Pell reached the embankment shelter ahead of Yan. He gave Oren the count while the search team was still walking the families up from the ferry road.
“Every cart is accounted for,” Pell said. “The marsh driver has a broken leg. The other cart brought two families and a wounded guard across the ferry.”
Oren checked each line on Han’s map. Three local guides had been assigned to different routes, and each had returned with the people in his charge. One guide sat on a supply wagon with his arm wrapped to the elbow. He had used the uninjured hand to point families toward the high trail until the last cart passed.
“You can stop directing now,” Oren told him. “The groups are here.”
“There are still people at the west entrance.”
“They have a guide. You’ve done enough.”
The guide looked at Oren, then at Pell. He lowered his hand. Qinghe’s assistant came over with a stool and helped him down from the wagon.
Oren turned to Yan. He held out the command baton. “Keep it until the defenders regroup.”
