Seven days after the Khalasar departed, the scenery of the Dothraki Grassland gradually gave way to desolation.
The once verdant grass had turned into withered, yellow shrubs, and the ground beneath their feet was cracked into fine lines. The midday sun, like a red-hot branding iron, pressed down with an overwhelming heatwave, scattering even the Mother River's moisture on the wind. The horses in the procession began to paw the ground restlessly, the slaves' steps grew heavier as they carried provisions, and even the most robust Dothraki warriors had fine beads of sweat on their foreheads and cracked, peeling lips.
"There's not much water left," Kohol reined in his horse, holding an almost empty waterskin, his voice carrying a rare gravity. "At this rate, we can last two more days at most. If we don't find a water source soon, the elders and children in the group..."
Mr. Illyrion followed Kohol's gaze. At the tail end of the procession, several young Dothraki children were already slumped on their horses, their faces pale, their cries as faint as a mosquito's buzz. His heart tightened—although they had prepared enough water before setting out, he hadn't expected this stretch of the journey to be more arid than he remembered. Coupled with the young dragons' daily need for large quantities of fresh meat, the expedition's supplies were being consumed much faster than anticipated.
"I'll scout ahead," Mr. Illyrion turned his horse. "The Dothraki Grassland usually has underground rivers. If we follow the drought-resistant sea buckthorn bushes, we might find a water source." He remembered from modern geography that the roots of sea buckthorn in arid regions can penetrate dozens of meters underground, and heading in the direction where sea buckthorn grows densely would likely lead to groundwater.
Daenerys rode up on Silver Wind, Drogon wriggling restlessly in her arms—the young dragon had grown quickly these past few days. Black scales already covered his entire back, his wings, when spread, could shield half a person, and his fiery breath had transformed from faint sparks into half-foot-long tongues of flame. "I'll go with you," she said firmly. "Drogon can sense water. Last time in the Red Grass Fields, he was the first to smell it."
Mr. Illyrion didn't refuse. The two, accompanied by five Blood Riders sent by Kohol, galloped towards the dense sea buckthorn bushes ahead. Drogon occasionally poked his head out from Daenerys's arms, letting out whimpering sounds in a certain direction, and Daenerys would adjust their route according to his guidance, communicating with a silent understanding.
"You seem to understand Drogon's calls now," Mr. Illyrion couldn't help but say, watching Daenerys gently stroke Drogon's scales. The young dragon immediately rubbed against her fingers obediently.
Daenerys smiled, a gentle light in her eyes: "I don't know, I just feel there are emotions in his calls—just now he cried urgently, as if saying 'there's danger ahead,' so I had the group slow down; now he's calling softly, he should be close to finding water."
This was perhaps the blood connection between the Targaryen and the dragons. Mr. Illyrion sighed inwardly, about to say something more, when Drogon suddenly lifted his head sharply, letting out a piercing shriek towards the dune ahead, his wings spread, revealing sharp claw tips.
"Something's happening!" The Blood Riders sent by Kohol immediately drew their scimitars, vigilantly staring at the top of the dune.
Not long after, a dozen horsemen appeared on the dune, wearing tattered leather armor, holding rusty spears, and with bags full of slave shackles hanging from their waists—they were slave traders! Seeing Daenerys and Mr. Illyrion's group, their eyes immediately lit up. They spurred their horses and charged towards them, shouting vulgar slogans: "Catch that woman! And the monster in her arms, they'll fetch a good price!"
"Protect Khaleesi!" The Blood Riders immediately formed a circle, shielding Daenerys and Mr. Illyrion in the center.
Daenerys's eyes turned cold. She gently raised Drogon: "Drogon, show them what you can do."
Drogon seemed to understand. He suddenly shot out of Daenerys's arms, flapped his wings, and swooped down towards the slave traders. He spat a stream of red flame, which landed directly in front of the leading slave trader's horse, setting the horse's mane on fire. The horse, startled, reared up, throwing the slave trader to the ground.
The remaining slave traders turned pale with fright, reining in their horses and daring not to charge forward. Mr. Illyrion seized the opportunity to draw the dagger from his waist (confiscated from Viserys) and shouted to the Blood Riders: "Two on the left, three on the right, get behind them, don't let them escape!"
The Blood Riders immediately acted, outflanking them on horseback. The slave traders, already feeling guilty, were thrown into disarray when they saw the Dothraki warriors approaching and feared Drogon circling in the air. Some tried to turn and flee but were struck in the shoulder by a Blood Rider's blade, screaming as they fell from their horses.
In less than a quarter of an hour, all dozen slave traders were subdued. Mr. Illyrion walked up to the slave trader who had been thrown to the ground and pressed his dagger against his throat: "Speak, is there a water source nearby? If you dare lie, I'll have Drogon burn you to ashes."
The slave trader trembled with fear, quickly nodding: "Yes! Yes! There's a hidden pond behind the sand dune, where we usually resupply water. It's only three miles from here!"
Mr. Illyrion had the Blood Riders tie up the slave traders for later handling, then followed Drogon's guidance behind the sand dune. Sure enough, a small pond was hidden behind the dune, surrounded by green water plants. Although the water wasn't crystal clear, it was drinkable.
