Boom!
A sudden gust of wind rose, sending a whirlwind of shattered leaves swirling across the Great Grass Sea.
Vermithor spread his broad, brown wings and glided smoothly past, sending people and horses careening downward.
"It's a dragon! Hide!"
Someone, sprawled on the ground in terror, called out at Vermithor.
But how could that possibly work?
Aemon noticed that the shouting came from the Tyroshi mercenaries with their colorful hair.
The true Dothraki, skilled in horsemanship and archery, had seen the behemoth coming. Their eyes widened as if they had seen a ghost.
Even after Vermithor glided past, they remained stunned in the saddle, unable to recover for a long time.
It was a world-shattering shock.
"All right, Vermithor!"
Aemon, sensing a clue, steered the dragon down.
Facing the horse-riding Dothraki, Vermithor's pupils were cold and ruthless.
He folded his wings and slowly landed.
Boom!
A massive dragon descended from the sky, startling the Dothraki.
"Gods!"
Starting with a few strong women in animal-skin skirts, others leaped from their horses, chanting and kneeling in worship.
Like a plague, the situation spread rapidly.
Before anyone could react, a vast crowd began to kneel.
Aemon paused for a moment.
Looking around, he saw that very few Dothraki were standing.
"Dothraki society is primitive, and they understand the law of the jungle,"
Laena explained as she landed on Vhagar and caught her breath.
"I see,"
Aemon said with a laugh. "It saves us the trouble."
After all, they were in the Great Grass Sea, which was full of flammable materials.
A single blast of dragon flame would burn for ages.
"Who's your leader?"
Aemon patted the dragon's back and motioned for Vermithor to lower himself, fully exposing his harness.
If the Dothraki looked up, they would see his young face.
"It's me!"
A shirtless man on horseback stepped forward.
He had a rough face and dark, wheat-colored skin. His bare upper body was muscular, and his legs were strong as he pressed against the horse's back.
His raven hair was tied into a long braid adorned with a dozen bells.
According to Dothraki custom, the more bells one has, the more enemies one has defeated. Losers would cut off their long braids as a symbol of shame.
Orm's khal rode out on a black horse, and his bloodriders fetched an old slave translator for him.
"I am Orm's khal, the khal of the khalasar."
He spoke in labored Dothraki, and the old translator repeated it in High Valyrian with a Slaver's Bay accent.
Khalasar refers to a Dothraki tribe. Aemon got straight to the point: "There are Tyroshi in your khalasar, and they took my things."
"Who is it?"
Orm's khal was stunned at first, his thick, black brows furrowed.
He immediately ordered his bloodriders to summon the Tyroshi mercenaries.
The bloodriders bravely dismounted and searched for their target.
Soon, they grabbed a mustachioed man with curly purple hair and forced him to his knees.
"The man you want!"
The old translator repeated tremblingly.
Aemon's eyes lit up, believing his journey had concluded successfully.
He dismounted his dragon and grabbed the terrified man with the purple hair and mustache. In a cold voice, he demanded, "Where are the dragon eggs from the Sea of Mist?"
"Not with me,"
The man uttered in horror as he unburdened himself.
They were only half of the group tasked with escorting the mercenary group's cargo.
The leader had already taken the other half to seek refuge in Slaver's Bay.
"Can Slaver's Bay protect you?"
Aemon scoffed.
The man with the purple hair didn't dare argue. He simply said, "Meereen has an army of Unsullied and well-trained slave soldiers who have pledged to protect us."
In exchange, the Great Lord of Meereen would receive half of the dragon eggs from the Sea of Mist.
"How many dragon eggs are there, and what do they look like?"
Aemon's eyes flashed as he seized the opportunity to gather information.
The purple-haired, mustached figure hurriedly replied, "Seven in total. Six have stone skins, and one is grass-green with a scale-like shell."
Upon hearing this, Aemon took a deep breath and released the man.
Sure enough, there was a still-active dragon egg.
"Noble Dragon Lord, do you have any further instructions?"
The old translator asked timidly, urged on by the khal.
"No more,"
Aemon replied with a casual wave of his hand.
Seeing this, Khal Orm glanced at his bloodriders, who drew their blades and attacked the Tyroshi mercenaries.
Over a hundred were beheaded in an instant.
"Hmmm?"
Aemon wondered.
The old translator offered to explain.
