Daenerys stared at the blank, uncomprehending faces of her new bloodriders. The Dothraki, it seemed, were baffled by any number greater than ten, and completely lost when faced with a "complicated" system of command. She raised an eyebrow. Drogo's mighty khalasar had been made of dozens of individual khas, each led by a ko. The hierarchy was brutally simple: Khal, Ko, and warrior. And a Khal was just the strongest Ko, who was in turn the strongest warrior. It was a flat, primitive democracy of strength.
She had no use for such a system. If the Dothraki had been more feudal, a widowed Khaleesi might have become a queen regent. Instead, she was destined for a living death among the crones. That had to change. Her reorganization was the first step toward building a true hierarchy, a structure she could eventually forge into a centralized power.
This world already has feudalism, she thought. The productivity is there. I don't need to reinvent it. Her goal was simple, and grand: to establish a "golden family," a dynasty of her own blood. Before Genghis Khan, any man strong enough to lead a tribe could call himself Khan. After him, only those of his divine blood, the Borjigin, could claim the title. That was what she would build here. With three dragons at her back, it would be a waste not to. These scattered, leaderless Dothraki were the perfect foundation.
"Aggo," she said, her voice patient. "How much is five times ten?"
Her bloodrider thought for a moment. "Fifty?"
She nodded. "And five times fifty?"
He frowned, his lips moving as he counted on his fingers. "Two hundred and fifty?" he asked, uncertainly.
"Exactly!" she said with encouraging warmth.
"But, Khaleesi," he said, still confused, "you spoke of captains and commanders. If you remove them from the total, how many knights are left?"
"Why would you remove them?" she asked. "If you are the commander, the other two hundred and forty-nine warriors are under your command."
"But…" Aggo looked hopelessly tangled. "The captain is also a soldier under the command? Is a captain not a ko? A ko works for the Khal, but he is not counted among the warriors." He waved his hands, too agitated to properly express the problem. He couldn't grasp a system where a leader was also a subordinate.
"Khaleesi," Jorah interjected, understanding the issue. "Perhaps do not use unfamiliar words like 'squad' and 'company.' The Dothraki have their own terms for dividing their forces."
"Do they?" Dany asked, genuinely surprised. "What are they?"
"Have you heard the terms niulu and golehu?" Jorah asked.
"'Niulu' is a hunting party. 'Golehu' is a banner," she recited, looking at the knight in confusion. "How is that a military formation?" The braids, the barbaric style… it was so much like the ancient horselords of her own world's history, a people just waiting for a great unifier to forge them into an empire.
Jorah smiled. "In Dothraki tradition, a hunting party is almost always ten men. Fewer cannot handle great beasts like the hrakkar; more cannot find enough prey. It is the perfect number. As for golehu, you know the khalasar sends out scouts, yes? They ride in groups of about a hundred, and each group carries the same banner. When two khalasars meet, they judge each other's strength by the number of banners they see. So, they already call a hundred-man cavalry force a golehu."
A sly look entered Dany's eyes. "Does anyone ever use fake banners to deceive an enemy? Ten men carrying ten different banners, perhaps? Or send out more scouts than necessary to appear stronger?"
Jorah looked momentarily stunned by the question. "That… would not be in keeping with their traditions!"
"No one would do that," Aggo and the others agreed, looking horrified at the very idea of such a deception.
"Khaleesi," Jorah said, thinking it through, "a khalasar leaves obvious traces. Ashes from cook-fires, the dung of the horses. An experienced scout can estimate the size of a force from its camp. If a Khal were deceived by false banners, he would soon discover the truth from the camp, and his rage would be terrible."
"And he would never suspect that the number of cook-fires could also be faked, would he?" Dany said, a smug sense of superiority in her voice. "I could have few men, but light many fires to frighten him away. Or I could have many men, and light few fires, to lure his enraged army into an ambush."
Silence. Not only were the simple Dothraki staring at her with wide, unblinking eyes, but even Ser Jorah, a product of a high knightly education, was gaping at her, dumbfounded. Seven Hells, he was surely thinking, can you even do that? He looked at his 'simple' little princess with a strange new light in his eyes. He probably thought her cunning was a result of being raised among the grasping traders of the Free Cities.
"Khaleesi," Quilo said, finally finding his voice, "the Dothraki Sea is large, but word of such tricks would spread quickly."
I have thirty-five other tricks, she thought, but held her tongue.
"Very well," she said, her voice decisive. "A force of ten men will be called a Ten. The commander will be the Commander of Ten. A force of one hundred will be a Hundred, led by a Centurion. For now, that is all we will need. This tenfold increase should be simple enough to remember, yes?"
Aggo held up both his hands. "I have ten fingers," he nodded. "If I count slowly, I can keep it clear."
"Good. From this day, all old banners are abolished. We will fly one flag: the black dragon, for the dragon in my arms. I am your Khaleesi, and your Commander-in-Chief. I will command my own Hundred. My bloodriders and my Dragon Guard will each be Centurions. We will also have a Militia Centurion to manage the herdsmen and other folk. The ranks are empty for now, but we will build the framework first."
They spent the next two hours in the tent, hammering out the details. When the system was confirmed, it was implemented immediately. The men between fifteen and fifty were divided among the five new companies. The civilians—the old, the women, the children—were grouped by function: herders, cooks, craftsmen.
As Dany was organizing the civilian roster, a commotion erupted from the other side of the camp. Shouts, curses, and then the unmistakable rasp of steel being drawn.
Dany hurried over, her guards clearing a path through the agitated warriors. She was on her silver filly now, looking down at two of her own men, red-faced and furious, their arakhs in hand.
"What is happening?" she demanded.
"Khaleesi, I am the stronger! Let me kill this bastard!" one of them shouted.
The other roared back, "Kill me? Let me at him! I will peel the skin from his face!" They were both original members of her khas, men who had stood together to defend her for over a year. Now they were ready to kill each other. It was the Dothraki way.
Jorah came to her side, his voice low and worried. "They are fighting for the position of Commander of Ten. Khaleesi, we have too few warriors. We cannot afford to lose a single one to infighting."
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