The Army of the East snaked along the road, a column of blue that stretched for miles through a country of brown, red, and gold. Autumn had come to the valley of the Velt, and the neat checkerboard of farms and orchards on either side of the road had gone from endless green to a ruddier palette. Here and there, a field of late grain still gleamed yellow in the sun, but most of the harvest was in, and the furrowed land left fallow or planted with winter crops. Breaking up the dark brown of bare earth were the fruit trees, apples, pears, and cherries, whose leaves had turned a riot of red and gold. Neat fenced-in orchards sported row after tidy row, their perfect order mocking the loose discipline of the soldiers marching past.

More surprising to Winter were the people, farmers and their families, who stood behind those fences to watch the army troop past as though on parade. Young boys yelled their approval and waved wildly, attracting waves in return from the bemused Vordanai troops. When they passed through villages—always laid out on perfect grids, with neat streets lined by half-timbered houses and the inevitable Sworn Church with its spire at the center—it seemed as though the entire population had turned out to line the route.

It was a far cry from the march through Khandar, where the civilian population had fled or hidden as the armies approached. Given what the Redeemers had done to anyone they suspected of disloyalty, Winter couldn’t blame the Khandarai, nor could she wonder that they’d expected retribution from the Vordanai when they returned. But this was the Free Cities League, where war had for generations been a gentleman’s pursuit, carried out with due attention to the sensibilities of the local inhabitants.

“They don’t even seem angry with us,” Winter said to Cyte as they rode down the length of the trudging infantry column.

“This is Deslandai territory,” Cyte said. Winter had learned to consult the ex-University student when it came to matters of history or politics, which were usually perfectly opaque to her. “Desland has always been a shaky member of the League. There’s a lot more Vordanai language and influence here than farther north, even if they are Elysian.”

“It didn’t stop their troops from fighting against us.”

“I doubt the Grand Council in Hamvelt gave them a choice,” Cyte said. “Hamvelt has been more or less running the League since the War of the Princes.”