Jorah was right.
To complete Dany’s “three-stage water retrieval” mission, the physical labor required from the two groups of knights fetching water would multiply several times over.
Whether it was digging deep pits in the hard, gravelly ground or transporting water back and forth to the khalasar, the knights’ resting time would be drastically reduced.
Their time spent working to their absolute limits under the scorching sun would increase accordingly, and perhaps…
“This is my tribe.
Whether they are old, weak, sick, or disabled, they are all my subjects.
I have the responsibility and obligation to protect everyone’s life,” Dany insisted.
“But what about your warriors?
They might die of exhaustion on the road while searching for water.” Dany hesitated for only a moment before her solemn expression returned.
“For a warrior to die serving the people is the most glorious and noble end.” “Serving the people?” Jorah paused, stunned.
It was the first time he had heard such a phrase.
It seemed to make some sense—at least it was more meaningful than two idiots eating too much and hacking each other to death with swords.
But he didn’t care in the slightest about the lives or honor of the horse people.
He only wanted to make the most advantageous plans for his princess.
Jorah gritted his teeth and urged in a low voice, “Princess, your method of extracting water is brilliant.
If it were just you and those eighty elite warriors, we could definitely walk out of this wasteland unscathed.
Why don’t we…” His eyes grew dark and unreadable, and his voice carried an unspeakable chill.
“Why don’t we take the supplies and leave quietly while they sleep?
It’s better for a hundred of us to survive than for the entire khalasar to collapse.
You have gold.
Once we reach a coastal city, you can buy a ship to any of the Free Cities, or quietly purchase an estate and wait for the dragons to grow.” Dany shook her head and sighed.
“Ser, I am their Khaleesi.
Do not ever say such things again.” “Sigh, very well.” Ser Jorah’s expression shifted from grave to relaxed, though whether it was out of total resignation or indifference was unclear.
“Princess, you must prepare yourself mentally.
The tribespeople will likely start dying off soon.
You are not a god; you cannot save everyone.” “Roughly how much further is left?” Dany asked, her voice laced with worry.
“Three-quarters, or at least two-thirds.
And that’s assuming we’ve been walking in a straight line, but in reality, we had to detour because of the riverbeds,” Jorah said uncertainly.
At that moment, Dany understood that a crisis was imminent.
The deeper they ventured into the Red Waste, the more the discovered water sources decreased exponentially.
Today, their water supply was already stretched to its absolute limit.
What about tomorrow?
“We should abandon a batch of the old horses,” Dany decided.
Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit her, and she smiled.
“I almost forgot about one of the most important water sources.” “Where?” Jorah asked in surprise.
“Never mind, it hasn’t come to that yet.” She waved her hand dismissively, pursing her lips into a smile.
Urine, of course!
How many times had Bear Grylls drank his own urine?
Drinking urine was child’s play for the man who stood at the top of the food chain.
She remembered the most exaggerated instance, where he gave himself an enema with sea turtle blood, screaming the whole time.
—Sea turtle blood was too foul and fishy; drinking it would induce vomiting, but the large intestine could absorb the water from the blood.
Although it was a bit disgusting, it was nothing compared to losing one’s life.
If it truly came to a critical moment, giving themselves horse blood enemas was definitely worth a try.
Anyway, Dany was the Khaleesi; no matter what, she wouldn’t be the one lacking water.
At this thought, the look Dany gave Jorah turned rather peculiar.
“What is it?” The large bear instinctively felt a chill crawl from the back of his neck down to his tailbone.
“Nothing.” Dany averted her gaze and walked toward her own tent.
“I’m going to train the dragons.” Just as Dany lifted the leather flap of her tent with the bamboo basket on her back, she saw Effendi trotting up on an old horse, stopping right in front of her.
“Khaleesi, Hoson is failing.
He’s going to die!” he shouted in a panic.
“Sigh, I understand.” Dany sighed and prepared to leave.
Effendi hurriedly asked, “Khaleesi, how should we arrange Hoson’s funeral?” Dany paused, puzzled.
“He’s Volantene.
I don’t know their customs.
Why don’t you go ask him?” “He wants a cremation, and he wants burial goods.
I couldn’t decide, so I came to ask for your instructions,” Effendi said quickly.
Now Dany understood.
In this resource-starved plain, most of the charcoal was used to filter dirty water.
Even roasting horse meat was done in communal pots to save firewood.
As for burial goods…
Dany had no choice but to carry her three dragons on her back and follow Effendi to his ten-man squad.
Although the horse people’s tents were small, they were shared by three or four people.
They didn’t need to hold much—just enough space to lay down blankets, straw mats, and sleeping bags.
Seeing Dany arrive, the other two old men greeted her respectfully and voluntarily stepped outside, leaving the space to them.
Hearing the Khaleesi’s doubts about the funeral rites, the toothless old man spoke with difficulty.
“The Volantene nobles originate from the ancient Valyrian Freehold.
Like your Targaryen family, cremation is popular among them.
I was merely a slave born by the Rhoyne.
By all rights, I should choose a river burial or an earth burial, but…
*cough, cough, cough*.” The old man coughed for a while, a look of longing appearing on his aged face.
“But my Haggo was a Khal.
Just like Khal Drogo, he was a great horse warrior who ultimately rode a fiery steed into the Horse God’s Night Lands.
I want to…
*cough, cough, cough*.” Dany spoke with pity, “Say no more, I understand.
I have already removed your slave collar.
