Osric's information proved more valuable than any of them had expected.
Two years of frightened observation had given him an intimate map of Cassian's network.
He knew which houses served as drop points. Which patrol routes carried private correspondence. Which merchants were watched more closely than others.
And, most importantly, he knew where his daughter was.
"A farmhouse," Osric said.
He sat at Maren's table with a sheet of paper in front of him, sketching from memory. His hand still trembled occasionally, though he seemed not to notice it anymore.
"Not a garrison."
He drew the rough outline of a house.
"Cassian is careful about that. A garrison makes people ask questions."
He added two small marks beside the structure.
"An ordinary farmhouse with two guards doesn't."
His pencil stopped.
"Nobody thinks to look for a hostage somewhere that ordinary."
Ashe leaned over the drawing.
"How many guards?"
"Two, usually."
Osric swallowed.
