As the last light of the sun vanished and the sky bruised to a deep purple, Daenerys turned to Aggo. "Take Odo's men into custody. Give the goat-slaves what food we can spare and let them go."
Aggo glanced at the shivering Lhazareen. "Khaleesi," he said, his voice low and troubled, "they hate us. Once free, they will tell their people where we are and how few we are. They are cowardly, but not stupid. They will not pass up such an opportunity."
The boy was young, but his mind was sharp. Dany gave him a surprised look. "They will be walking in the dark. How far can they go? They will be lucky to reach the Lhazar by tomorrow afternoon. By morning, we will be gone."
"It would be better to kill them," Aggo muttered, but he turned to obey.
The sheep-people, stunned by the news of their freedom, crept away timidly at first, then broke into a frantic, stumbling run, disappearing into the night.
But the cremation did not begin. The Dothraki sat on the ground, their dark almond eyes scanning the star-dusted sky, waiting for an omen. Tradition demanded that when a great Khal was cremated, he would ride his flaming steed into the sky and become a new star. They had to find it first—not a familiar star, but a new one, one that had appeared only on this night of his passing.
This, Dany realized, was going to be a problem. It was a contest of endurance, a long wait until exhaustion and hunger made them see omens in any flicker of light. She couldn't simply point to a star and fool them; they knew the sky in a way she never would.
"Does every Khal find his star?" she asked a wiry old horseman sitting nearby.
The old man's face, dark and wrinkled like a prune, split into a gap-toothed grin, thrilled to be addressed by her. "Of course, Khaleesi. The great Drogo is the twelfth Khal I have served. I have seen with my own eyes the eleven before him become shining stars. My own Khal's father was among them."
Twelve? she thought. How many heroes rise and fall like meteors on this sea of grass? "And how long does it usually take?"
"It is still early, at least until midnight," the old man chuckled. "Once, we waited all night. We found the star just as the sun was rising!"
But they would not have to wait that long tonight.
"There! Look there!" It was Rakharo's excited shout.
Dany followed his pointing finger. Hanging low in the eastern sky was a comet, a brilliant slash of light against the darkness. It was blood-red, fire-red, like the trail of a dragon's breath. It was a more powerful omen than any of them could have hoped for.
"The twelfth," the old man whispered with a satisfied smile.
"Oil," Daenerys commanded, her voice ringing out in the sudden silence.
Skins of sesame oil, castor oil, and other fats were poured over Drogo's body, over the silk blankets and hay, seeping deep into the wood below. The air grew thick with a strange, sweet aroma.
"Now," Dany said, her voice dropping, cold and hard. "Tie up the witch and throw her on the pyre."
Mirri Maz Duur, who had been watching silently from the crowd, thinking her revenge was complete, let out a choked gasp. "No!" she shrieked as Aggo moved toward her. "No, Lady Silver, Khaleesi, you cannot! I saved the Lady Lyra! You promised to reward me! I sang the birthing song for you! You can't do this, it is madness!" She scrambled away, but she was no match for the Dothraki warrior, who pinned her easily in the sand.
"Bring me my dragon eggs," Dany told her maids, and something in her voice made them run to obey.
"Your Grace!" Jorah lunged forward and grabbed her arm, his face a mask of desperation. "Drogo has no need of dragon eggs in the night lands! Sell them in Asshai! Just one would be enough to buy a ship, to take us back to the Free Cities! All three would make you a queen for the rest of your life!"
"Am I short of money?" she asked, a strange, sad smile on her lips.
He couldn't smile back. He tightened his grip, as if he could physically hold her back from the edge of insanity. "Princess, I know Rhaego's death has broken you. I know you hide your grief, but your heart is drowning in tears. I know the suffering is crushing you, but you still have—" He blushed, stopping himself just short of uttering words that would cross the line between a knight and his queen. "You still have a life to live! We can build a new life, you and I, a good life!"
Dany gently pulled her arm from his grasp. "Do not worry, my friend," she whispered, her voice pointed. "And do not forget. I am of the blood of the true dragon." She met his eyes. "I once thought Viserys was like me. That he could not be killed by molten gold. He was no dragon."
Jorah stared at her, dazed, trying to comprehend the meaning behind her words. He stood frozen as she took the three dragon eggs from her maids and, with Aggo and Rakharo's help, began to climb the great funeral pyre. She waved them away when she reached the top. She laid the pale, cream-colored egg on Drogo's chest, folding his hands around it. She lay down beside him, cradling the black egg in her arms, and placed the green egg between them.
The captured witch, seeing this, let out a wild, cackling laugh. "So, you are mad after all! The pain has shattered your mind! You should have taken my offer, life for life. Bloodmagic could have saved your butcher of a husband! Do you regret it now, Khaleesi? Do you regret it?"
"I will kill you first," Qotho snarled from his own pyre, starting to rise.
"Stay where you are," Dany commanded. "I want her to burn." The bloodrider, surprisingly, obeyed, looking at her with a newfound respect, as if awed by her magnificent self-destruction.
Dany turned her head and looked at the witch. "Did you forget, Mirri? In your temple, Cohollo made a promise. If the Khal dies, his healer dies with him. I am merely fulfilling that promise."
"Hahaha, that's right!" Haggo roared from his pyre. "The Khal is dead, so the witch must die!" With a final laugh, he drew his arakh across his own throat. "I… we… will ride with the Khal…" he gurgled, and was silent.
A moment later, the wet sound of tearing flesh came from Qotho's pyre as he did the same.
"They are gone," Dany said softly, looking at the red comet. Her tone was a complex mix of sorrow and resolve. "And now, it is your turn." She fixed her eyes on the priestess. "The moment Drogo fell from his horse, I planned this end for you. Do not deny that you murdered him. That you intended to sacrifice his son. And most cruelly, that you planned to do it through the hands of his own wife."
The priestess stopped struggling. A triumphant smile spread across her face. "You are smarter than I thought. But your son is still dead. That is enough. My revenge is complete."
"Yes, you wanted revenge," Dany agreed, her voice quiet. "You had a right to it. But how will you repay me for saving your life?"
The word seemed to ignite the last of Mirri's fury. "Grace?" she spat, her voice a cannonade of pain. "I was dragged from my god's temple and raped by your horsemen! When you rode by, the fourth man was inside me! What grace did you save? I watched them burn my temple, the place where I healed my people. I saw the heads of my neighbors piled in the streets—the baker who made my bread, the little boy whose fever I broke! I can still hear the children weeping as they were whipped into the slave lines! Tell me, what did you save?"
Dany was silent for a long moment. "I saved what I could," she finally answered. "Eloye, the other women. And I saved your life."
"My life?" Mirri gave a cold, dead laugh. "Look at yourself. When everything you love is gone, when all that is good in your world has been burned to ash, what is the meaning of life?" She looked at Dany on the pyre, seeing only a woman broken by grief, ready for death. "It has none."
"If it has no meaning," Dany sneered, "then why did you beg me for it?"
The witch's eyes flashed with a final, defiant fire. "You will never hear me howl."
PLS SUPPORT ME AND THROW POWERSTONES .