The Flint war room had been running since dawn, and the maps on the long table had stopped being reassuring somewhere around the second report.
A border commander stood at the table's end, reading out the week's blockade summary while the Patriarch listened without moving. The roads were holding, the merchant guilds were turning back on schedule, and then came the part the man had clearly been dreading out loud.
"A coach under the Seliza banner crossed into the region five days ago, my lord. It returned the next morning, and our riders report her trade offices along the south route have begun redirecting caravan schedules."
"Meaning the Serpent intends to open a lane," the Patriarch said quietly, and the room went quieter with him, "our blockade starves nobody if her purse feeds them."