You are no longer a slave, but one of the horse people.
I will bury you according to their customs.
The Horse God will accept you.” Hearing this, the old man became both excited and worried.
His spine arched as if convulsing.
He struggled to raise his body, looking at Dany with hopeful blue eyes, and asked repeatedly, “Really?
Is it really possible?
Will the Horse God let me enter the Night Lands?
But I…” Dany’s eyes shifted, and she said seriously, “You’ve seen the comet in the sky.
You understand its meaning, don’t you?” The old man looked confused but managed a nod.
“I’ve heard.
It’s Khal Drogo and his bloodriders leading five hundred warriors…
oh, and your little Khal, dyeing the heavens with blood.” *To hell with dyeing the heavens with blood.* Dany’s mood instantly soured, but she couldn’t bring herself to hold a grudge against the dying old man in front of her.
Instead, she glared fiercely at Effendi beside her, mentally jotting his name down in her little black book.
*Hmph, he must be the one spreading these wild rumors.* “It’s like this: you will ride a fiery steed to rendezvous with the Khal in the sky first.
Once we are out of danger and the Khal leads his warriors into the Night Lands, he will bring you along on the way.
Drogo is the greatest Khal; the Horse God would never block his subordinates,” Dany comforted him, spinning a complete fabrication.
“That’s wonderful!” The old man seemed to have a thousand-pound weight lifted off his shoulders, his arched body sinking heavily back onto the straw mat.
Just as Dany breathed a sigh of relief, old Hoson sprang up like a reanimated corpse, gripping Dany’s wrist tightly.
He asked uncertainly, “But Khal Drogo doesn’t know me.
Will he accept me?” “This…” Dany grimaced in thought for a moment before saying cheerfully, “It doesn’t matter.
When we cremate you, I will shout to the Khal in the sky and ask him to take you in.
He is always watching us; he will definitely hear it.” “Oh, that’s wonderful.” The old man released Dany’s hand and lay back down stiffly.
Dany rested her hands on her knees and slowly tried to straighten her back…
but couldn’t.
The old man seemed to have lost the strength to sit up again, so he simply clutched tightly at the leg of Dany’s silk trousers, gripping it hard.
“What is it?” Dany crouched down, holding his twig-like hand and asking.
“Khaleesi, you are a good person.
I am leaving, and I can no longer serve you to repay your kindness.
The only thing I have is my life’s work, recorded in…” Old Hoson tilted his head, looking around.
After a long while, he shakily raised his right hand, pointing to a worn brown horsehide pouch in the corner of the tent.
“There is a hand-copied book bound in parchment there.
It records my life’s work.
I give it to you, Khaleesi.” *His life’s work?* Dany hadn’t forgotten the profession of the man before her.
Although the five Arts of the Spring Cry passed down from ancient Valyria could be considered a form of cultural heritage—in medieval Europe, exquisite erotic paintings could be passed down as family heirlooms for centuries.
But she was the Mother of Dragons!
She had a bright future ahead of her and had absolutely no desire to carry forward that particular kind of special skill!
Effendi, having been inexplicably glared at by the Khaleesi earlier, had been feeling anxious, wondering what he had done wrong or poorly.
Seeing a chance to prove himself, he didn’t wait for the Khaleesi’s orders.
He quickly walked over to the corner, untied the leather pouch, and pulled out a gray parchment book about the size of a standard sheet of paper and as thick as a dictionary.
Looking at the “treasured manual” handed to her, Dany shot a vicious glare at the utterly clueless Effendi.
Terrified, Effendi’s hand trembled, and the thick book dropped to the ground with a heavy thud.
His eyes widened, looking as if he were on the verge of despair.
The book landed at Dany’s feet, its pages falling open.
She peeked down and, sure enough, the very first thing she saw was a highly suggestive illustration.
It was even in color, sketched with charcoal.
It depicted a pose that would be considered highly difficult even for a gymnast.
Beside it were dense Valyrian annotations, seemingly explaining it in meticulous detail.
She quickly snapped the book shut with a loud smack, coughed lightly, and said, “I accept your gift.
Thank you.” Old Hoson nodded.
Catching a glimpse of the white dragon that had climbed from the bamboo basket to Dany’s ear, a flash of sharpness crossed his dimming, cloudy eyes.
He panted, “Khaleesi, this book cost me over sixty years of blood and sweat.
I originally intended…
but now I realize, it was born for you.
Only you can make the best use of it.” Dany felt a mix of intense embarrassment and anger.
If it had been anyone else or any other situation, she would have already thrown a flurry of punches at him.
*This damned old man is wicked to the core, to actually view this lady in such a way!* She didn’t want to stay a moment longer.
Muttering a few vague pleasantries, she picked up the thick parchment book and stood up to leave.
“Ah, wait a moment,” the blue-eyed old man’s withered, claw-like hand hooked onto the straps of Dany’s sandals.
“Khaleesi, I almost forgot.
What about the burial offerings!” “I haven’t forgotten.
That horse of yours was unruly and actually threw you off its back.
Later, I’ll pick a more docile one to be slaughtered and buried with you.
If you need it, I’ll also prepare a bag of gold medallions, along with a warrior’s arakh and bow for you,” Dany hurriedly promised.
“Tha—” Before the old man could finish the word “thanks,” his head tilted to the side, his grip loosened, and he passed away.
A look of joy and anticipation froze on his shriveled, dried-sweet-potato-like face.