Yan reached the orchard gate approach with the last group of residents already moving behind him.
The second anchor was set into the stone post that held the gate hinge. A bright mark pulsed at its base. The heavy gate leaned a little under the pressure, its iron strap creaking each time the formation surged.
“That post holds the gate,” Mao said. He flattened the training map against the wall. “If you crack it, the gate drops across the retreat lane.”
“Can we move the gate?”
Wei looked at the hinge and shook his head. “Not with the people on this side. We’d need the upper pin out first.”
“Then we don’t hit the post.”
The archers fired from beyond the trees. Wei’s students raised their shields. One arrow struck stone beside Yan’s hand, throwing grit into his face. He blinked it clear and crouched beside the gate.
Mao studied the map. “The blue line bends around the drainage channel here.” He pointed to a narrow strip of ground where the stone gave way to soil. “It doesn’t go straight through the post.”
