The mist still clung to the water when Batu reached the crossing point. It hung low over the current, thick enough that the far bank showed only as a darker shape beyond the white. The wall was still hidden. So was the gate.
Along the near shore, a dozen rafts waited where they had been tied together before dawn, already loaded and ready to move.
Zhao met him at the edge of the river, mud caked over his boots past the ankles, one hand resting against the nearest rope.
"They held all night," he said. "Full loads, too. The current pulled at them the whole time and they never drifted apart. If they could survive that, they can survive this."
"And the break in the bank?"
"Still the only place a horse can climb. I marked it before, nothing's changed."
Torghul was already in the saddle, his horse shifting beneath him in impatient circles while his hands kept the reins moving.
"Every raft's sitting here waiting, and we're still talking about whether they float."
