“I sincerely hope my Sun and Stars does not keep you waiting too long.” Viserys looked at Daenerys.
“Once I have those ten thousand elite troops, I will leave and never bother you again.” He did not forget to make empty promises to Daenerys: “When I reclaim the Seven Kingdoms, you will be a princess in truth.
I will have everyone line up to welcome you home.” Daenerys said nothing, but her heart was slightly moved.
She nudged her horse and caught up to Drogo, following closely by his side.
Drogo glanced at her.
Without her saying a word, he knew she was going to plead for Viserys’s army again.
He intentionally looked away, admiring the strange scenery around them.
This place could hardly be called a city; there were no walls, and the buildings were sparse, though they came in every style imaginable.
Stone tents, grass-woven palaces, wooden pavilions, and even a few miniature pyramids, earthy yellow and as low as burial mounds.
They were all built by captives from various lands in the styles of their own homelands.
Drogo had a mansion here as well.
Following the route in his memory, he headed straight for it.
The so-called mansion was actually just four wooden walls with no roof; the top was covered by a large canopy that protected against neither the sun nor the rain.
Daenerys looked it up and down.
“Magister Illyrio’s slave girl said your palace had two hundred rooms and doors made of silver.” Drogo raised his hand and pointed around.
The grass-thatched domed huts were centered around Drogo’s “mansion,” huddled together and spreading out for a great distance—there were easily hundreds of them.
“In a sense, she was not wrong.” Daenerys burst out laughing.
Kohoro approached.
“Khal,” he said, “tonight we must ascend the Mother of Mountains to offer sacrifices to the gods.” He turned to look at Daenerys.
Reaching out, he plucked a small piece of grass from her hair.
Daenerys said, “My Sun and Stars, I will miss you even in my dreams.” Drogo nodded.
He knew that on this very night, Viserys would beat Daenerys over some trivial matter, and the siblings would fall out once more.
But he had to let these things happen; he could not interfere.
Then he turned and left with his Bloodriders, the sound of hooves gradually fading away.
The Mother of Mountains was not high, but it was steep.
By the time Drogo and his Bloodriders reached the summit, it was already dusk.
A row of wooden stakes stood on the peak, hung with various sacrificial items—horse bones, ox heads, and rusted blades.
The wind blew from all directions, making these items spin gently.
Standing at the top, one could see all of Vaes Dothrak—the scattered domed huts, the crooked statues of gods, and the hazy grey horizon in the distance.
Kohoro lit the bonfire.
The firelight illuminated the mountain peak and the stone pillars carved with Horse God totems.
Koso led a horse forward, pure black without a single stray hair.
This was the sacrifice for the gods.
Hago handed over a sharp stone dagger.
Drogo took the knife and walked up to the horse.
The horse looked at him, its eyes dark and bright, perfectly still.
He raised his hand, and the blade fell.
Blood sprayed out, splashing onto the stones and his face, warm and wet.
The bonfire burned even brighter.
Smoke drifted upward, disappearing into the night sky.
Kohoro began to chant the prayers, ancient words passed down through generations on the grasslands.
Koso and Hago knelt, their foreheads touching the ground.
Drogo knelt as well, watching the fire and the horse’s blood seeping into the cracks of the stones.
The ritual lasted all night.
The bonfire burned on, and the prayers were recited over and over.
Drogo did not believe in any of this; he could only feign piety in front of his people.
He closed his eyes and chanted along, his lips moving and his voice projecting, but his thoughts had already drifted down the mountain.
He wondered how she was doing now.
Although he had arranged for Quilo, Rakalo, and Jogo to protect her.
Drogo’s heart was still uneasy.
What if, because of his changes, Viserys truly hurt Daenerys?