Corvane smiled faintly, a humorless curve of lips. "The currents shift. Storms gather where none should be. Something presses on the weave of the land." His eyes flicked toward Selara. "The lady is not wrong. Bloodbane's shadow lengthens."
The murmurs grew louder until Rhonar raised a hand. The room stilled. His gaze swept the lords — old men, proud men, frightened men — and then settled on the map.
"We can't chase phantoms," he said. "We must decide how to meet them, not argue what they are. So listen well. This is how Heraldran will stand."
The map stretched across the table, its rivers and grain fields lit by torchlight. Duke Rhonar's finger tapped the western crossings.
He pointed to the western edge of the parchment where rivers forked like veins.
"First — the crossings. If Bloodbane enters our lands, it will be through here. Captain Jornas, you will station five hundred riders at the ford. No army marches past those rivers unchallenged."