The Tyroshi were not relatives but had happened to join the khalasar's migration. They had been paid to guide the khalasar through the Great Grass Sea and prevent them from getting lost. They posed a danger to the khalasar and were ominous. That was why Khal Orm had ordered their execution.
Aemon marveled.
He had some understanding of the Dothraki, but it was too one-sided. Only after actual contact could he truly understand them.
They were direct and cruel.
He turned and walked toward Vermithor, his foot on the rope ladder.
"Wait a moment,"
the old translator called out hurriedly.
Aemon turned around and said coldly, "Anything else?"
He had come for the dragon eggs in the Sea of Mist.
Half of the Tyroshi mercenaries were dead, and he had to hurry to Meereen in Slaver's Bay.
Encountering this khalasar was pure accident.
"Our khal has something to say."
The old translator bowed humbly.
Aemon looked at the rough-looking man.
True to his Khal status, Khal Orm remained calm as he rode closer, despite his fear of the unknown dragons.
He said, "Dragonlord, we can go together."
The Dothraki didn't have such complex terms as "Dragonlord House" or "dragon"; he didn't know them.
However, the elders among the khalasar had heard stories of the former Freehold Empire.
Dragonlords could often be seen atop their dragons on the Great Grass Sea, herding the Free Cities and Slaver's Bay.
However, over two hundred years ago, the Dragon Lords and their dragons vanished.
Seeing a living Dragon Lord and a godlike dragon today filled him with emotion, and thoughts raced through his mind.
"You cannot keep up with the dragons of the sky,"
Aemon said in pure High Valyrian, giving the old translator his words to repeat.
Orm's khal understood and boomed, "My khalasar will fight for you! The roaring warriors of the Dothraki are invincible!"
Aemon grinned.
The old translator's words were even clearer.
The other side wanted to follow him and attack Meereen in Slaver's Bay.
"Dothraki are skilled warriors. We'll need them later,"
Laena warned earnestly.
Aemon nodded in understanding. He was certainly aware of the Dothraki's capabilities.
The other half of the Tyroshi mercenaries were likely to enter Meereen and seek the protection of the Great Lords.
It wouldn't be easy for the dragons alone to retrieve the eggs.
A detachment of Dos Khaleen (likely meant Dothraki cavalry) assisted them by storming the city for easier looting.
"Follow!"
Aemon mounted his dragon's saddle and shouted to the men below.
Orm's khal listened to the translation, his stiff lips curling upward.
He led the entire khalasar as they followed the soaring dragon.
The Road to Slaver's Bay
For the next few days, the journey continued.
They crossed the Great Grass Sea, skirted the Lhazar inhabited by the Lhaza (likely meant Lhazareen or Lamb People), and entered Slaver's Bay through the Kelsay Pass.
"Hurrah!"
Vermithor soared over the mountains and revealed a yellow earth path overgrown with wildflowers and herbs.
Aemon could see it clearly.
They were already in Meereen's territory, and the Great Pyramid of Meereen would be visible a few dozen miles ahead.
"I'll scout ahead,"
Aemon said to Rhaenyra.
"Be careful."
Rhaenyra was too focused on steering the dragon to respond.
Aemon steered the dragon south and found a yellow earth road covered in wild herbs and camphor trees.
The three cities of Slaver's Bay shared a common route.
Aemon wanted to see what Yunkai was like and if they would join him.
He also wanted to know what Astapor was like.
Vermithor flew far and passed quickly over a towering city.
Built along the coast, it had a view of the bay to the west.
"It's Yunkai, for sure,"
Aemon recognized.
Of the three slave cities, Astapor once boasted a well-trained army of Unsullied.
Meereen, with its large population and vast territory, had always been the strongest.
Yunkai was the weakest, with its small population and defenses relying on mercenaries and purchased Unsullied.
Suddenly, the sound of clashing armor and galloping horses could be heard below.
"Let's check it out, Vermithor,"
Aemon thought, a flash of inspiration passing through his mind as he recalled something he had heard.
Boom!
Vermithor, tired of traveling, flared his nostrils and smelled blood. He flapped his wings in search of the source.
Soon, he saw two armies locked in a chaotic battle on the road connecting Yunkai and Astapor.
One banner bearing the Harpy's likeness symbolized the faith of Slaver's Bay. It was the Yunkai'i slave army.
Another banner was more peculiar: a ferocious dragon soared above the Harpy, splitting the banner in two.
"A war between Yunkai and Astapor?"
Aemon immediately grasped the situation.
