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"I'm really afraid of what those eastern partners will say when they get back," Menyx muttered as he shoved another sheet of parchment aside. "They're going to have to cough up three hundred thousand gold dragons."
"It's a deal," Viserys replied with a faint smile, thinking back on the whole thing.
He had only learned after returning to Volantis that the envoys from Astapor's Good Masters had already arrived with their offer before he did.
The grotesquely fat Ghiscari with the booming voice had proposed to Daenerys and Menyx that they buy eight thousand Unsullied to fight in their wars.
Those Ghiscari had an uncanny nose for profit.
His wife had negotiated skillfully, using Astapor's lack of other wealthy buyers to slash their inflated price by a full quarter.
No surprise. Qarth had its own citizen militia, other Free Cities were either cut off by Lys or forced to detour through the smoke-choked Stepstones, and the smaller settlements could never scrape together that kind of coin.
Daenerys had agreed on the spot. When Viserys returned, he confirmed the deal with his own authority.
The three Triarchs of the First Daughter struck a bargain with Astapor's flesh merchants. The Ghiscari left his simpering nephew behind in Volantis and sailed home with fifty thousand gold dragons.
As a token of a successful, mutually beneficial transaction, he also gifted Daenerys a slave-girl translator fluent in several languages—one even the Keeper of the Foundation had praised highly.
Daenerys accepted the gift gladly.
Soon a well-equipped army that could rival the finest on the continent would fight for Viserys.
Why did even a city like Qohor rely solely on Unsullied for defense?
There were plenty of reasons. They were superbly trained, their morale never wavered, and the citizens cared nothing for slave casualties.
Filling the ranks with Unsullied seemed the smartest move.
That was probably what Daenerys had been thinking when she agreed to the deal.
Viserys had approved her decision for the same reason.
But eunuch slaves alone could never conquer two cities, let alone the Seven Kingdoms.
This transaction had finally crystallized a plan Viserys had been turning over in his mind for some time.
Astapor's power rested on the ancient Ghiscari legions.
Those legions had once made half of Essos tremble and had cost the old dragonlords a terrible price.
Only when the Valyrians studied and perfected the system did they achieve a decisive turning point in their struggle for world dominance against the Ghiscari.
What had brought eternal glory and endless wealth to the great Freehold had never been sellswords or militias, but professional soldiers who devoted their lives to sword, armor, and iron discipline… and, of course, dragons.
Since their last meeting, his dragons had clearly grown. That much was undeniable.
The black Aeksion was now the size of a true beast, worthy of the name "Bull"!
But it was still too early to send him into battle.
He had to make the best use of the forces he already possessed.
He had to fundamentally reassess his grip on military affairs.
The small-scale skirmishes in the Disputed Lands that had helped him seize the Black Stone Throne were no longer enough for the challenges ahead.
He knew it was time for decisive action and sweeping reforms.
And he was not afraid to walk that unknown road.
"Menyx, I have to go," Viserys said, rising from his seat with a satisfied stretch.
"Looks like I…" the co-ruler replied with a sour face, "have a difficult conversation with the city treasurer ahead of me."
"Yes. You should notify him. Remember…"
"No compromises."
"Exactly."
The two co-Triarchs parted ways, both knowing their day's work was far from finished.
Renigar needed to issue orders to the treasurer.
Viserys, meanwhile, was heading out of the city toward… he hoped, the place where forgotten history was being brought back to life.
The streets of Volantis no longer hummed with the same fervor they had shown when he marched out.
Viserys occasionally spotted black mourning clothes and boarded-up windows.
The people of the First Daughter were grieving fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers lost in the Disputed Lands and along the Dead River.
Citizens greeted the Triarch, but without their old enthusiasm.
The cheers were much weaker, stripped of passion, and far fewer voices rose at all.
But what did it matter?
Just minutes earlier he and Renigar had finalized the new tariffs and taxes.
Greatness never came cheap, but that was not the sort of truth you could explain to ordinary folk.
Still, at every major crossroads Viserys encountered red priests.
The servants of the Lord of Light gathered dozens or hundreds of people at various points, preaching day and night.
They spoke of the world's crisis, of the vile servants of ancient evil gods.
They spoke of the greatness R'hllor had granted Volantis's three Triarchs, of every subject's duty to obey him and his sister, of the righteousness of loyal service to those favored by the god.
It was at these crossroads that the Triarch's guards heard the loudest cheers, and it was here that people still swore their loyalty aloud.
Viserys was extremely reluctant to lean on Benerro, his fanatics, and that bloodthirsty god.
That night, that ritual, that bonfire… were seared forever into his memory.
Every time he tried to shove the memories away, they came rushing back.
Were the gods seeking revenge for that son at the Dead River?
He could only force himself to forget through sheer willpower.
And as the painful memories faded, equally tormenting thoughts about the future took their place.
Was everything he had conceived and set in motion truly enough to win?
There was no simple answer.
Upon returning to Volantis, Viserys had shocked every subject with a new decree.
People had expected him to keep fighting, to call up fresh militias to replace the fallen… but few understood what the announcement of four new legions actually meant.
The Volantenes watched in stunned silence as Benerro's priests blessed the bright new banners, as the city's Triarch appointed the first centurions in centuries.
Everyone had heard how, during the Century of Blood, Volantis's legions had marched in support of the struggle over primogeniture.
Everyone had also read how the Elephant Party later disbanded the legions and abolished the centurions to prevent any mutiny that might threaten their rule.
And now legions had returned to the city, along with their commanders, and long-forgotten commands once again echoed through the streets.
At first it all seemed like the ravings of a madman, a pitiful attempt to revive something long dead.
How the world received it would decide many things.
But his call had not gone unanswered.
Soon men eager to take up sword and spear poured into Volantis.
The first to arrive were the veterans of the Dragon Claw Company whom Viserys had previously disbanded along the Rhoyne. Most had never truly adapted to farm life.
For them the warrior's life was habit, a familiar calling.
They returned to the battlefield they had left with genuine joy.
Besides the Dragon Claw men, veterans from other companies also yearned to take up their old trade.
Viserys selected sergeants, junior commanders, instructors, and core troops from these experienced, battle-hardened candidates.
Unexpectedly, the next wave came from the penniless freedmen.
The gods had never smiled upon them. They had nothing left to lose but their lives.
They longed to fight.
Some hoped for honor, some for plunder, others for a share of land after the war.
The promise of post-war land distribution quickly sparked enormous interest among the lower classes.
Following the common folk of Volantis came those weary of bending their backs in the vast plantations of the old-blood nobles, and free citizens who could not compete with slave artisans.
Viserys and his heralds stoked their desires, promising every veteran a fertile plot and resettlement aid after victory.
Then Benerro, through his followers, declared at every corner and crossroads that rebuilding the legions was pleasing to the god.
Thus many fanatical believers of the red god rushed to join Volantis's banner to fight eternal evil and its accomplices.
However, Viserys specifically ordered that the red priests themselves not be allowed to join the legions.
The Triarch did not want his new army to become an army of the Lord of Light's priests.
The true light must have understood his intent and chosen to avoid conflict.
At this moment, on the plains outside Volantis—where half a year earlier endless barbarian hordes had camped—regular military drills were taking place for the first time in years.
Everything followed the ancient teachings of Daemon Velaryon.
The Second Legion, composed mainly of Volantene citizens, had constructed field fortifications, while the elite First Legion stood ready in full armor, prepared to charge.
They were only waiting for him—
And now, it seemed, they had not waited in vain.