Marcus pauses, then leans forwards in his chair. How many of them have stared at these maps for too long, knowing exactly the shifting lines of enemy territory, how long it takes a griffon to fly from here to there, the locations of their eluvians? He can do that math quicker than getting through a page of reports, certainly.

"Sit," he says, brusque but not impatient, without looking up, reaching to tap ash into ashtray. The implication is obvious. He still has questions. "What's known of them?"