10: Chapter 10 Leaving the Wasteland

When the Khalasar emerged from the Red Waste, the sun rose for the eleventh time.

The five dragon-glass sand-worm statues at the mountain pass reflected the light of obsidian in the morning sun.

The Dothraki passed between them, no one speaking.

Someone reached out to touch one. Their fingertip was sliced open instantly.

The edges of the dragon-glass were sharper than any blade.

Jorah rode his horse behind Daenerys Targaryen.

He looked back at the five statues, then at Drogon on Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder.

"That dragon," he said to Daenerys Targaryen, "was a hatchling seven days ago."

"He still is." Daenerys Targaryen did not turn back.

"He killed six sand-worms. One of them chased us for seven days."

"He is my child. No matter how many he kills, he still is."

Jorah fell silent.

Drogon lay on Daenerys Targaryen's shoulder, the corners of his mouth curling up.

At the end of the Red Waste lay a trade route. Leading to Qarth. Leading to Slavers Bay. Leading to Westeros.

He looked back at the dragon-glass mountain range.

That mountain had already been half-emptied by him. The rest could wait until later.

What was the rush? The world was vast. There was plenty more to eat.

Daenerys Targaryen spurred her horse onto the trade route. The hooves struck hard earth, no longer sand.

Drogon closed his eyes. Attribute points lay on the system panel, his bloodline value jumped to a new number, and the talent tree was fully illuminated.

In the distance, the walls of Qarth emerged from the horizon.

A new map.

New prey.

New dragon-glass.

He licked the corners of his mouth.

Let's go.

The first thing they encountered on the trade route was a caravan.

A spice merchant from Qarth, with camels laden with cinnamon and saffron.

Seeing a group of Dothraki from afar, his first reaction was to turn and run.

Then he saw Daenerys Targaryen's hair.

It was not the silver hair of the Targaryen. Nor was it entirely black. It was silver and black intermingled, like the patterns of cooled lava.

In the sunlight, a faint purple glow shone from the edges of her hair.

"You—you are—"

The merchant stammered. He recognized the Khalasar of Khal. But the Khal was dead. This Khalasar should not have survived the crossing of the Red Waste.

Daenerys Targaryen did not answer. She rode past the merchant, Drogon dozing on her shoulder, and the two other hatchlings shifting in the saddlebags.

The merchant saw the dragons.

Three of them.

Alive.

He fell to his knees.

"Khaleesi—" He shouted in the dothraki language. But the tone was that of Qarth.

Daenerys Targaryen reined in her horse.

"What did you call me?"

The merchant looked up, his face covered in sweat.

"Qarth... everyone is talking about it. The Mother of Dragons. The woman with three dragons. It is you."

Daenerys Targaryen looked back at the dozens of people behind her. They were thinner. Darker. Their armor was broken. Their arakhs were chipped. But they hadn't died. Not a single one—except for Kolaraka. But Kolaraka's arakh was at her waist.

"I am not the woman with three dragons."

She looked down at Drogon.

"I am his mother. I just happen to have three dragons."

Drogon did not open his eyes. But his tail flicked. The corners of his mouth were curled.

On the merchant's camel, a few desert jerboas were locked in a cage. Drogon's nose twitched.

"Mother."

"Hmm."

"There are mice over there."

"...You just ate half a sand-worm."

"That thing didn't taste good. I want to eat the mice."

Daenerys Targaryen looked at him speechlessly.

The merchant hurriedly handed over the cage. "A gift—a gift for the little dragon!"

Drogon opened his mouth and swallowed the cage along with them. Crunchy.

"Ding! Consumed iron cage + jerboas. No attribute growth. Purely for satisfying a craving."

Satisfying a craving was fine too.

Daenerys Targaryen tapped him on the head.

"Don't go around eating random things in the future."

"I'm a picky eater. I only eat expensive things."

Daenerys Targaryen was amused to the point of laughter.

The people of the caravan were all kneeling, not one daring to look up.

Jorah sighed behind them.