Viserys and the members of the royal family dined on venison that evening.
The goats slaughtered by the longbowmen had not been properly bled, and the meat was unpleasant.
Servants laid the dishes before them as Viserys began questioning audro in detail about the Dothraki.
"You mean the horse lords?"
"Yes," Audro replied. "I do not know whether you are aware, but among the horse lords there is a prophecy.
They speak of one who will ride the stallion that mounts the world and lead them to rule all lands."
"Of course," Viserys said with a nod.
In times of deep winter, nomads suffered even more than farmers.
The so-called Great Grass Sea shrank toward the rivers, and the Dothraki struggled.
They were a people who did not farm. They plundered. Yet none of their khals had been strong enough to unite them and truly conquer cities.
So they prayed for such a man to appear.
"I have heard from a merchant prince," Audro continued, "that Khal Bharbo has passed his khalasar to his son Drogo.
This Drogo is said to be a born warrior. At seven, he defeated grown men. By twelve, no one in his father's khalasar could stand against him.
He has never known defeat. He has absorbed the khalasars of many other khals."
Viserys knew of Drogo.
He remembered very clearly how he had once died. Ever since arriving in this world, he had taken an interest in the man.
Not from fear.
He did not believe Drogo would kill him this time.
For the past two years, he had kept careful watch on the Dothraki Sea.
He knew Bharbo had nine sons.
The man had favored a ruthless method of raising them, allowing them to struggle and eliminate one another.
Drogo had not been the only son.
He had simply been the last one standing. To Bharbo, that was the only way to choose the strongest khal.
When summer returned, rivers thawed, grass flourished, and horses grew strong and fat.
With the season's blessing, the horse lords would rise again. Viserys knew they would eventually turn their fury toward the civilized world.
If he wished his people along the Rhoyne to prosper in peace, conflict was inevitable.
There was also the matter of the roaring warriors.
If he could gather enough of their elite essence and equip them properly, he could forge an unstoppable cavalry of his own.
And beyond that lay the most important goal—hatching dragons.
In the original course of events, Daenerys had lost her mother at birth, her guardian Willem at five, her brother at thirteen.
At fourteen, she had lost husband and child.
In despair, she had stepped into fire—and by some accident, dragons had hatched.
Viserys had quietly conducted experiments.
Daenerys could endure high heat.
She was not immune to flame.
Which meant that fateful miracle had been guided by another force.
A troubling possibility was that the same force had tried to kill Rhaella, Lyanna, and Illyrio's wife.
That thought ended any notion of placing his sister in fire.
Melisandre had once told him that king's blood possessed strange power. The blood of a khal was said to be equal to king's blood.
Drogo was hailed as the greatest khal in living memory. Perhaps his blood was the key to awakening dragons.
Territory. Military essence. Dragonfire.
For all three reasons, Viserys knew he would one day have to fight this khal.
For years now, he had prepared.
His army had developed over a dozen tactics specifically to counter cavalry.
While Viserys considered all this, Audro continued.
"Your Grace, before you rebuilt Gohor, the merchant princes of Pentos maintained strong ties with the khals of the grasslands.
Each year they offered gifts and slaves.
In exchange, the khalasars did not cross the Rhoyne. Now Gohor stands between Pentos and the grasslands."
Audro was warning him.
Gohor had not become a buffer between Braavos and Pentos. Instead, it had become Pentos's shield against the Dothraki.
With Gohor blocking the east, Pentos might cease paying tribute. And if tribute ceased, the horse lords would seek new prey.
The identity of that prey required no guessing.
"But in these past years," Viserys said thoughtfully, "no horse lords have come demanding anything of me."
"That is because winter weakened them," Audro replied.
"The merchant princes would not pay tribute to weakened khals. Now summer has come. Grass and water are plentiful.
The strength of the horse lords will soon return to a level that terrifies every neighboring city."
Viserys nodded.
The world was practical. The merchant princes of Pentos were not fools.
Now the burden of the problem fell to him.
He intended to claim the Golden Plains and expand agriculture, to store grain for the years ahead.
To do that, he had to ensure the horse lords dared not ride west.
Yet conquest was their nature.
There seemed no solution but war.
"You believe the merchant princes are colluding with the horse lords against me?"
"Yes," Audro said gravely.
"But I believe Gohor is safe for now.
Your soldiers are stronger than those of Pentos. Your fleets dominate the Rhoyne.
No Dothraki horse can cross that river."
Viserys inclined his head.
"That may be true. But if I remain purely on the defensive, I surrender half the land by default."
If the Dothraki chose not to cross, they could ravage the eastern banks of the Rhoyne and Upper Rhoyne.
That would be intolerable.
"The roaring warriors are formidable," Audro warned. "They know the grasslands well. If you go to war with them, you must be cautious."
He spoke earnestly.
Everything he had now depended on Viserys.
The longbow demonstration had been impressive—but Audro doubted the numbers were large.
Training archers took years.
Longbowmen likely required even more time and resources.
"Thank you for the reminder, Prince," Viserys replied. "I will keep watch on Drogo and his people."
Audro relaxed.
He had seen enough respect in the king's response.
In truth, Viserys's warehouses held tens of thousands of longbows. His longbow corps existed precisely for the horse lords.
Not long after Audro departed, Illyrio sent word. He was soon to accompany an envoy from Braavos into the Dothraki Sea.
In recent years, Viserys's printing presses had generated immense wealth.
Gohor's rapid growth unsettled both Braavos and Pentos.
They had learned of the printing press.
Their desire to ally with Drogo stemmed from fear of Gohor's rise—and greed for the press itself.
As Viserys read the letter, he thought he could almost smell steel and blood in the wind.
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