Chapter 53

The clatter of bells and galloping hooves resounded in harmony. At the head of the procession, Drogo and Daenerys rode slowly, dragons circling above. Mounted warriors followed behind, the giant Roman holding the center, and the Unsullied infantry guarded the rear. Such a display of force was enough to swallow all enemies of Slaver’s Bay.

On the road to Meereen, Drogo’s expression turned grim as the desolation along the way unfolded before him. The cunning Great Masters had enacted a scorched-earth policy ahead of his advance, harvesting all usable crops and burning the rest. Charred fields and displaced refugees dotted the land.

Most infuriating were the mile markers lining the coastal road from Astapor—on each stood the sun-dried corpses of slave children, nailed in place. A clear message: “You can’t save them all.”