Each one started from the bag’s opening, passed through the furnace loops, and was finally tied to the basket’s rim.
The furnace was in the middle, cradled by the twelve ropes, perfectly steady.
When it came to the last rope, Drogo stopped and walked around the structure.
The tension in the ropes wasn’t uniform; some were loose, others tight.
He squatted down, untied the loose one, and tightened it again.
Then he stood up and checked the balance of the basket.
“This side is too high.” A craftsman hurried over and tightened the rope on that side.
Drogo stepped back two paces and squinted at it.
The furnace was positioned between the basket and the bag, neither too high nor too low, about two arms’ lengths from the bag opening and two arms’ lengths from the basket.
Twelve ropes passed through the furnace body, binding the upper and lower parts together.
He was busy and enjoying every moment of it.
Finally, he filled the furnace with dry wood and oil-soaked rags until it was packed full, then drizzled more oil over it.
More and more people gathered around.
The Dothraki had never seen such a thing and didn’t know what the Khal was doing.
But when the Khal was at work, no one dared to ask; they simply stood at a distance and watched.
Drogo lit the wood in the furnace.
The fire flared up, and thick smoke rose.
But the smoke didn’t disperse; it was all funneled into the large bag.
The bag was propped up by the smoke, swelling bit by bit like a full belly, growing larger and rounder.
Someone in the crowd let out a low gasp of surprise.
The bag bulged and slowly lifted off the ground, tugging the iron furnace upward.
The iron furnace swayed and was lifted off the ground, and the wicker basket began to sway along with it.
Drogo reached out and tested the rim of the basket; it was steady.
He turned to look for Daenerys.
Daenerys was standing not far away, her eyes wide with wonder.
“Come here,” Drogo beckoned to her.
She hesitated for a moment, then ran over.
Drogo picked her up and placed her into the wicker basket.
The basket swayed, and she grabbed the rim, her face turning pale.
“Don’t be afraid.” Drogo climbed into the basket and stood beside her.
“Stand straight and just hold on.” The basket swayed and lifted off the ground.
A burst of exclamations erupted from the crowd.
Some jumped back, some pushed forward, and some just stood with their mouths open, unable to say a word.
“It’s flying!” a young warrior shouted, pointing at the basket.
“The Khal is flying!” Koso stood at the very front, head tilted back and mouth agape, not even noticing as the wineskin slipped from his hand and hit the ground.
Hago squinted, staring at the basket as it rose higher and higher, his blade slipping from his leg to the ground.
Kohoro said nothing, only watched.
The Hot air balloon slowly rose.
The tents were getting smaller, the horses were getting smaller, and the upturned faces on the ground were getting smaller.
Daenerys clung to Drogo, her eyes wide as she stared at the ground receding below them.
Then she slowly let go.
She leaned out to look down, her silver hair whipped up by the wind, fluttering behind her.
She looked back at him, her expression a mix of surprise and fear.
“We’re flying…” The people on the ground were all looking up.
Those Dothraki Warriors, who usually didn’t blink an eye when killing and shedding blood, were now all standing with their mouths open and necks craned, staring at the flying object in the sky.
Women held their children, pointing to the sky for the little ones to see.
Suddenly, someone in the crowd knelt down, their forehead touching the grass.
Some began to shout, though what they were yelling was unclear.
Others started to chase after them.
The hot air continued to blast upward, and the fabric bag was filled to the brim.
The wind rushed past their ears, and the whole world became so quiet that only the sound of the wind remained.