The morning sun broke over Cloudford Town, cold, crisp, and clear as river crystal.
Along the main wharf of the Yun River. There, the Zhao Clan operated its main iron export wharves and four cavernous timber warehouses, the daily commerce of the riverfront came to an abrupt, frozen halt.
From the western avenue, a disciplined military file marched onto the riverfront.
At their front walked Pei Jing.
He was dressed in a clean, dark wool tunic over his grey homespun trousers. His sharkskin belt buckled was tight, the twenty-two-pound Cloud-Splitter Cleaver-Saber resting horizontally across his right shoulder.
Beside him walked Second Son Pei Lang, his uninjured arm resting on his broadsword handle.
Behind them marched twenty Pei Clan guards in full studded leather armor. They held iron-tipped spears and box-shaped ash-wood shields.
And in the center of the formation, two guards pushed a flat-bedded wooden handcart.
