James did not tell him who they were. He put both hands on the parapet and read the ground instead, and it took him about four seconds to find the thing that was killing this settlement.
It was not the wolves, it was the wagon. The overturned cart lay across the inside of the main arch with its load spilled under it, and it had taken half the gateway out of service.
What was left ran four people wide, and two thousand people wanted through it, so the ones at the front were being pushed into the gap by the weight of everyone behind them. A woman was down on the cobbles with somebody's boot on her wrist, and two guards had their shoulders against the crowd trying to make a space that would not stay made.
Beyond the walls, the last refugee groups were still out in the open and running, and the war wolves were faster than they were.
