Dusk three days later.
South of Riverrun, west of Red Fork City.
On a hill not far from the west bank of the Red Fork, Duke Tywin's tent stood, a large crimson banner fluttering in the wind, and Tywin Lannister himself sat on a pine chair, overlooking the River Road below.
A small cavalry unit slowly approached from a path in the southern forest, followed by a long train of wagons loaded with grain.
The leader was none other than Gregor Clegane and his extremely vile henchmen; previously, they had followed a shallow ford on the Red Fork to plunder villages near Red Fork City.
A long pine table was set up in front of the Duke, covered with a golden tablecloth, laden with good wine and dishes, and the main knights and vassals of Casterly Rock sat around the wooden table.
"Brother, we are at most a day's journey from Golden Tooth, with ample grain and a large surplus of livestock."
Ever since Count Lyford drowned in the Red Fork, Ser Kevan had taken over the heavy responsibility of managing the army's food supplies; along the way, he had ordered Ser Gregor and his henchmen to leave the main army ahead of time to plunder and gather supplies from the surrounding areas.
Then, further test the attitude of the Riverlands lords to see if there was any deception involved.
This was Duke Tywin's order; Ser Kevan was only responsible for executing it.
The result of the probing was that all the castles of the Riverlands lords were closed, refusing to fight, with only a few scattered soldiers standing on the walls, nervously watching the raiding party burn, kill, and plunder in the villages.
No one dared to offer aid.
Theoretically, this was normal, but Tywin felt it was a bit too normal.
Shouldn't there be some so-called righteous individuals who couldn't stand it and came out to fight Ser Gregor?
The current situation was as if everyone had conspired to send their army away.
Tywin looked at his younger brother, frowned, and said, "Kevan, what about behind us? Have you found anything unusual?"
"Ever since we passed Riverrun, there have been Tully scouts following us from a distance; once we drive them away, they immediately retreat, but this is also a normal phenomenon. According to the intelligence sent by Davos, most of the Riverlands army is besieging Lannisport, so it's understandable for the Tully Family to be nervous with our twenty thousand troops crossing the Riverlands."
Ser Kevan's expression was quite relaxed; since the war began, the army had never been so comfortable.
Even when they were stationed at Harrenhal, Thoros of Myr and Beric Dondarrion would frequently harass their foraging parties.
A twenty-thousand-strong army, half infantry and half cavalry, required a lot of supplies daily for men and horses.
"Hmm."
After thinking for a moment, Tywin felt his brother's words made sense; since the enemy's twenty thousand troops were already besieging Lannisport, the Riverlands must be lightly defended, with at most Roose Bolton's ten thousand men remaining.
The latest news about Old Flayer had been sent from King's Landing to Harrenhal; the letter said he had married Walder Frey's granddaughter in Twin River City, and had even picked the fattest one, receiving silver equal to the bride's weight.
He was probably enjoying a beauty in bed right now.
Hmph, these bumpkins from the North act as if they've never seen gold or silver!
A hint of contempt appeared in Duke Tywin's eyes; he then picked up his wine cup, about to drink, when he suddenly asked, "By the way, Kevan, have the scouts sent ahead to Golden Tooth returned?"
Kevan replied, "No, Ser Harys Swyft only just set off this afternoon; he shouldn't be back tonight."
Originally, he had intended to assign Ser Adam Marbrand of Brandonsburg to this task.
This young man was proactive, strong-willed, an excellent rider and officer.
However, Ser Harys was Kevan's father-in-law, and when he said he wanted to go, Kevan could only agree, only for him to drag his feet and depart in the afternoon, probably intending to spend the night in the city, then casually send someone back to report, while he himself simply didn't return.
Tywin looked at his brother with some dissatisfaction; intelligent as he was, he had already guessed the reason.
But thinking that one of Kevan's sons had just died and another was still held by Stark, he abandoned the idea of reprimanding him, merely saying flatly, "Ser Harys Swyft is old; in the future, don't assign him such arduous tasks."
"Yes, I understand."
A hint of shame appeared in Kevan's eyes, and he nodded.
"Eat!"
Long marches were very arduous; for this reason, Duke Tywin often feasted the lords and knights who had fought alongside him.
As he said, "When someone kneels, you must personally help them up, otherwise no one will be willing to submit again."
The ruthless and extremely controlling Duke Tywin naturally had his own methods of managing his subordinates.
That night, the moon was bright and the stars sparse, and the night sky hung low, dyeing all the banners black.
