Diana quickly scanned a map spread out on the long oak table in the main hall of the Grand Duke's mansion. The Vorah coat of arms was still intact on the tapestry above the fireplace, but the fine dust and smell of ash that permeated the air made it clear that nothing had been untouched by the recent chaos. The city lay in ruins, but it still pulsed—albeit weakly—with the collective effort to survive.
"We need three platoons in the west wing by late afternoon," she said, without looking up. "The rubble from the Maran bridge is preventing supply shipments from arriving. If we don't open a corridor by tomorrow, the inner neighborhoods will begin to suffer from hunger and unrest."
Across the table, a young lieutenant in dirty armor nodded, sweating under the weight of responsibility. "I've already sent two Citizen Guard squads, milady, but... the survivors from the nearby towers are in a panic. Many of the soldiers have scattered to help their families."
