together; while the dead had already fallen into the river, the living were still fighting for their lives.
Those wearing heavy armor or chainmail, whether dead or alive, were dragged into the moat and ceased to move.
The wails of the dying were constantly ringing in people's ears.
"Kill!" Khal Drogo gripped the arakh in his hand. Once the gates of the White City were opened, he would absolutely carry out a massive slaughter.
The tyroshi used dead horses, grass mats, and wooden boards, using almost all their strength to build some flimsy floating bridges, but their joy of victory lasted only a moment.
The tyroshi saw the gates of the Andalos made of oak and steel, which still required great axes to break.
Then, several rickety, dilapidated wooden boats wobbled down from upstream, floating from somewhere in the moat, like a nest of emerald-green venomous snakes being released.
From the sky, burning jars like fire crows fell.
Burning, burning—horrific cries followed immediately.
Those already in the shallows and those in the moat could not turn back. A green hellfire began to blaze furiously, shining with a green light and spreading infinitely.
The green liquid seemed to splash everywhere, and the green fire swept over the attackers like a demon.
The green fire demon stretched out its fingers, spreading wantonly along human bodies and the floating bridges the tyroshi had built.
Burning, burning—all objects burned like bright torches.