An army of a hundred and fifty thousand marched onward, winding along a tributary of the Mander River.
The river flowed beside them, supplying the marching troops with water.
Baelor Hightower rode at the head of the army.
His personal guards flanked him, and the banners of House Hightower flew high overhead.
Sunlight fell across the river, dazzling his eyes.
He squinted and raised a hand to shade them.
For some reason, an inexplicable unease kept stirring in his heart.
Could something have happened to the Holy Sword Knights?
He shook his head, pushing the thought aside.
That was a full hundred thousand troops, all well equipped.
The entire Targaryen main force was committed to the north. With troops as elite as the Holy Sword Knights, how could anything have gone wrong?
Though King's Landing was the capital of the Seven Kingdoms, with towering, sturdy walls, its fall was only a matter of time.
At the edge of his vision, the outline of Tumbleton was already faintly visible.
He could even make out the banners flying atop its walls-the striding huntsman of House Tarly, the golden tree on white of House Rowan, and the three castles of House Peake.
Everything looked safe and sound.
The army marched for another half day before finally reaching Tumbleton.
Five thousand troops had been left to defend it.
After all, this was the Reach's bridgehead for its invasion of the Crownlands. The provisions for a hundred thousand troops were stockpiled here; even a larger garrison would have been no surprise.
Baelor approached the gates with his personal guards, reined in his horse, and loudly announced his identity to the commander on the wall, requesting entry to Tumbleton.
Someone leaned out over the wall.
To Baelor's surprise, the man left in command was Earl Crennan.