The Dothraki Slayer II

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POV of Tybero third moon 285 AC

I finished drinking the beer to calm down a bit, although it wasn't to my liking; those people from Westeros were strange. The innkeeper quickly started cleaning the table.

"Do you know when they're leaving?" the innkeeper asked with interest as he continued cleaning the table. I noticed the innkeeper had large bags under his eyes.

"Tomorrow, maybe... Are those mercenaries causing a lot of trouble?" I said a bit exhausted.

"Joking? They're the best customers I've had. They're respectful, don't cause trouble, pay in silver, and leave you the change. Plus, they've maintained security in the street; they kicked out all the troublesome mercenaries. The only problem is they ask me to work all day, and I can't close. It's a shame they have to go," the innkeeper said, smiling.

"Are we talking about mercenaries?" I said surprised.

"Yes, it sounds strange. I was used to those arrogant mercenaries who think they can do anything," the innkeeper said.

"Zwei Bier, bitte," said one of the mercenaries at another table, making an 'L' with his fingers.

"Ja," said the innkeeper.

The innkeeper went to continue working.

'Curious.'

When I relaxed, I left the tavern and noticed there were more Westerosi mercenaries in the street. I started walking towards the city gate since I had to ride to the eastern camp.

Another company of mercenaries had arrived, but luckily, it barely reached eight hundred troops, and I had to guide them to the camp. Travel time increased considerably since only the mercenary captain had horses, and we had to march to the hills that separated the Free Cities from the Dothraki plains.

We camped, and as soon as the sun rose, I wanted to keep riding, but I had to wait for the mercenaries to break camp. When we finally started the journey, I noticed something approaching from where we came.

With my horse, I could tell it was a considerable troop. As I continued my way, I noticed it was the same mercenaries who had forced me to follow them to that tavern. They had caught up with us in a single day of marching.

The reason was very obvious: they all had horses, and those who didn't were in carts. One of the riders came out of formation.

"Hello, Tybero. I hope you haven't forgotten our friendly meeting from yesterday," said the man with the mask. I recognized the voice; it was the same person who had threatened me yesterday.

"Hello... you guys move fast," I said nervously.

"It's to be expected. We were members of a professional army, the Prussian army. Discipline is instilled in you with every blow of your officer's command rod. It's hard to forget that, even though I'm a member of the auxiliary unit and not the regulars," said the mysterious man.

"Does that mean there's really hope that we can beat them?"

"So, you were career soldiers?" I said hopefully.

"That's right. Now we're mercenaries due to political issues. I wasn't the only one who fell from grace. Lothar, the giant you met yesterday, was exiled and now seeks forgiveness from his king," continued the man with wolf pelts.

"How small the world is... we both suffer for the same reason," I said a bit disheartened.

"Calm down, trust our leader. He's VERY temperamental, but still very intelligent. By the end of the year, you'll have the heads of several Khals to show to your leaders," said the masked man.

"Thank you," I said a bit calmer.

"Well, now you can teach me the Dothraki language," said the man with the wolf's head with a friendly tone.

I nodded.

Over the next few days, I dedicated myself to teaching the Dothraki language. Every day, I was more and more surprised since this man mastered the Dothraki language with enormous ease, as if he had spoken it from birth.

On the fourth day, he could almost speak like a native. The only problem was his accent, which showed that he lacked more practice when we started having more casual conversations in the Dothraki language.

We had conversations in the Dothraki language frequently. Many focused on me, on how my political life was in the city, or other things.

Although from time to time, this man complained about how useless the other mercenaries were, only delaying our arrival in the hills.

After eight days, we finally reached our destination, and I noticed that the Westerosi mercenaries were not happy when they observed that the camp, which was the base of operations against the Dothraki, was in a deplorable state.

Although the camp was well positioned, being on one of the hilltops, and from these, you could observe the Dothraki plains with great precision, the camp's order was minimal.

Tents scattered everywhere, there was no fortification, not even a palisade, and it was clear that there was factionalism in the camp. It was evident that among the chaos of tents, they were separated by colors or tent format, showing that the captains had little or no intention of collaborating until they truly considered a danger approaching.

The Westerosi mercenaries positioned their area on one of the highest hills, and I went to check my tent in case a mercenary tried to steal something.

As soon as I finished checking, I left my tent and was surprised to see that the Westerosi mercenaries were digging trenches and raising a palisade in their camp, while at the same time, a sea of tents was rising at a surprising speed.

My job was to coordinate the groups of mercenaries so that they could organize a decent defense among themselves before the typical mid-year Dothraki migration began.

So, I dedicated myself to visiting all the mercenary captains to coordinate a meeting the next day since I doubted that more reinforcements would arrive. All the lunatics were here, although the Westerosi mercenaries looked competent.

The next day, when I left my tent, I found that the professional mercenaries' camp was complete: a large palisade, watchtowers at the entrances, and a trench separating them from the rest of the camp. I gathered all the mercenary captains in my tent, ensuring the sixteen captains had seats to discuss. Problems arose immediately as some mercenaries thought it a good idea to bring their slaves for company, limiting the space a bit.

