The gate held, but the formation’s pressure did not.
Yan crouched beside the drainage channel, one hand on the ground where Mao had traced the line. The mark at the hinge had dimmed. Beyond it, a second blue path ran under the road toward the orchard gate. Its pulse reached him through the stones.
“The pressure is coming from the far side,” Mao said. He held the map with both hands while the archers tested the shield line. “The next anchor may be in the road.”
“Or beyond it,” Yan said.
The bridge captain stepped into view. He had recovered his copper seal staff and now stood on the far side of the gate, where the blue lines met. He did not call out. He lifted the staff, and the formation tightened.
The pressure struck the gate. Its iron strap groaned. The near hinge lifted and settled again.
Wei raised his shield. “Keep the route clear. Mao, stay behind the wall.”
“I can read the map from here.”
