The horses' iron hooves struck the low hills of the flatlands east of Myr in steady, measured rhythm. Across the river, a vast swath of Dothraki riders stretched like a dark forest, moving toward the water to drink. The Dothraki had already crossed the Rhoyne. Now they had crossed yet another river.
Gendry raised a Myr spyglass to his eye, a masterpiece of Myrish craftsmanship renowned throughout the Known world. Dothraki riders formed the vanguard, while the old and the young rode within the center. A Dothraki nomadic tribe was called a khalasar.
The spyglass itself was a slender Myrish tube that brought distant sights into sharp focus. Glass lenses capped both ends, and the body was formed from a series of cleverly fitted bronze cylinders. When collapsed, it was no longer than a dagger.
"The Dothraki aren't like traditional nomads," Gendry thought. Most nomadic peoples were constrained by disaster and scarcity, rarely able to sustain abundant nutrition.
But the Dothraki Sea must be extraordinarily rich. After wiping out the Tall Men and taking the Dothraki Sea for themselves, the Dothraki had grown strong upon it. Their screamer warriors were tall and powerfully built.
The Dothraki screamers were nearly bare in battle. Men and women alike rode with bare chests, wearing painted leather vests, horsehair leggings, and bronze belts at their waists. The wealthier among them sometimes adorned their belts with silver or even gold.
"At this pace, the Dothraki will attack Myr by noon tomorrow," Gendry said to Prince Oberyn.
He wore black scale armor. A spiked warhammer and a recurve bow hung from his saddle. His knights were clad in plate, their armor scarred with pits and dents from past battles, yet still gleaming in the morning sun.
"By their speed, yes. If they weren't burdened with the khalasar, the Dothraki horsemen would have arrived today," Prince Oberyn replied, gazing at the dark mass in the distance. He had fought many battles in the Disputed Lands, but facing an entire khalasar head-on was still a daunting task.
The Dornish knights of the Red Viper dressed differently. Silk streamed from their shoulders, and their tunics were layered with overlapping copper plates that flashed like thousands of newly minted coins as they rode. Dornish cavalry favored lighter equipment, and their tactics differed from those of other regions.
Gendry and the Red Viper had each brought ten riders to scout the enemy before the Dothraki reached them. The foe might number in the tens of thousands, but with superior Dornish steeds and equipment, they still had room to maneuver.
Not far away, Gendry had also laid an ambush. Once it was sprung, the Dothraki would see enemies in every shadow.
Focus on cavalry. Observe their formations. Find the weak point. Gendry steadied his thoughts. In war, that alone was enough to seize the initiative.
"According to my intelligence, this khalasar belongs to Khal Zekko."
"Khal Zekko? That slippery bastard." The Red Viper seemed slightly more at ease. "They say he rides to Qohor every three or four years, collects his gold, and then spares the city. Looks like the Tyroshi offered him a richer prize this time. Now he's chosen a new target."
"The strongest power in the Dothraki Sea right now is Khal Drogo. He commands the largest khalasar, more than forty thousand warriors under him, undefeated in battle. Khal Zekko's khalasar numbers at most twenty or thirty thousand. As for screamer warriors, perhaps six or seven thousand?"
"Concentrate our forces and smash one khalasar, and these horsemen won't dare cross the river again," the Red Viper said, urging his horse forward. "Zekko isn't that formidable."
"That's how Westerosi think. The cheese merchants and butter traders of the Free Cities don't see it that way," said Fletcher, one of the finest archers of his age, whom Gendry had brought along as well.
"Truth be told, the Lord Commander might not have sent me along as a scout at all. Your archery has become nothing short of masterful," Fletcher muttered, though his eyes never left the field ahead.
"It would be a pity if the Dothraki didn't get a taste of the old man's divine arrows."
"That's well said." Fletcher grinned, carrying both his purpleheart longbow and a recurve bow. On horseback, the recurve was easier to handle. His arrowheads were fitted with hardened spikes—enough to punch through plate armor, let alone the nearly bare Dothraki.
"Then let the Dothraki learn what we're capable of," the Red Viper said, eyes gleaming.
"From what I've seen, the Dothraki have one strength and two weaknesses," Gendry said, studying their ranks.
"They excel at horsemanship, field vast cavalry, and fight without fear. That's their strength. But they wear no armor and their siegecraft is crude. Those are their two weaknesses."
"Agreed. Then we follow the tactics used at Qohor," the Red Viper suggested. "As long as the Unsullied form up properly, Khal Zekko's men won't prevail."
The Dothraki favored simple tactics: their screamer warriors would ride in, loose arrows, charge, and after the fighting, recover their shafts and plunder. The Jaqqa Rhan were the ones who granted mercy to the wounded. Armed with great axes, they moved among the fallen, taking the heads of the dead and the dying alike.
"The Unsullied?" Fletcher frowned. "At Qohor there were three thousand true Unsullied. Where are we supposed to find that many? Ours are Freedmen, former slaves. They won't withstand more than a few charges."
"With Myr at our back, let the Greywolves form the line first. If they can hold through several assaults, that's when we strike," Gendry replied. The Unsullied's formation was the iron shield. The cavalry would be the iron hammer that decided the battle.
As they spoke, a Dothraki scouting party of screamer warriors had already crossed the river and was galloping toward them. Through the distance, Gendry saw their tall figures, bronze skin, tawny eyes, and black hair.
The Dothraki seemed surprised to find warriors from the Free Cities bold enough to observe them so openly. In the past, the cheese merchants had usually chosen the turtle's way, offering gifts and bowing their heads.
Dozens of Dothraki screamer warriors charged forward, howling as they drew their bows. Arakh blades curved at their hips.
Fletcher raised his longbow. The arrow punched clean through a Dothraki's chest, as easily as silk.
Gendry did not hesitate. He drew and loosed. Another Dothraki warrior dropped from his saddle.
Mounted, Gendry had not brought his Dragonbone bow. Such a bow was unwieldy on horseback. The Dragonbone bow was the finest bow in the world. Forged from blackened dragonbone rich in iron, it was as tough as steel yet lighter and more flexible. Its range far surpassed any common wooden bow, and few could obtain one.
The Red Viper also drew his recurve bow. Both Dothraki and Dornish favored it. From horseback, they could send a storm of arrows at their foes rather than pick off targets one by one.
Gendry, the Red Viper, and Fletcher were among the finest archers of their age. The Dothraki screamer warriors soon realized this small force would not be easily swallowed. They roared as they rode, their horsemanship superb, horse and rider moving as one.
But the Wolf Pack knights and the Dornish knights were no less formidable. They were elite riders, protected by armor. Some Dothraki arrows struck plate and glanced away harmlessly. Under the same conditions, a Dothraki struck by an arrow would be gravely wounded.
"I am the Triarch of Myr!" Gendry shouted, his voice ringing like steel.
Nearly all of the Dothraki scout riders fell. The few who remained, no longer holding any advantage in numbers, did not dare press the attack. They could only watch as Gendry, the Red Viper, and their cavalry rode away at an unhurried pace.