A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

you?” Dany asked her.
    â€œI am named Mirri Maz Duur. I am godswife of this temple.”
    â€œMaegi,”
grunted Haggo, fingering his
arakh
. His look was dark. Dany remembered the word from a terrifying story that Jhiqui had told her one night by the cookfire. A
maegi
was a woman who lay with demons and practiced the blackest of sorceries, a vile thing, evil and soulless, who came to men in the dark of night and sucked life and strength from their bodies.
    â€œI am a healer,” Mirri Maz Duur said.
    â€œA healer of sheeps,” sneered Qotho. “Blood of my blood, I say kill this
maegi
and wait for the hairless men.”
    Dany ignored the bloodrider’s outburst. This old, homely, thick-bodied woman did not look like a
maegi
to her. “Where did you learn your healing, Mirri Maz Duur?”
    â€œMy mother was godswife before me, and taught me all the songs and spells most pleasing to the Great Shepherd, and how to make the sacred smokes and ointments from leaf and root and berry. When I was younger and more fair, I went in caravan to Asshai by the Shadow, to learn from their mages. Ships from many lands come to Asshai, so I lingered long to study the healing ways of distant peoples. A moonsinger of the Jogos Nhai gifted me with her birthing songs, a woman of your own riding people taught me the magics of grass and corn and horse, and a maester from the Sunset Lands opened a body for me and showed me all the secrets that hide beneath the skin.”
    Ser Jorah Mormont spoke up. “A maester?”
    â€œMarwyn, he named himself,” the woman replied in the Common Tongue. “From the sea. Beyond the sea. The Seven Lands, he said. Sunset Lands. Where men are iron and dragons rule. He taught me this speech.”
    â€œA maester in Asshai,” Ser Jorah mused. “Tell me, Godswife, what did this Marwyn wear about his neck?”
    â€œA chain so tight it was like to choke him, Iron Lord, with links of many metals.”
    The knight looked at Dany. “Only a man trained in the Citadel of Oldtown wears such a chain,” he said, “and such men do know much of healing.”
    â€œWhy should you want to help my
khal?”
    â€œAll men are one flock, or so we are taught,” replied Mirri Maz Duur. “The Great Shepherd sent me to earth to heal his lambs, wherever I might find them.”
    Qotho gave her a stinging slap. “We are no sheep,
maegi.”
    â€œStop it,” Dany said angrily. “She is mine. I will not have her harmed.”
    Khal Drogo grunted. “The arrow must come out, Qotho.”
    â€œYes, Great Rider,” Mirri Maz Duur answered, touchingher bruised face. “And your breast must be washed and sewn, lest the wound fester.”
    â€œDo it, then,” Khal Drogo commanded.
    â€œGreat Rider,” the woman said, “my tools and potions are inside the god’s house, where the healing powers are strongest.”
    â€œI will carry you, blood of my blood,” Haggo offered.
    Khal Drogo waved him away. “I need no man’s help,” he said, in a voice proud and hard. He stood, unaided, towering over them all. A fresh wave of blood ran down his breast, from where Ogo’s
arakh
had cut off his nipple. Dany moved quickly to his side. “I am no man,” she whispered, “so you may lean on me.” Drogo put a huge hand on her shoulder. She took some of his weight as they walked toward the great mud temple. The three bloodriders followed. Dany commanded Ser Jorah and the warriors of her
khas
to guard the entrance and make certain no one set the building afire while they were still inside.
    They passed through a series of anterooms, into the high central chamber under the onion. Faint light shone down through hidden windows above. A few torches burnt smokily from sconces on the walls. Sheepskins were scattered across the mud floor. “There,” Mirri Maz Duur said, pointing to the altar, a massive blue-veined stone carved with images of shepherds and their flocks. Khal Drogo lay upon it. The old woman threw a handful of dried leaves onto a brazier, filling the chamber with fragrant smoke. “Best if you wait outside,” she told the rest of them.
    â€œWe are blood of his blood,” Cohollo said. “Here we wait.”
    Qotho stepped close to Mirri Maz Duur. “Know this, wife of the Lamb God. Harm the
khal
and you suffer the same.” He drew his skinning knife and