The Lannister army camps were generally built on hills, stretching for miles, with noisy human voices and neighing horses; numerous campfires dispelled the darkness, and strange or tempting aromas wafted over the camp.
Occasionally, one could hear a girl's piercing scream, and the undisguised laughter of men.
In the dead of night, elite, alert scouts galloped nearby, and patrols carrying torches moved about within the camp.
Even though they were already at their doorstep, they remained heavily guarded and vigilant.
In the morning, pale mist rose in the forest, bringing a bone-chilling cold.
Doo~ doodoodoodoo
A series of horn blasts pierced the mirror-like stillness, the rhythm very urgent, as Duke Tywin urged everyone to depart quickly.
Last night, he tossed and turned, unable to sleep, always feeling a sense of crisis like a cool breeze blowing at his back, so at the first hint of dawn, he ordered the horns to be blown.
He had a bad premonition and decided to reach Golden Tooth as soon as possible.
The horn blasts were like urgent whips, and the soldiers grumbled as they emerged from their tents, packed up, put on light armor according to their officers' commands, checked their weapons, and then bantered with each other to liven up the chilly morning atmosphere.
Archers adjusted their bowstrings and hung full quivers of arrows on their bodies.
Cavalrymen mounted their horses, full of vigor; wealthy cavalrymen even wore heavy armor, as if they were about to go into battle, gathering under the guidance of the standard-bearer.
The Lannister army began to move slowly forward along the River Road.
At the very front were the irregulars.
Their numbers were at least four or five thousand.
Golden Tooth was ahead; Ser Gregor no longer needed to plunder, but instead brandished his greatsword, shouting at the farmers who couldn't maintain formation, or cracking his whip at the free riders who wanted to run wild.
"Besk, if you trash don't walk properly, I'll kill you!"
A middle-aged man with a full beard covered the whip marks on his face, lowered his head, and hid his eyes, which were full of resentment.
Ser Kevan followed closely with the infantry; the front ranks of the formation were densely packed spearmen, who almost occupied all the roads and the flat ground on both sides during the march.
Their long spears pointed diagonally to the sky, glinting like a steel forest.
Archers were in the center of the formation, flanked by infantry wielding long spears, greatswords, and short axes; these men usually wore heavy armor in battle.
During the march, they could only hastily wear leather armor.
These infantry units, numbering over ten thousand, formed a tight but not bloated elongated formation on the road.
The most elite cavalry units and the extremely well-equipped knights of the Westerlands divided into several teams, constantly moving in a circle around Duke Tywin, advancing in sequence through the gaps in the forest.
As Ser Harys Swyft and his retinue had still not returned, the situation ahead was like a mist, unknown.
Duke Tywin, to soothe the throbbing in his heart, sent out several teams of scouts one after another.
They were not only to report to Golden Tooth but also to scout ahead and behind the main army, requiring them to send someone back to report every hour or so.
The sun rose as usual, like a giant red fist striking the sky.
Then, everything lit up.
Duke Tywin's armor shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight, the most conspicuous presence in the army; soldiers at the front would immediately feel at ease if they looked back, while those at the rear would slightly lower their gaze, not daring to stare for long.
Time flowed forward like a rushing river; the scouting cavalry returned in pairs with great regularity, reporting everything they saw, then switching horses and continuing the task.
By the time the sun reached its zenith, Tywin's brows were tightly furrowed.
Because the scouts were late.
Boom, boom, boom, boom
Drums sounded from the front, and in an instant, countless figures suddenly appeared, emerging from hills, forests, ravines, and barren lands, covering the mountains and fields.
Stark's Running Wolf Flags were everywhere.
All around were the white sunbursts of House Karstark, the green-backed black bears of House Mormont, the silver full plate armor of House Glover, the white mermaids of the Manderly Family, Raventree Hall's... and House Frey's grey-backed blue twin towers.
Whoosh~ whoosh~ whoosh whoosh whoosh
As soon as the figures appeared, the horn blasts, like the north wind, were low and long, chilling one's heart, and the sound of hooves mingled in, like thunderclaps in a storm.
Gregor Clegane's cruel eyes scanned around, finding that his front, left, and right sides were already surrounded by a dark mass of cavalry.
Moreover, the enemy, from a higher position, had begun to slowly accelerate, charging towards his forces.
"Cavalry, rally to me!"
"Infantry, charge, charge!"
