Korrin’s plan was short, because all his plans were. He had learned long ago that a plan with a clause in it was a plan somebody was going to lose a finger to, and he had never once been willing to hand a clause to anyone who would use it against him. He stood at the end of the Chamber table with his hands flat on the oak, where the Watch had not yet thought to take them away, and he gave the plan in the same order it had lived in his head since the first morning on the marsh road.
“The Lessary granary at the Lantern Ford toll-house,” he said. “The Crown’s grain for the marsh. It sits in a stone shed with a bar on the door and a clerk on a stool outside it. The marsh is starving. The Hold has eight Hands and a wall. Open the shed. Take the grain. Load it on the carts. Bring the carts up the causeway before the Hunt-Wardens have finished counting their bolts.”
He said it in imperatives, one to a breath, as he had said everything since the Hard Hands were a company of four in a marsh raid and there was no time for anything but orders. When Gaunt objected, Korrin said it again with the same verbs. When Gaunt objected a second time, Korrin said it a third time and added the names of the men who would carry the bars.
