No one has died, Dany said. "Sir Jorah, I may have need of your blade. Best go don your armor." She was more frightened than she dared admit, even to herself.
The knight bowed. "As you say." He strode from the tent.
Dany turned back to Mirri Maz Duur. The woman's eyes were wary. "So you have saved me once more."
And now you must save him, Dany said. "Please... "
You do not ask a slave, Mirri replied sharply, "you tell her." She went to Drogo burning on his mat, and gazed long at his wound. "Ask or tell, it makes no matter. He is beyond a healer's skills." The khal's eyes were closed. She opened one with her fingers. "He has been dulling the hurt with milk of the poppy."
Yes, Dany admitted.
I made him a poultice of firepod and sting-me-not and bound it in a lambskin.
It burned, he said. He tore it off. The herbwomen made him a new one, wet and soothing.
It burned, yes. There is great healing magic in fire, even your hairless men know that.
Make him another poultice, Dany begged. "This time I will make certain he wears it."
The time for that is past, my lady, Mirri said. "All I can do now is ease the dark road before him, so he might ride painless to the night lands. He will be gone by morning."