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The Kingsroad. Yellow banners bearing nine black bats snapped in the wind as Arthur's party rode south at a brisk pace.
Wherever the bat banners appeared, merchants, wagons, and travelers automatically cleared the way.
"It's the Whent banners—make way!"
Travelers from King's Landing or the Reach glanced at the procession with puzzled looks. What wind had blown the bats of Harrenhal all the way down here?
The black bat sigil belonged to only one house in the Seven Kingdoms.
On the open road, surrounded entirely by his own people, Arthur no longer had to worry about the Spider's spies.
From what he understood, Varys's network worked much like Littlefinger's: the more commercial and crowded the place, the thicker the web of eyes and ears. Gold dragons bought informants easily among servants, sailors, fools, and even knights.
The Spider had agents in Dragonstone's harbor, Oldtown, Highgarden, Sunspear, and Gulltown. In King's Landing he even kept an elite squad of "little birds" as his ace in the hole.
Avoiding the Spider was simple enough—do what Littlefinger did and take important conversations deep into the woods, or what Doran did and hide away in the Water Gardens. No witnesses, no leaks.
"What's your connection to the old Tristimont?" Arthur asked, calling the young hedge knight closer.
The name was rare enough to make him curious.
Old Tristimont had been commander of the coastal patrol around Dragonstone during the Mad King's reign, tasked with hunting smugglers. For any smuggler, the arrival of Ser Tristimont meant death.
"That was my father," young Tristimont answered quietly, a little embarrassed. "After he died in the great storm off Dragonstone, our family lost all its connections at court. My father was honest, so we had no money saved. I spent everything I had just to become a knight."
Arthur's eyes brightened. So this was the son of an old acquaintance.
But fortune had turned. The smuggler Davos had risen to become the Knight of the Rainwood and Stannis's trusted man, while the son of the former coastal commander had fallen into poverty after the Targaryens collapsed.
The sack of King's Landing by Tywin had wiped out most of the old royalist families in the capital. That this boy had survived at all was luck. Even those who lived rarely helped him—that was why he had ended up a hedge knight.
"And ships? The coastline?" Arthur pressed.
"I know a fair bit. When I was small I often sailed with my father. I'm no professional sailor, but I've slept on deck more nights than I can count."
Arthur felt a quiet surge of satisfaction. He had stumbled onto a rare naval talent.
He already had plenty of longship men—Harrenhal had maintained its own fleet for years. What he lacked were officers experienced with larger ocean-going vessels.
And now one had dropped right into his lap. Perfect for building a reserve of talent.
With this addition, the Dark Knight company was truly complete: first-rate knights and a man with real potential to command fleets.
Arthur and his party rode hard along the Kingsroad, stopping near Tumblestone to resupply.
"A miserable little town," Arthur murmured as his eyes swept over the modest riverside settlement.
Before the Dance of the Dragons, Tumblestone had been a prosperous market town with shops, septs, and inns—including the famous "Blood Briar" and "Dirty Badger."
But two dragon battles and the brutal sack by the Green army had left it ruined. It had never recovered.
House Footly had suffered terribly as well. During the Dance, the Greens had executed surrendering town soldiers. Ser Jon Roxton, wielder of the "Orphan-Maker," had even claimed the lord's wife and cut the lord down.
The lady later gave birth to a boy of uncertain parentage—many believed the child was Roxton's.
The once-promising town had become just another backwater.
The Footlys were warm and courteous hosts. Their sigil was a black field strewn with silver caltrops.
When they learned a party bearing the Whent bat had arrived, Lord Footly hurried out to offer the best service he could.
If you wanted to enjoy life, the Reach still ranked first in the Seven Kingdoms.
Arthur's journey was not rushed; he allowed time for sightseeing.
He had hoped to experience the pleasure barges on the Mander, but that would have to wait.
