The Dothraki revere strength and disdain life—whether other's or their own. With no entertainment to occupy them, fights and brawls are common occurrences.
Often the clashes stem from trivial disputes, escalating into knife-drawn, life-or-death confrontations.
"In Westeros, do knights have dueling competitions?" Dany asked Jorah.
Jorah nodded. "We have armor, so even in group melees, fatalities are rare. Perhaps we could adapt the sparring techniques used during knightly training—equip them with full leather armor and blunted swords for practice."
This type of sparring wouldn't be as fair as real combat, as many Dothraki warriors rely on speed and agility, aiming for lethal, single-strike kills.
Blunted swords and leather armor, however, demanded more strength and endurance.
But to avoid fatalities, Dany accepted Jorah's suggestion.
By evening, the newly drawn black flag fluttered in the wind as her khalasar began its slow march southward, guided by the sun and stars.
Before departing, Dany ordered her people to retrieve the melted gold from the funeral pyre.
"This was leftover from Drogo. He has taken what he needs to the Night Lands, and the rest is a reward for us," Dany told the hesitant Dothraki, spinning the story to her advantage.
Drogo's dragonbone bow was also retrieved.
The "dragonbone" in dragonbone bows isn't metaphorical—it's literal.
Beyond the dozens of dragons from the Targaryen dynasty, the ancient Valyrian civilization, which fell only 300 years ago, once fielded conquest armies of 300 dragons at its peak.
Dragons, like all creatures, have finite lifespans. Upon their deaths, they leave behind durable bones. Many of these dragonbones have been passed down through the ages.
Rich in iron, dragonbones darken with increasing iron content, eventually turning pitch black.
Ordinary flames cannot harm them. If even young dragons can withstand the heat of burning wood, how could the bones of fully grown dragons be any less resilient?
Apart from gold and dragonbone, some Dothraki found cracked stones in the ashes—dragon egg fossils.
When the stones were pieced together, they formed three intact stone eggs.
"Dragons don't come from stone eggs!" At first, the Dothraki stared at each other in disbelief. Then, as if struck by realization, they cried out in terror, "The Khaleesi has birthed three dragons! The prophecy of the dosh khaleen has come true—our Khaleesi has given birth to the Stallion Who Mounts the World!"
The commotion drew Dany's attention. Upon seeing the stone eggs, she too was astonished.
"What exactly is the nature of dragons?" she wondered.
Regardless of how the dragons came to be, it was time to leave. The charred remains of Drogo's funeral pyre were gathered and buried in a deep pit before the khalasar set out.
On the first night, Dany's khalasar managed only 10 kilometers.
Five kilometers from their encampment, they encountered a stream Drogo's khalasar had used for water. After sustaining over 100,000 people and countless livestock for four to five days, the once-bubbling stream was now reduced to a layer of muddy sludge.
Dany adjusted their route, deciding to follow the wetlands left behind.
After another 5 kilometers, they found a new shallow water pit, where Dany ordered the khalasar to rest and recuperate for a day or two.
"All 87 of the cattle and sheep must be slaughtered," Dany instructed her people. "The deeper we venture into the wastelands, the scarcer water and forage will become. We can't afford for them to compete with the horses for resources."
Under Dany's reorganization, the khalasar's resource management had become far more efficient.
The mutton was turned into jerky, while the sheepskins, still covered in wool, were dried and sewn into hooded cloaks by the Dothraki women.
The wastelands were unbearably hot, and wearing cloaks during the day shielded them from the sun and reduced water loss. At night, the cloaks provided warmth against the cold.
Though the Dothraki were a nomadic people, not everyone owned leather jackets or cloaks. Dany's original hundred or so followers were well-equipped, but with nearly 200 new members—mostly abandoned elders and weaklings—many lacked even basic Dothraki vests.
Dany herself had a cloak.
When she first came to the Dothraki Sea with Drogo, he had hunted a white lion for her—a beast taller than her silver mare. Its terrifying lion's head formed a hood for her, while its pelt served as a natural cape, draping over her shoulders and down her back.
On the third evening, the khalasar resumed its journey, marching through the night until sunrise the next day.
In 10 hours, they covered roughly 100 kilometers.
It was then that Dany encountered a serious problem. Despite sending out over a dozen scouts to search within a 5-kilometer radius, they found no clean water sources.
Following a dried riverbed, they occasionally came across stagnant pools of brackish water, exposed under the blazing sun.
These "death pools" were undrinkable, filled with bacteria, sludge, decaying animal carcasses, and a pungent stench of sulfur. Even animals avoided them.
Dany grew increasingly curious about this world. How could such a vast plain, surrounded by mountains to the east and west, bordered by a grassland to the north and a sea to the south, become such a barren desert?
The desert was one thing, but where did the sulfur in the water come from?
This wasn't a hot spring.
The thought of hot springs suddenly sparked an idea in Dany's mind. She turned to Ser Jorah and asked, "I've heard that ancient Valyria was built on 14 volcanoes. That land near the Summer Sea—was it once a hellscape like this?"
"What are you suggesting?" Jorah asked, puzzled.
"Could it be that there's a volcano beneath this Red Wasteland? That's why the rivers evaporate, and the pools smell of sulfur?" she speculated.
What Dany wanted to say but didn't was that both ancient Valyria and the Red Wasteland shared a unique geological feature—a thin crust, where the magma layer beneath was dangerously close to the surface.
"It's because demons lurk here, and that's why there's a sulfuric smell," Doreah chimed in.