To my surprise, the Westerosi mercenaries didn't show up. I had to send for them, but they still didn't show, and because of that, I had to start the meeting without them.

"Alright, I gathered you here because we need to determine how we'll avoid Dothraki raids. The information you need to know is that Myr provides us with a good amount of funds to buy materials if we need to fortify the camp more or get more equipment. In addition, the forces comprising this army are around thirty-two thousand men, so we'll outnumber the average khalasar in men," I said to the group of captains.

"The city of Myr granted us autonomy to decide what we should do, so it's up to you to decide what we should do. Myr didn't determine the mode of choice; you can do it by individual votes or by the number of men... I'm listening," I said, finishing and sitting down, watching the mercenaries start to argue.

'Ah... well, it was expected.'

Not even a minute passed when the mercenary captains started fighting over who would be the leader. For several minutes, there were verbal conflicts among the captains to determine what was more important: the number of men or simply the vote. If you had few men, a simple vote favored you, while captains with more soldiers fought over the importance of their forces' size.

The fights continued, and it seemed like it was going to be a very productive day. We had to wait for the Dothraki to start arriving to see them begin to coordinate, as everyone wanted to be leaders or have their friends be leaders, but no one wanted to give up the little power they were fighting for.

As I was about to finish, the Westerosi knight entered the tent, looking at the other captains with noticeable disdain through the visor of his helmet, accompanied by the masked man who had his hand on his belt near several daggers.

"Lothar you should have been here...," I tried to inform the belated knight.

"Alright, let's finish this once and for all. Their screams could be heard even in my camp, and I have more men than all the captains individually. My men are professional soldiers, and I am a veteran commander with years of experience. I will be the one leading this resistance against the Dothraki," said the knight with a firm and authoritative tone.

For a few seconds, the captains fell silent, observing how tall this knight was.

"Well, let's keep it simple, but it will require a lot of manual labor to ensure we lead..." The knight walked confidently to the center of the meeting, but someone decided to interrupt him.

"Hey, hey, hey... who do you think you are? Just because you were once a knight doesn't give you the right to give us orders," said a captain standing up from his chair.

"I was a military officer; I've fought against something similar to the Dothraki. I'm offering you a chance to have a shot at returning with your pockets full. You just have to listen to me," replied the knight.

"Only dead will I listen to orders from a Westerosi," responded another captain.

The knight laughed and looked at the captains.

"Alright, let's get this over with. Raise your hand if you think I shouldn't be the leader for any reason, although I'm the most competent," said the knight without much concern.

Thirteen captains raised their hands immediately, and two others hesitated and didn't raise theirs.

The Westerosi knight looked at his companion, and he nodded. Before anyone could say anything, with both hands, he turned one captain's head into pulp, while his companion threw a bunch of knives at the other captains with deadly accuracy, hitting their necks or eyes, leaving several captains injured.

The knight pounced on other captains, grabbing them by their clothes and proceeded to crash them into each other twice; teeth flew in all directions. When he let them go, they fell to the ground like sacks of flour, lifeless.

Some of the mercenary captains tried to flee through the exit guarded by the masked man, only to face someone who was incredibly agile and slaughtered their victims with ease while dodging or blocking their attacks.

The only ones the masked man let pass were the slaves who ran desperately.

The knight ignored those who didn't raise their hands and dedicated himself to keep killing the rest. One survivor tried to cut through the tent with his sword to escape, only to receive a crossbow bolt in the chest from men around him; apparently, we were surrounded.

Only two captains were left standing, both of whom had a terrible death. The Westerosi knight tore off one captain's arm and used it as a weapon against the other captain, whom he hit so hard in the head that an eye flew out from the impact.

In less than a minute, silence reigned where there had only been screams before, thirteen dead, and various body parts scattered around the tent. As expected, the survivors and I were trembling with fear at what we saw. Only two men easily defeated twelve, but the most terrible thing was the colossal strength of the Westerosi knight who could tear or destroy parts of the human body as if it were child's play.

"Well... now raise your hand if you think I should be the leader of the mercenaries," said the knight, taking off his helmet.

The two survivors raised their hands while trembling in fear.

"Great, then I win by an overwhelming victory... well... go back to your men, I'll distribute the mercenaries from the dead among you, and you'll answer to my orders... your insubordination will be paid dearly... just look at these idiots," said the knight, pointing to the surviving captains.

The captains ran off.

"What... did you do... Lothar..." I said, trying to calm down a bit from everything that happened.

"What was necessary, to win you don't need troops with steel discipline, but obedient ones. Without their captains, it will be easier to control them, although I'll probably have to personally execute some in plain sight for them to start obeying. But now... no one will question my orders," said the knight, starting to eat some of the food that hadn't been tainted by blood.

"Myr won't be pleased with what you did, and you've just become a pariah among mercenaries," I said a bit annoyed, but I resisted escalating things with him.

"Take care of justifying my actions... it was necessary... I will bring results... I'll deliver the head of the first Dothraki Khal who tries to plunder their lands... and about the mercenaries, I don't even care, the opinion of that scum should not be taken into account... only the opinion of God and his representative on earth matters... Arbitrium Deī vīcit," said the knight, putting on his helmet and leaving the tent.

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