GOT: The Great Khal — Chapter 124 - Drogo the God of Slaughter

Drogo felt the killing intent at his back. Without turning, he drove his dao backward from under his armpit and skewered the Ironborn rushing up behind him.

Wind on his left. He dropped low, let the blade pass over him, and took the man's knee off with a single cut.

The Ironborn screamed and went down. Drogo planted a foot on his back and drove the dao through. The screaming stopped.

Inside the main keep, the Unsullied shield wall had been breached in several places.

Barristan Selmy's left arm was soaked in blood. He stood one-handed at the entrance to the map room's portico, his blade weaving a silver net that drove back three Ironborn taking turns hacking at him.

But the old knight's footwork had grown unsteady.

On the flank, Nimiz had gone into a killing frenzy. His arakh was notched all along the edge, and he roared with every swing.

Jorah Mormont was tangled up with two Ironborn. One had grabbed him from behind around the waist; the other raised a short axe and brought it down toward his face.

Batista charged in and caved in the skull of the man clinging to Jorah with a single hammer blow.

Jorah wrenched free, dropped into a sudden crouch to dodge the slash coming at him from the front, then drove his sword upward from jaw to crown.

The Valyrian steel armor weighed 60 or 70 jin, and moving in it was cumbersome. But the Black Dragon had grown again, and the battle-bond granted Drogo greater strength and agility.

He cut down every Ironborn blocking his path and strode into the main keep's inner courtyard, driving his blade through one man's lower back from behind.

Only then did they realize someone had come up behind them.

Two Ironborn spun around — one gripping a sword, one holding an axe.

The swordsman thrust at Drogo's abdomen. Drogo sidestepped, clamped his left hand around the man's wrist like an iron vice, and wrenched hard.

Bone cracked. Before the man's scream could leave his throat, Drogo had already yanked him over as a human shield.

The axe buried itself squarely into his companion's spine. The axeman couldn't pull it free.

Drogo seized that man's head with his bare hand, drove his thumb hard into the eye socket, and wrenched upward. The man fell backward, the back of his skull cracking against the edge of a stone step.

Drogo stepped over him and onto the spiral staircase. Ironborn came charging down from above, blades swinging wild.

He raised his dao and met them head-on, his blade splitting the dimness.

A sweep left to right — three throats erupted in blood at once. A backswing right to left, two arms went flying.

One man raised his shield to cover his face. Drogo brought the blade down and split the shield in two; the edge lodged in the man's forehead. He kicked the man in the chest to wrench it free, then spun and drove it through another man's gut.

He walked upward over the bodies, blade never stopping. Stabbing, hacking, sweeping, chopping. The Ironborn on the spiral staircase fell to either side like cut wheat, and those who didn't fall he grabbed by the head and slammed into the stone wall. The wall was covered in red.

Out on the sea, Euron Greyjoy's flagship with its black sails had already come about, fleeing south in a panic with the few longships that remained.

The sea scorched by dragonfire was littered with splintered wood and charred corpses. Thick smoke blotted out half the sky.

Daenerys lay low against Viserion's back. She patted the gold dragon's neck, signaling it to climb higher.

Viserion beat its wings and punched through the smoke column. The full shape of Dragonstone spread out below.

The fighting on the island was still going on. Below the walls, in the courtyards, at the staircase entrances, scattered Ironborn were still putting up a last stand.

Dany saw a group of them fleeing out through the main keep's gate. They scrambled and tumbled toward the shore. Some jumped straight into the sea.

Then a red figure stepped out through the archway.

Drogo.

His Valyrian steel armor was drenched in blood. His right hand held the dao at his side, the tip dragging along the ground, trailing sparks.

He walked out through the gate at an unhurried pace. Behind him, bodies lay strewn in every direction, paving a road.

Jorah Mormont came out behind him, leaning on his sword, limping.

Strong Belwas shouldered his extended arakh. A length of someone's intestines was hooked on the blade, and with every step he took, it dragged along the ground.

Daenerys let out a long breath and loosened her fingers from the dragon saddle.

"If you hadn't arrived when you did," Jorah said from behind Drogo, "Dragonstone would have fallen today."

"Hmm. I was a few months late." Drogo said. "Good thing you didn't disappoint me. I went back to the Dothraki Sea to deal with some business."

Xhezat Tamard was helping bandage Barristan Selmy's wounds. He asked offhandedly, "What business, Khal?"

Barristan shot him a look. The meaning was plain: that's not for you to ask.

Barristan Selmy had spent the better part of his life in the Kingsguard. He understood propriety better than most.

In front of Drogo he was all deference. Behind his back, he had gone to Daenerys with no small number of complaints, that Drogo was continuing slave policies in Slaver's Bay, that he was letting his Dothraki riders run rampant, raiding and pillaging wherever they went.

Daenerys was Drogo's bedmate, so Barristan's words naturally found their way to Drogo's ears.

Dany hadn't been deliberately reporting on anyone. It was just that every time she tried to persuade Drogo to rein in his "tribesmen," she couldn't help but bring it up: "Barristan said, this way... that way..."

Drogo answered Xhezat, and took the opportunity to show off in front of all of them. "Nothing much. Just unified the Dothraki Sea, that's all."

Xhezat kept his eyes on Barristan's wound. But inwardly, he went still.

Drogo sensed that someone among them was unsettled. He didn't dwell on it.

He looked over the bodies covering the ground. "Why were Ironborn the ones attacking?"

"The Seven Kingdoms are united on this," Barristan answered. "They want to drive us out. These past few months they've been hammering Dragonstone without stop, trying to knock out your foothold so you'd have nowhere to land when you came to Westeros."

Drogo listened. He gave a low "Hmm" and paused. "They almost pulled it off. Dragonstone is too small — it can't hold this many people. I'm going to take Driftmark as well."

He raised two fingers to his lips and blew a sharp, piercing whistle.

Rhaegal wheeled in the sky and flew toward the keep, landing on the ground.

Drogo walked over, grabbed the saddle with one hand, and swung himself up onto the dragon's back.

Rhaegal beat its wings and carried him into the sky.

He turned in midair and looked toward the shore.

Dozens of warships stretched in a long, uneven line from the horizon all the way to the dock. The first few had already made landfall, gangplanks laid against the stone steps, men and supplies streaming down.

The ships behind were still furling their sails. Sailors bare to the waist hauled on ropes, prows crashing through white waves, one ship after another pressing toward shore.

Dothraki riders led their horses down the gangplanks, the boards thundering under the hooves. The Unsullied shouldered their spears and marched ashore in formation. Slaves bent under grain sacks and supplies, hunched over as they walked up onto the shore.

Rhaegal and Viserion swept low over the fleet and flew off toward Driftmark.

Behind them, dozens of warships raised full sail and followed in the wake of the two dragons, sailing forth in a vast, unbroken line.

➤ Next: Wight — Ygritte