The Mountain brandished his greatsword, roaring a command as loud as thunder; the voices of thousands echoed in response, then they charged forward with shouts.
The irregulars he commanded were all untrained good-for-nothings, lacking both coordination and much fighting power.
If they remained in formation, their fate would be to be overrun by cavalry and then scatter into deserters across the mountains and fields, to be mercilessly hunted down and killed by the enemy.
It was better to counterattack proactively; this might disrupt the enemy's plan and buy him some time to gather his cavalry.
Those farmers who knew nothing, and the youths who had just gripped longswords, hearing the command, began to charge forward recklessly.
As a seasoned veteran who had long fought on battlefields, Besk, seeing the ambush on three sides, subtly slowed his horse; he wanted to wait for others to die first, then figure out a way to survive.
He was then split in half, man and horse, by the swiftly approaching Mountain's sword.
The headless horse died instantly, falling to the ground, and Besk, bisected at the waist, could only try to stuff his spilling intestines back in with his hands, emitting horrifying, miserable screams that frequently drew attention.
"Those who disobey, die!"
"Those who retreat, die!!"
The Mountain roared, leading his henchmen, galloping around the square formation.
Such cruel and violent actions made the fearful soldiers quicken their pace.
The Lannister army was behind them; if they charged, there was still hope of survival.
If they didn't charge, they would die now!
Tywin shielded his eyes from the sun, gazing at the distant battlefield, which had immediately descended into fierce combat.
The enemy's main cavalry appeared to the southwest, where there was a high slope extending down into a large plain and fields.
To the south and southeast, in the distance, was the surging Red Fork; a few dozen scattered houses stood like decorations, isolated between the river and the road.
A cavalry unit of several hundred men moved there; from a distance, it appeared they were armed with bows and arrows.
To the northwest was a large forest at the foot of the mountains; some light cavalry armed with long spears darted out from between the trees.
Although all the enemies were cavalry, their total number would certainly not exceed seven thousand.
As he watched, a hint of disgust appeared in Duke Tywin's eyes.
House Frey's banner fluttered in the wind.
He couldn't understand how that shameless family, who had married his sister, that clan no different from rats, dared to show their ridiculous claws to the Lion after receiving favors?
"Ser Adam."
Tywin called out.
"I'm here!"
A tall, slender young man with dark bronze, shoulder-length hair responded; he wore a black full plate armor with a gray cloak behind him, and his house sigil was a burning tree with orange flames.
Tywin commanded, "You take two thousand cavalry, go around the plain on the east side of the road, and support Ser Gregor's forces."
"I'll go immediately."
Ser Adam took the order and was about to leave.
"Remember, if they collapse too quickly, abandon the action and return immediately."
"Understood."
Ser Adam nodded, drew his sword, and ordered his retinue to begin assembling the troops; in just a minute or two, an elite cavalry unit, raising dust, thundered away, following the banner in the standard-bearer's hand.
While the irregular forces resisted the surprise attack, the infantry led by Ser Kevan also gradually spread out, like a slowly blooming steel lotus.
The spearmen formed a dense and heavy formation in front; facing a cavalry charge, the archers obediently stayed behind.
The heavily armed units, who could only wear light armor, now had no time to put on their full armor; they stood behind the spearmen, awaiting the enemy's attack.
Tywin spurred his mount to a high point on a hill beside the road, looking at the distant, chaotic, and bloody battle, a cruel glint in his light green eyes flecked with gold.
At this moment, he realized he had fallen into a trap, and vaguely guessed that Golden Tooth had been captured.
That little wolf pup from Stark had used some deceptive messages to lure him, then captured Golden Tooth, intending to ambush him.
What an appetite!
While silently cursing the enemy for overestimating himself, Tywin also scanned the battlefield, looking for an opportunity to win this decisive battle.
The Westerlands soldiers were well-equipped and well-trained; even when ambushed, they could quickly prepare for battle.
Just then, a scout, urging his sweat-soaked horse, galloped over, shouting, "My Lord, Duke!"
"Shut your mouth first!"
Tywin snapped, stopping the man's shouting, and when the man came closer, he asked in a deep voice, "What is it?"
"My Lord, troops have appeared behind us!"
"How many?"
"Leading them are over a thousand cavalry, already close to us, and behind them... behind them are several formations, at least twenty thousand strong, judging by the banners, lords from the North and the Riverlands!"
"Twenty thousand!"
Duke Tywin's normally unruffled face furrowed into a frown.