"The Mander's flow is enormous and the river is wide, but the current is slow and there are many sandbars and shallows. Navigation is difficult and requires skilled pilots," Lord Footly explained as he escorted them. "Upstream the river is muddy and winding. From Bitterbridge to Highgarden only shallow-draft boats can pass. Only near Highgarden does the water become calm and clear enough for larger ocean vessels. We are upstream of Bitterbridge, near the Mander's source. Here the river is even harder to navigate—only small rafts and longboats are practical."
With so many men, splitting them onto tiny boats made no sense. Riding was faster.
"I see," Arthur said, glancing at the Mander's surface. The mudflats and hidden sandbars were obvious.
He studied the hydrology carefully. Reading books was one thing; seeing the land with his own eyes was another. One never knew when such knowledge might prove useful.
Larger longships only became feasible once they reached Bitterbridge.
The Mander had three clear sections: Lord Footly's Tumblestone, Bitterbridge, and Highgarden.
"Thank you for your hospitality, my lord. We've troubled you enough," Arthur said as they prepared to leave.
"I'm sorry I could not provide you with a proper longship," Lord Footly replied. He had his servants load the party with extra fresh water, fried fish, ale, and beer as a parting gift.
It wasn't only because of Arthur's noble status. The lord genuinely admired the young knight's talent.
Arthur Whent was the champion of the Dragonstone Squire's Tourney, witnessed by the King and the Hand himself. His reputation was undeniable.
Lord Footly was only too happy to treat such a rising star well.
"You have the makings of an exceptional knight, young master. It is my honor to host a future legend," the lord said sincerely.
Legends were rare. To meet one at the very beginning of his story was a privilege.
"If our schedule had allowed, we would have stayed longer," Arthur replied with genuine gratitude. He had eaten and drunk well at the lord's expense.
"You are welcome to visit again on your return. I would be honored to host a rising star. True legends are scarce in our time—men like the Dragonknight or Leo Longthorn appear once in a century," Lord Footly said graciously.
Had House Footly possessed a suitable boy and not feared Harrenhal's curse, they would have tried to send a squire with Arthur.
Arthur and his party left Tumblestone and continued south along the Kingsroad, heading deeper into the Reach.
"The people of the Reach are wealthy. They value knightly ideals and, like the Valemen, place great importance on courtesy," Wylis observed.
"Courtesy, fine clothes, perfume, and flowers—none of that makes a legendary warrior," Ser Lucas laughed, then took a swig from his waterskin.
The knight spoke the truth. Arthur couldn't help thinking of Renly's style of knighthood.
Ser Lucas counted on his fingers. "Since Aegon's Conquest, the Reach has produced maybe three true legends: Ryam Redwyne, Leo Longthorn, and the White Bull Gerold Hightower."
He wasn't simply voicing Dornish prejudice against the Reach.
Setting aside the warlike Marcher lords and the famously fierce Tarly and Peake families, most Reach houses were indeed a little soft.
Legendary warriors had always been rare.
In the three centuries since the Conquest, the Reach had produced only three or four men worthy of the title GOAT, and even those came from just a handful of houses.
By comparison, even without counting the Targaryens—who produced both legends and madmen on a regular basis—the Stormlands alone could boast at least five: Orys, Rogar, Borys, the Laughing Storm, and Robert.
House Dayne had produced two famous Swords of the Morning—Ulrick during the Blackfyre Rebellion and Arthur under the Mad King.
No wonder the Stormlanders, Valemen, and Dornish looked down on the Reach's martial reputation.
The Reach had the largest population, yet so few of its knights ever broke into the realm's legendary tier.
That was why Mace Tyrell was so desperate to breed a second "Longthorn"—he needed to restore the Reach's—and House Tyrell's—prestige.
As for the Riverlands, Bloodraven and Bittersteel had certainly been monsters, but they had also been half-dragon.
The party rode and chatted, the journey pleasant.
The next town was not far—House Caswell's Bitterbridge.