The next report reached Yan on the ridge as a weak soul-lantern blink from the quarry path. He shaped the projection small and sent it down the narrow gap. It could carry a signal and mark a place; it could not lift a beam or pull anyone from a building.
He let the lantern pass the last wagon. Through its dim sight he found the edge of the settlement and a house with its rear door open. A roof beam creaked above a shed. Someone inside shouted for help.
Yan called Han over. “Deme’s house. His family is still there.”
A scout confirmed it from the slope. Deme had gone back for the heavy tool chest. His mother would not leave without freeing a draft animal trapped in the rear shed. The convoy leader said they could not wait: the bridge was under attack and the road was narrowing.
Yan felt his body turn toward the house before Han answered. He could reach it quickly. He could not leave the ridge empty while the beasts were pressing the line.
“I can go,” he said.
“I need you here until the soldiers contain the loyalists,” Han said. “If you leave, the ridge opens.”
