Beltain, with Percy in the saddle before him, and next to him the Duke of Plaimes, had been making their way along the main road leading past occasional settlements and mostly cropland blanketed by snow. As they were further removed from the Silver Court, traffic became somewhat sparse in their direction, with only an occasional peasant cart clattering south, while many more were headed north toward the Silver Court. Bundled pedestrians on foot—usually entire households, by the looks of their large packs of belongings—moved past them rapidly, giving the two great knights and their warhorses a wide berth. More than a few swift carriages flew by, carrying frightened Morphaea aristocrat families toward the relative safety of the Silver Court’s massive walls. News of the war was spreading like a flame. At one point, the noise of clanging metal came up ahead, and the length of the road about a mile in the distance shone bright with bristling long steel in the sun. Pikemen were coming in columns, followed by arquebusiers and musketeers, all infantry ranks moving at a running trot march, and judging by their tan and teal uniform coats and their banners they were soldiers of Morphaea.
