Rhydian Arkwright found the first patrol shortage on the relay yard map.
The eastern road had been covered by twelve family riders. Their markers were gone. Orren Arkwright had moved six Arkwright guards into the empty route and left the supply column with half its intended escort.
Rain softened the charcoal lines beneath his hand.
“Stop dripping on it,” Orren said.
“You are holding it in the rain.”
“I was given twelve minutes to repair your political judgment.”
Rhydian folded the map before more water reached it. “You agreed with the judgment.”
“I agree that biting frightened women to improve dinner conversation is inefficient. I did not agree to losing seventy riders before dessert.”
Behind them, family vehicles pulled away from the relay hall.
Servants loaded travel trunks into