"Wonderful!" Daenerys squatted down, cupped a handful of water, and offered it to Drogon. "Thank you, Drogon."
Drogon lowered his head, licked the water in Daenerys's hand, and let out a satisfied whimpering sound.
Mr. Illyrion immediately sent a Blood Rider back to inform the main group to hurry and resupply water. He stayed by the pond, checking the water quality—there was no strange smell in the pond, nor any poisonous water plants, so it should be safe. He also used his dagger to dig a small pit and diverted water into it to settle, making it cleaner for the tribe to drink.
"You commanded very well just now," Daenerys walked over to him, watching his busy figure. "Even better than Kohol in tactics."
"Just a small trick," Mr. Illyrion smiled. "When I was in Pentos, I learned from merchants how to deal with bandits. I didn't expect to use it here." He didn't mention modern tactical knowledge, as that would too easily arouse suspicion.
By evening, the main group finally arrived at the pond. Seeing the pond, the tribespeople excitedly rushed over. Some drank directly from the water's edge, while others filled their waterskins, their faces full of the joy of surviving a disaster. The slaves began to set up tents and prepare dinner, and soon bonfires were lit by the pond, the aroma of roasted meat filling the air.
Mr. Illyrion sat by the bonfire, watching Daenerys teaching Rhaegal and Viserys (the young dragons) how to catch fish in the pond—Rhaegal and Viserys had also grown quite a bit. Rhaegal's white scales shimmered with a faint golden light in the firelight, while Viserys's red scales resembled burning embers. The two young dragons clumsily slapped the water with their claws, occasionally catching a small fish, wagging their tails excitedly. Daenerys laughed nearby, her eyes full of tenderness.
Kohol walked up to Mr. Illyrion, handing him a flask of mare's milk wine: "Mr. Illyrion, thanks to you and Khaleesi today, otherwise we might have truly died of thirst on the grassland." He paused, then added, "What should we do with those slave traders?"
"Lock them up for now; we'll take them with us tomorrow morning," Mr. Illyrion took a sip of mare's milk wine. "They know the situation in Slaver's Bay. We might be able to get information about Astapor from them—Astapor is the first city-state we'll enter in Slaver's Bay. The slave masters there are powerful, and we need to understand their defenses in advance."
Kohol nodded: "I understand. Oh, Khaleesi asked me to tell you that after we depart tomorrow, she wants you to teach her how to manage logistics—she said you know how to allocate food and water to make the journey smoother for the group."
Mr. Illyrion felt a warmth in his heart; Daenerys was not only growing into a capable leader but also knew how to trust those around her. "All right, I'll teach her tomorrow."
That night, Mr. Illyrion drew a simple logistics allocation table in his tent: food and water were to be distributed in three grades according to the age and physical strength of the tribespeople—warriors and slaves (high physical exertion) would receive more, while elders and children (low physical exertion) would receive less. At the same time, a portion of food and water would be reserved daily as an emergency supply. He also marked the daily travel distance on the table to prevent the group from overexerting themselves by rushing too quickly.
The next morning, Mr. Illyrion handed the logistics allocation table to Daenerys. Daenerys read it carefully, then asked Mr. Illyrion to explain a few details, after which she gathered all the minor leaders and informed them of the allocation plan. The minor leaders all approved; after all, there had been private complaints among the tribespeople about unequal distribution before, and now with a clear plan, everyone had nothing to say.
After the group set off again, Mr. Illyrion taught Daenerys how to observe the condition of the tribespeople: "If someone is swaying while walking or has purple lips, they are dehydrated and need water immediately; if someone doesn't want to eat, they might have heatstroke and should rest in the shade and drink some salted water."
Daenerys learned very diligently, stopping occasionally to check on the tribespeople's condition and resolving issues promptly. The tribespeople watched, and their admiration for this Mother of Dragons grew even more—not only did she have the protection of dragons, but she also cared about the safety of her people. Such a leader was worth following.
Over the next few days, the group traveled smoothly. They followed Mr. Illyrion's plan, traveling thirty miles each day, resting for two hours in the shade at noon, and making camp promptly at dusk. The young dragons also became increasingly obedient; Daenerys could use simple commands to have them patrol the air, warning of dangers in the surroundings. Rhaegal even learned to use his wings to stir up sandstorms to hinder enemy pursuit (Mr. Illyrion taught Daenerys this for unexpected situations).
On the fifteenth day after their departure, the group finally reached the edge of Slaver's Bay. From a distance, they could see the outline of Astapor—a city-state built of red stone, with walls dozens of meters high, covered in arrow towers, and guarded by soldiers in bronze armor at the city gate, appearing heavily fortified.
Daenerys reined in her horse, stopping, and looked at Astapor in the distance, her eyes resolute: "Mr. Illyrion, we've arrived."
Mr. Illyrion nodded, looking at the slave traders going in and out of the city gate (they led chains, shackling rows of slaves), and a fighting spirit ignited within him: "This is our first stop. Liberate the slaves, build an army, starting from here."
Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserys circled above Daenerys's head, letting out clear shrieks that pierced the air and carried towards Astapor. The soldiers on the city walls heard the dragons' shrieks, their expressions turning to fear, and they quickly raised their spears, vigilantly watching the distance.