Even inside the tent, Doreah's face was flushed as red as a boiled shrimp. Sweat streamed down her neck in rivulets, and her graceful figure was outlined beneath her thin silken dress.
"You've seen demons, have you?" Dany scoffed.
"I... I think I've been possessed by one," Doreah murmured, clutching her chest and breathing heavily. "It's gnawing at my heart, and soon it'll devour my soul!"
The Lysene girl's wide, fearful eyes and solemn tone almost convinced Dany.
"You've got heatstroke!" Dany said firmly.
"What's heatstroke?" Irri asked, fanning herself vigorously.
Dany didn't mind the heat; her handmaids fanned her out of habit, but she didn't need their help.
"Princess, do you mean sun sickness?" Jorah asked, struggling to remove his vest, revealing a chest covered in thick, bear-like black hair.
"Something like that." Dany handed her mare's milk skin to Doreah. "Stop drinking water—you've lost too many minerals. Here, drink this instead."
"But this is your share," Doreah hesitated, her trembling hand barely brushing the skin before pulling back as if burned. "I'll be fine. I can drink water."
Dany didn't argue. She simply shoved the skin into Doreah's hands.
Before departing, Dany had implemented a rationing system, knowing the scarcity of resources and the uncertainty of their journey ahead.
Water had been freely available since they had followed the river, always finding more.
Horse meat was also plentiful, the tough, dry jerky as hard as wood—so unpalatable that even if offered in abundance, few could eat much.
The real limitations were on mare's milk, salt, wine, and fruits, all of which were strictly rationed.
But now, even water...
No. That wouldn't work.
Water must remain plentiful. Without it, even if they escaped the wasteland, most of them would still perish.
This thought spurred Dany into action. Turning to her handmaids, she said, "I'll separate the men and women into separate camps. Everyone can strip down inside their own tents. You should remove your clothes too—it might help."
"The tents feel like ovens. Taking off clothes won't do much," Irri sighed. "Back on the grasslands, even two layers of sheepskin mats couldn't keep us warm at night. Now, the ground is so hot it burns our feet."
Dany teased, "You could scrape away the top layer of sand—"
She paused mid-sentence as inspiration struck her, then burst into laughter. "Why didn't I think of such a simple solution before?"
"What solution?" Jorah asked, intrigued.
"Let's step outside," Dany said, waving him to follow.
As the tent flap was pulled back, Dany was momentarily blinded. The sun seemed to have drawn closer, its blazing beams casting a white-hot glare that enveloped everything in a blinding radiance.
Rubbing her eyes, she lowered her gaze to regain her vision. When she could see again, she felt as if she had truly stepped into the depths of hell.
The intense white light reflected off the flat, red sandstone ground, creating an equally searing red glow. The red glare, like flickering flames, spread across the land, merging into what seemed like a sea of fire. To walk across this wasteland was to stroll through purgatory.
The sulfurous stench lingering in the air only reinforced this illusion.
Indeed, some names are so apt they cannot be denied—this place truly was the "Red Wasteland."
Quickly pulling her white lion hood over her head, Dany surveyed the camp. The rows of tents, silent and still, looked like a cluster of burial mounds scattered across the barren plain.
She approached the nearest tent, planning to announce her decision to separate the men and women so everyone could shed their clothing to cool off.
But as she neared the crude patchwork of cowhide, sheepskin, and horsehide that formed the tent, she heard muffled, labored breathing inside.
Both male and female voices.
Dany's jaw dropped, disbelief etched on her face.
Curious, she inched closer and lifted the corner of the tent flap.
Clearly, I've been overthinking things, she mused. The Dothraki didn't care about separating the sexes.
Moreover, they weren't like Doreah. They seemed to adapt remarkably well, their stamina astonishing.
Quietly stepping back, Dany left them to their passions. Barefoot on the scorching sandstone, she walked to the riverbed's edge.
Forty or fifty unsaddled horses stood listlessly in the open, ears drooping as they endured the blazing sun. They struggled to chew the tough, yellow-brown devilgrass growing under rocks and withered trees.
"Khalessi, you're here?"
A small, hunched old man appeared seemingly out of nowhere, suddenly standing before Dany.
"Afanti, will the horses regain their strength by nightfall?" Dany asked, though she doubted her own words.
The old man, a herder in the khalasar, was a veteran who had served under twelve different khals. Dany was his thirteenth.
Not exactly a lucky number, she thought.
Afanti was short and thin, with a slight hunch to his back. His balding head bore a sparse, graying ponytail that barely reached the length of his middle finger. His sunburnt, reddish-brown face was a map of deep, withered wrinkles, resembling a dried orange.
Only his deformed, almond-shaped eyes still gleamed with a vitality that belied his age.
Opening his toothless mouth, he gave Dany a smile meant to flatter. It was not a pleasant sight.
"Khalessi, if they have enough water and this devilgrass unique to the wasteland, they can hold out for at least half a month."
Dany exhaled in relief. If her khalasar avoided detours, half a month should be enough to cross this desert.
"But," Afanti added with a worried expression, "these are strong horses. Besides the good mounts ridden by a hundred or so riders, the rest are old, sickly, lame, or ill-tempered beasts.
Even in the Sea of Grass, with ample forage, such horses wouldn't last long.
Everyone knows they should've been butchered for meat long ago. That's what our previous khalasar lived on."
"I understand," Dany said calmly. "I'll make other arrangements when the time comes."
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09