The Iron Bank

Heavy infantry might look terrifying, but terror on that scale was bought with coin. An army could win battles. Coin decided whether it lived long enough to fight the next one.

At the time, supplying a hundred-man company had already pushed Ronan to his limit. With money tight, he could not afford to expand carelessly.

The Blood Wolf Cavalry also needed large numbers of fine horses. Now that he had taken in the Dothraki, that particular expense had eased.

The trouble was everything that came with them.

A khalasar was not just warriors and horses. It was mouths, tents, families, servants, wounded men, old men, children, and all the small necessities that turned an army into a moving people.

The Dothraki were nomads who produced little of what they consumed. Most of their costs were pushed onto whoever they raided or threatened into paying.

If a city lord one day refused protection money, people would die. Leaving the lifeblood of his resources in someone else's hands was never a sound plan.

And Ronan meant to arm those nomad warriors properly. That extra burden was not something any magister or great lord would willingly cover.

Everything had to come from him. Raiding could keep men fed, but it would not solve the real problem.

Only by controlling the source of wealth himself could he build in peace. Most of Essos's wealth flowed through maritime trade. The merchants who controlled the main routes were the ones whose coffers overflowed.

Sooner or later, ports would have to become part of his plans. Moving on them too openly, however, would invite the Free Cities to unite against him.

Until he had the strength to survive the answer, that was not worth considering. But pressure could be applied slowly, quietly, until everyone realized too late what had changed.

On that point, Ronan already had ideas. Before any of that, he might have to borrow money.

His thoughts turned to the Iron Bank of Braavos, the richest lender in the world.

Whether his standing as a sellsword captain was enough to get him through the door remained to be seen. If nothing else worked, he could always offer the service of the Dothraki as collateral.

It was not as if he intended to repay the loan. Once he grew strong enough, taking the Iron Bank by force would not be impossible either.

A shameless plan took shape in his mind. If he wanted to equip his army quickly, he had to take risks.

This time, he brought no one with him. Alone, he was safer. In disguise, Ronan looked like a nobleman's son wandering the world.

Five gold coins bought him the captain's best cabin and enough privacy to rest through the voyage.

Money, he had to admit, was a fine thing. It bought attentive service from the captain and a clear view of the sea all the way across.

Unfortunately, it did not buy immunity from seasickness. Some problems coin could not solve. After several uneasy weeks, he finally stepped onto the soil of Braavos.

Braavos, a city of islands and canals, was surrounded by sea on every side and stood as the strongest of the Free Cities.

Braavos was said to be the only Free City that did not permit slavery, a principle rooted in the city's own founding.

Of course, wherever people gathered, bondage found new names for itself. The humiliation simply wore a different profession.

Braavos had two important harbors. The Purple Harbor admitted only Braavosi ships, while Ragman's Harbor served foreign merchants. Before entering, those foreign ships had to pass inspection by the Sealord's officials at Chequy Port.

That careful scrutiny helped keep the city safe. At least in wartime, it made smuggling in large numbers of enemy soldiers nearly impossible.

The waters near Braavos were enclosed by mountains and islands, leaving only a natural waterway through the stone. Fortresses and defenses guarded the passage on every side.

Taking Braavos by force had never been easy. Once inside the city, Ronan saw countless islands joined by bridges of every shape.

Near the heart of Braavos stood the Isle of the Gods, crowded with shrines and statues.

It was a place where every god seemed to have found a foothold.

The temple of the Moonsingers drew his eye most. Its stone maiden rose high enough to echo the Titan itself, as if the goddess were being framed beneath an arch of pale stone.

The Moonsingers clearly held an important place in Braavosi hearts. After the long voyage and the city's many sights, Ronan at last reached his destination: the Iron Bank of Braavos.

Like a bank from a later age, its service was meticulous. The dangerous part was how much intelligence it held. The Iron Bank knew far too much about every borrower who entered its halls.

Within three minutes of Ronan's arrival, before he had even introduced himself, the man receiving him had already identified both reputations attached to his name. A rising warrior. A bloodthirsty sellsword captain.

"Greetings, Captain Harrow. You may call me Bavan. It is my pleasure to serve you. How much do you wish to borrow?"

"How much can I borrow?"

Bavan tilted his head as if calculating. In truth, his eyes never stopped studying Ronan.

Every representative of the Iron Bank learned that skill early: measure the borrower, then find the angle that best served the bank.

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