"There are over two hundred people, but fewer than a hundred are fit for battle," Jorah said. "The elite Roaring Warriors consist of only sixty from your Kas tribe." He paused, his face etched with pain, and sighed. "It's inevitable that about half of the elderly, infirm, and young will perish during the long journey ahead."
"What about supplies?" Daenerys asked, her brow furrowed.
"We can ensure everyone has a horse. There are only a little over two hundred cattle and sheep in total. As for water, after the Khalasar leaves, the small stream will barely suffice. It's a five-kilometer walk."
"There isn't even a blade of grass nearby," Daenerys said, puzzled. "What have the horses and sheep been eating these past few days?"
"There's a reddish-brown demon grass growing between the rocks," Rakharo explained. "It's tough and resilient enough to keep the horses from starving, but this won't last. This place is already depleted of resources. We must move."
"Where?" Daenerys's heart stirred. She turned to the Horsemen and asked, "What are your plans now? If I reorganize this small Kas into the Khalasar and make the four of you my Bloodriders, would you accept?"
Her words seemed to trouble the Horsemen. After a moment of frowning thought, Quarro refused first. "This cannot be. Serving a woman as a Bloodrider would shame me. Besides, there are only three Bloodriders."
Daenerys turned to the next man, Aggo, who lowered his eyes. "I cannot take such an oath. Only men can lead the Khalasar."
"You are the Khaleesi, and nothing more," Rakharo continued. "I will ride beside you to Vaes Dothrak, at the foot of the Mother of Mountains, and protect you from all harm until you join the old women of the Dosh Khaleen. Beyond that, I can make no promises."
"I—"
"Enough, I understand," Daenerys interrupted him sharply before Jhogo could speak. "Let's set this aside for now. Our most urgent task is to send the Great Khal Drogo back to the Land of the Night."
Ser Jorah Mormont suddenly rose from his cross-legged position, his sword unsheathing with a *swish* that dazzled Daenerys's eyes.
Then, Jorah Mormont knelt on one knee, placing his sword at her feet. "Your Highness, I swear my loyalty to you, to obey all your commands, and to lay down my life without hesitation."
He glanced at the four horsemen beside him and declared with unwavering conviction: "By the steel in my hand and the bear sigil of my House, I swear that no one will take you back to Vaes Dothrak against your will. You need not join the Dosh Khaleen."
The four Horsemen exchanged glances, their almond-shaped black eyes flickering with confusion and unease.
*Even in this fallen Westeros, there are still loyal and noble subjects!*
Though Ser Jorah's motives were not entirely pure, his loyalty stemming more from unrequited love, Daenerys was still grateful.
"According to Dothraki tradition, the Kao returns to the embrace of the Horse God through flames. Therefore, I command you to lead the knights to gather all the combustible wood, dry grass, and vines you can find."
This was a harsh, inhospitable land where they could not remain long. Daenerys needed to leave as soon as possible.
When the Bloodriders learned that Daenerys intended to cremate Drogo, they rose from his bedside once more to pack their belongings.
"You may leave now. I must end his suffering and humiliation," Daenerys said to the handmaidens beside her.
Drogo had not woken in four days. Half his chest was blackened and festering, yet he still drew shallow breaths. This was both a torment and a profound humiliation for him—the great warrior-king should not remain bedridden.
In three minutes, Daenerys used a feather pillow to end his life. She then cut away the rotting flesh, drained the pus and blood, and filled his chest cavity with thick, fragrant balm.
Eli and Jhiqui cleaned Drogo's hair and body. Then Daenerys washed his long hair, rebraided it, and wound a string of small bells around it.
More bells—gold, silver, and bronze—were added. These would announce his arrival to his enemies, filling them with fear and dread, even in the Land of the Night.
Next, Doreah dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots, and fastened a heavy leather belt around his waist, adorned with gold and silver medals.
Eli and Jhiqui worked together to lift Drogo's broad yet emaciated frame and helped him put on a painted vest that covered the scars on his chest.
Though faded and worn, it was his favorite.
Daenerys had planned to hold the cremation that evening, but as the sun set, they still hadn't gathered enough firewood. Jhogo had ridden the farthest, galloping twenty kilometers north nearly to the Sheep People's territory.
"They shot me with arrows," Jhogo said angrily. "The Sheep People don't welcome Horsemen."
*Isn't that obvious?* Daenerys thought. *Every year, you people harvest the Sheep People like leeks, riding south from Horse King City to the Great Grass Sea and "grazing the Lhazar Basin" as if the Sheep People were some kind of New Year's sacrifice.*
*This year feels particularly cursed,* she mused. *Two Kaos have already fallen in the "starter village."*
Jhogo's excitement quickly returned. "But I encountered Odo's Khalasar. When they heard I was preparing the funeral pyre for the Kao, they offered to help us conquer a village to serve as a sacrifice."
Odo had once been one of Drogo's khals. His splintered Khalasar was small; Bonno and Jhako had devoured the bulk of it. Of the more than 40,000 warriors, Bonno took 20,000, Jhako took 10,000, and the remaining 10,000-plus warriors were divided among a dozen or so khals, leaving each Khalasar with only two or three thousand warriors.
