Oren’s first tally left two carts unaccounted for. He spread Han’s map across a crate at the west-road junction and called guide Pell over. Yan stood beside them, listening as the road noise faded behind the embankment.
“The lower branch skirts the marsh,” Pell said. He set a finger on the narrow line. “It floods after rain, but the ground is dry today. We should see the wheel marks before the reeds.”
Oren tapped the second route. “And this one?”
“Windbreak, then the old ferry. If the bridge road was blocked, a driver might have taken it.”
Yan looked past the junction. “The light is already dropping. We take the marsh road first. If the wheel line continues beyond it, Pell and I will follow the ferry trail.”
Oren gave him three searchers and a small lantern. “I’ll stay here with the wounded and keep the convoy moving. Send word before you split.”
The four of them took the narrow branch. Pell walked ahead, reading the ground. The path dipped between scrub and low reeds. A shallow pool covered the middle of it, but the edges were firm. The marks of a cart went through the mud and came out the other side, skewed toward the reeds.
