Chapter 116: Chapter 115: Challenge
Swiftly, two Dothraki messengers were led into Viserys' tent.
The young king sat on his bed, draped in a soft cloak, his long hair unrestrained and flowing down his back. He calmly observed the two messengers as they entered.
Interestingly, the Dothraki man walking in the front had a dark and haughty expression, while the one following behind him appeared humble, displaying a contrasting demeanor.
Two messengers sent together, each with a completely different attitude?
Which one, then, could truly represent the will of Khal Drogo?
"Your Excellency," the humble Dothraki man in the back greeted Viserys first. He placed a hand over his heart and bowed, following the common etiquette of Essos. He spoke in the common tongue of Westeros, addressing Viserys with the unique title of 'Magister' used only in the Free Cities. The scene appeared somewhat awkward and amusing.
However, Viserys merely raised an eyebrow, continuing to watch the two men as they approached. He nodded in response.
"Please, sit."
Before Viserys could even finish speaking, the haughty Dothraki in the front strode to the side and took a seat on a cushion near Viserys' bed.
"How dare you!" The guards in the tent were furious at the sight and prepared to reprimand the insolent visitor, but Viserys silenced them with a glance.
The young king then turned his attention back to the arrogant Dothraki, whose face displayed pride and darkness, the features of a cruel man.
Viserys had witnessed the brash arrogance of the Dothraki firsthand, more than half a year ago, or perhaps even a year ago.
Khal Drogo's father, Bharbo, had attended a feast in Pentos with only a few of his bloodriders. He barged straight up to the Ivory and Gold Throne, terrifying the Prince of Pentos to the point of wetting himself. Bharbo seated himself on the throne, and none of the Pentoshi magisters dared make a peep.
Compared to Bharbo's bravado, this man seemed considerably more restrained.
At least he didn't dare enter the tent and demand to sit in Viserys' place.
Viserys sized up the man and gave a faint laugh.
Khal Drogo's bloodrider, Qoso, was also scrutinizing Viserys. He could tell that the refined youth before him was quite young and even somewhat inexperienced.
In his tribe, Viserys might have only just been considered old enough to become a warrior.
However, for some reason, the young king's smile felt particularly irritating to Qoso, as if he were being mocked.
The moment that thought crossed his mind, he couldn't help but see Viserys' grin as one of ridicule.
Qoso's face darkened with anger, as he felt the young king had been mocking him all along and never stopped.
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Kosor had wanted to lash out several times, but remembering the looks from the surrounding lambs that seemed ready to devour him, he ultimately didn't dare to slam the table in anger.
Awkwardly adjusting his position, he plucked an irritating flea from his neck and without wasting any more words, stated his intentions in a blunt tone, speaking in Dothraki.
Dothraki had many stressed syllables, making it sound forceful. Viserys didn't understand what the man was babbling about, so he looked to the interpreter.
The Dothraki interpreter listened to Kosor's words and felt cold sweat sliding down his forehead. Not all Dothraki were reckless brutes; some were fearless, but others not so much.
The main reason he had managed to survive was that he hadn't lived among the Dothraki since he was a child; instead, he had been a slave in the Golden Company.
It seemed that he had served an exiled Westerosi noble, and later he was bought by another Khal to work specifically as an interpreter.
However, now that Kosor had spoken, he had no choice but to steel himself and translate as directed.
"Your Excellency," he began.
"Khal Drogo demands at least 3,000 slaves and 10,000 gold coins to compensate for his losses, after which he would be willing to leave."
The interpreter's translation was a bit clumsy and awkward, but Viserys understood the gist.
"3,000 slaves? 10,000 gold coins?"
Although Essos also used gold dragons, there were various other currencies; almost every Free City had its own currency.
Including the Valyrian coins and the Gold Marks, there were round, elongated oval, triangular, and hexagonal shapes.
Viserys, although prepared, was still surprised by Drogo's brazen demands.
"That's too much."
He shook his head, a self-mocking smile on his face.
"It seems Khal Drogo truly sees me as a wealthy man."
"Since we can't agree, just push them down and kill them."
The young king glanced at his guards and calmly gave the order.
"I can't afford that sum."
"And I won't hand over my people as slaves."
The guards inside the tent drew their short swords and held them to the Dothraki men's throats, not even giving them a chance to resist.
The Dothraki interpreter was immediately terrified, as he understood Viserys' words. He hadn't expected the seemingly affable Magister to turn his back so suddenly, catching everyone off guard.
In negotiations, people usually started with an outrageous price and eventually settled for less, but Viserys simply said he had no money or people to give and ordered his men to kill.
Kosor, Drogo's Bloodrider, couldn't understand Viserys' words, and the interpreter hadn't had a chance to speak before the guards had their swords at his throat.
But by this point, no translation was needed, and Kosor understood everything.
The proud Dothraki's face showed no fear but only madness, his sinister eyes locked on Viserys as he shouted something, seemingly wanting to struggle.
The interpreter, trembling, didn't dare translate Kosor's threats about Khal Drogo avenging them and killing all the lambs.
Still, the Bloodrider continued to speak, shooting a fierce glance at the interpreter before saying a few more words. The interpreter hesitated for a moment, then quickly nodded, and addressed Viserys loudly.
"Your Excellency,"
"Kosor, in the tradition of the Dothraki, challenges you. If… if Kosor wins, he hopes that you will allow us to leave."
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