Of course, in the vast Great Dothraki Sea, a Khalasar of several thousand warriors was the norm. Great Khal Drogo, by contrast, had been a rare overlord on the plains.
"Odo's intentions are not good," Jorah said gravely after Jhogo had left. "He's likely acting on orders from Bonno and the others. They've been waiting in the north for your arrival." He turned to Daenerys. "Your Highness, what are your plans? You've already tried to win over Quarro and the others, and they clearly don't want to become Dosh Khaleen in Horse King City. It seems we're trapped.
Moreover, your khalasar is loyal to you, but they also have their own will—a tradition that has endured for centuries among the Dothraki."
Daenerys gave him a reassuring look. "You'll understand this in two days."
The next day, at dawn, Koso rode north alone to meet Odo at their agreed-upon location. By noon, he returned with a large caravan of horses.
Ten knights from Odo's Khalasar escorted two hundred Sheep People slaves, bound together in chains, their faces etched with despair.
About ten more slaves drove over a dozen wagons.
The wagons were piled high with bundles of split firewood and, yes, barrels of castor oil.
"These slaves will accompany us on the Night's Journey," Koso said coldly.
Daenerys wore loose, sand-colored silk trousers and sandals that reached her knees. Her upper body was clad in a Dothraki painted vest similar to Drogo's.
"The Kao has you, and five hundred of the most loyal warriors. He needs no cowardly Sheep People slaves," she said, unequivocally rejecting the idea of human sacrifice.
"You—" Koso raised his whip, his face venomous.
"Behave yourself. I am in charge here now!" Daenerys said coldly.
Quarro and Jorah stood beside her, with Aggo and Rakharo behind her, their arrows aimed at Koso.
The hundreds of people worked all afternoon. Before sunset, they had stacked the firewood into a five-meter-long, five-meter-wide, four-meter-high square, hollowed out and stuffed with straw, brushwood, bark shavings, and dry grass. This was the Kao's "main bedroom."
On the cremation pyre lay Great Khal Drogo's treasures: his blanket, painted vest, saddle and reins, the horsewhip given to him by his father upon reaching manhood, the arakh that had slain Ogo and his son, and the massive dragonbone longbow.
Jhogo had intended to place the Bloodrider weapon he was gifting to Daenerys as a bride price, but she stopped him.
"Those are mine," she told him. "I want to keep them."
After a moment's thought, Daenerys returned to the foot of the hills with two companions. They dug into a rocky corner, uncovering several cowhide sacks the size of cement bags.
*Clatter!*
As the bags were lifted, a dazzling river of gold poured out—a sea of golden medallions, each the size of a child's palm.
Drogo had ten chests of these golden medallions in total. Daenerys took three chests and buried them with her own hands. Of the ten chests thrown out, thirty percent were filled with brass medallions.
Thousands of people swarmed, scrambling so wildly they couldn't even tell if they were grabbing a full chest or a half-empty one. How could they know Daenerys had mixed in the brass?
The simple, straightforward horsemen hadn't yet evolved such cunning tricks.
Kao's treasures were layered with golden medals, and then several bundles of hay were placed on top.
Koso and Haggo, their faces solemn, carried Drogo's body out of the tent. The Dothraki watched in silent reverence.
They laid him on his own pillows and silk blankets, his head turned towards the distant northeast, towards the Mother of Mountains.
Rakharo led Drogo's crimson mount forward—a tall, fierce beast, its coat as red as burning coals and as smooth as the finest silk. Such a creature was rarely seen in the world, daring even to bite the white lions of the plains.
The Dothraki were a harsh and unfeeling people, and by their customs, they never named their animals. Otherwise, Drogo's mount would have surely borne a name that would echo through the ages, like those of the ancient Chinese warhorses.
The horse was unusually docile today, obediently led to the eastern side of Drogo's funeral pyre.
As if sensing its fate, it raised its head, barely reaching Drogo's face. It licked his cheek, and two streams of crystalline tears, like drops of agate, moistened his temple and the pillow.
Then it ate a withered apple offered by Daenerys, pawed the ground, and let out a long, mournful whinny before quieting.
Facing Rakharo's axe blade, which came down in a single, swift strike, the creature showed no fear and made no move to dodge. It was cleanly felled to the ground.
The Horsemen built a platform over the horse's corpse using firewood. They used the trunk of a small tree and branches from larger ones, arranging the wood from east to west to symbolize the sun's journey from sunrise to sunset.
Koso and Haggo erected two lower platforms, one north and one south of Drogo's. These were also piled high with wealth and weapons. They brought their own mounts to the platforms, and like Drogo's crimson horse, each was fed an apple before having its head severed with a single axe blow.
The cremation pyre belonged to the two Bloodriders. After cleansing themselves, they lay down on the platform, arakhs in hand.
Extending outward from the Bloodriders' platform, the Horsemen constructed a long, third-tier platform using branches. Drogo's pyre stood four meters high, the Bloodriders' three meters, and this third tier two meters. It was covered with dry leaves and dead twigs, arranged from north to south to symbolize the journey from glacial ice to raging fire.
Five hundred heads—those of the warriors who had died in battle with Cohollo—were stacked in layers on the third-tier pyre. Finally, soft pillows and silk quilts were piled high on top.
Ah, and Cohollo's own head was placed beside Drogo's.