The room holding the command table sat by the barracks, inside a stone building that had once served as a quartermaster's office. That had been back when Ashmark still maintained supply routes through people who understood logistics instead of merely surviving them.
The room was already lit by the time the twenty-one captains gathered around the central table.
The map took up almost the entire surface.
It was professional work. Not the kind of map soldiers sketched from memory after patrols, but one made by a trained surveyor. The ink lines were clean, the distances measured carefully, every label written in a hand that was taught in calligraphy.
Lewin's people had recovered it from one hideout in the warehouse district, sealed inside oilcloth and locked away in a cabinet.
Harvin Coss had spent decades building his network through this territory. A man couldn't manage a protectorate like that without understanding the region in detail.