The Astapori had greater numbers and launched more frequent attacks. However, their army was disorganized, and their weaponry was relatively inferior, putting them at a disadvantage.
The Yunkai'i slave army, better equipped, withstood the initial charge and gradually encircled the enemy.
"It's better to arrive early than early,"
Aemon said with a wicked smile as a thought formed within him.
"Shhh!"
Vermithor, sensing its rider's intentions, roared and swooped down, unleashing a volley of dragonfire like molten copper.
Before the Yunkai'i soldiers could react, they were engulfed in flames.
The sizzling sound of grilled meat erupted, mingling with shrill screams and white smoke.
The Yunkai'i soldiers were instantly devastated, their encirclement broken, and many perishing instantly.
Vermithor circled back and unleashed dragonfire once more.
Like a torrent of flame, the Yunkai'i soldiers overhead were instantly reduced to charcoal. The molten lava from the explosion engulfed even more.
"No, no, no!"
The Yunkai'i commander screamed as he fled, gazing at the sky.
Boom!
A third blast of dragonfire descended upon him, engulfing, carbonizing, and solidifying him into a charred clay figurine.
Seeing the familiar bronze dragon, the soldiers of Astapor excitedly raised their hands and chanted, "Long live the Dragon Lord!"
Rumble—
Suddenly, the sound of galloping horses echoed in the distance. A column of Dothraki cavalry, brandishing scimitars and standing on horseback, charged forward, shouting excitedly.
Their scimitars were like butcher knives, easily slicing through the enemy's throats and sending blood splattering everywhere.
Orm's khal charged forward, slashing his scimitar down and slicing open the belly of a Yunkai commander. His jet-black leather armor ripped apart with ease, as if made of paper. His belly was ripped open and his intestines gushed out. Even so, he remained conscious. The agonizing wait for a bloody death was the ultimate torture.
With the Dothraki's aid, the battle quickly became one-sided. Dragons were used for warfare, and some escaped. The Dothraki were known for their brutality and would not leave a single survivor.
Astapor: The Liberated City
Night fell.
Astapor, the Great Pyramid.
Aemon looked out.
The city looked just as it had a few months earlier, its dark red walls swirling in the wind and scattering red dust particles.
Colorful lanterns hung from the streets, illuminating the night.
Even the Great Pyramid, where they stood, had been adorned with green plants and trees, brightening the dull red with a touch of green.
However, His Royal Highness had long been dazzled by the sight of green in the Great Grass Sea.
He heard footsteps behind him. It was Laena.
"Did you see that?"
Aemon turned around and smiled, pointing at the bronze dragon statue on the city wall.
It was a symbol of liberation, recast after the Harpy statue was toppled.
Laena tilted her head and chuckled softly. "I saw it during the day and thought it was just your bad taste."
"Liberate a city-state and order the locals to forge a giant dragon statue?"
Hmm, it's a bit like the stone statue of King Viserys.
Aemon stopped joking and got serious. "The old scholar of Astapor has received word that the Tyroshi mercenaries have been hired by Meereen."
After half a month of continuous travel, the clouds finally parted, revealing the moonlight.
After months away, Astapor still recognized him as the Dragon Lord who had broken his chains.
The Small Council welcomed them into the city and distributed food to the Dothraki stationed outside.
"We have to fight tomorrow,"
Laena said helplessly, forced to speak the harsh truth.
Aemon looked up. "It's okay; we're sure to win."
Meereen and the liberated Astapor had been in conflict for a long time, but Yunkai stood between them, preventing a direct confrontation.
Without the Unsullied, Astapor's army consisted entirely of young, liberated slaves, and it was very weak overall.
Still, it fought back and forth with Yunkai.
Only after Meereen intervened to support Yunkai did Astapor gradually fall behind.
Tyroshi mercenaries entered Meereen and were protected by the Great Lords.
The Great Lords were greedy for dragon eggs and were also enemies of the Targaryens.
Astapor's small council handed over power directly and was willing to follow the Dragon Lord to break through Yunkai and Meereen and liberate all of Slaver's Bay.
"For a nest of dragon eggs, the fuss is a bit too big."
Laena held her forehead with one hand and sighed. "I'm worried that it will be difficult to explain to the king."
"What can I do? Some people insist on seeing the wrath of the dragon."
Aemon smiled and shrugged, indicating that he didn't blame himself.
He said the Targaryens' reputation was "too bad."
Good people get bullied, and there are always people who want to cause trouble.
They want dragon flame, and he will give it to them.
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