The rear cart carried a wounded group that could not walk the bridge quickly. Its two wheels rattled over the stones, and the wounded men inside held onto the side rails as river spray darkened the boards.
Han pointed to the driver. “Cross first. Two defenders walk beside the wheels. Keep the left side clear.”
The driver swallowed and guided the horse forward. At the center, one wheel struck a seam and turned sideways. The cart began to lean toward the river.
Yan caught the side rail with his shoulder. The wood bit into his coat, but the cart stopped tipping. He pushed upward while the defenders lifted the wheel back onto the stones.
“Slowly,” Han said. “The wheel is on the edge. Give it room.”
The driver eased the reins. One defender held the horse’s bridle while the other watched the wheel. The cart moved again, inch by inch.
Inside, a wounded soldier gripped the rail until his knuckles went pale. “Don’t let it turn.”
“We have it,” Yan said. He stayed at the side until the wheel reached level stone, then let go. “Keep moving.”
