The King Who Broke Heaven’s Tithe

Chapter 13 The Weight Above Them

“Out from under it,” Brida said.

Tovin looked up from the pile of salvaged nails.

“Leave those. Now.”

He moved just before the first stone fell. It struck the place where he had been crouching and split against the paving. Above the ruined entrance, the gatehouse settled with a slow, grinding sigh.

Daren caught the boy’s shoulder and pulled him into the courtyard.

Brida studied the arch without approaching it.

“The lower beam carried the middle course. That blast burned it hollow.”

“How long?”

She looked at him.

“Stop asking stone how long it intends to stay up.”

He deserved that.

Beyond the entrance, the path climbed around the ravine. If the gatehouse fell outward, they might lose the road. If it fell inward, it would crush the spring channel and open the courtyard to the hillside.

They needed the gate. They needed water more.

“Can we brace it?”

“With two sound timbers as thick as my thigh.”

Daren looked toward the hall roof.

“No,” Brida said.

“I haven’t said anything.”

“You looked.”

She led him to the stables. Four roof supports remained intact. Removing two would leave half the building open to the weather, but the surviving half could shelter the wounded if rain came.

The rest held the last dry sleeping space outside the hall.

Pella listened while Brida explained.

Then she went to move the blankets.

Daren stopped her. “I should tell them.”

“You can tell them while we move.”

He had once given orders to men whose sole occupation was obeying them. Here, explanations and work had to happen together.

Berrit helped carry the first pallet outside, then stopped when Brida asked for volunteers beneath the arch.

“I can lift here,” he said. “I can’t go under that.”

His face had gone pale. Daren recognized the look from men who had survived a collapsed trench and never again managed to enter one.

“Then stay here. Cut packing blocks.”

Berrit waited, as though another sentence must follow. A threat, perhaps, or an explanation of how courage was measured.

Daren handed him a saw.

“Straight cuts. We need them to fit.”

The man sat on a stone and began working. By the time the first support came free, he had made six blocks and arranged them by size.

Daren carried them to the gate himself. He had almost lost a useful pair of hands by expecting them to do the wrong job.

They emptied the stable bay and stripped its roof. Daren tried to climb after Brida, but his burned hand slipped on the first rung.

She pointed toward the ground.

“You call the lifts. I’ll cut.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

Selka organized six adults around the first beam. She had found a straight ash pole to replace her broken sword. For now, it served as a lever.

When she told Jun where to stand, the young woman stepped away.

“I don’t take directions from you.”

Selka went still.

Daren started toward them.

Brida called from the roof. “Jun, stand where she told you unless you want that beam on your foot.”

Jun moved, cheeks red.

No one spoke of it again, but the silence followed them to the gate.

Daren could feel the ward thinning across the arch. His copper scar showed him where warmth was escaping; it did not tell him which stone to remove first.

He described the weak places. Brida tested them with a plumb line.

“Here,” she said at last. “We lift the center just enough to seat the brace.”

They built a low crib of stone beneath the beam. The ash pole bent as six people leaned their weight against it.

The arch rose a finger’s width.

“Hold.”

Daren pushed the brace forward with his shoulder.

A grinding sound came from inside the wall.

He looked up and saw a second crack opening behind the first.

“Back!”

The lever snapped.

One end struck Selka across the mouth. The beam dropped against Daren’s shoulder, pinning him to the crib. Pain drove the breath from his chest.

Above him, a stone began to slide.

Brida seized a wedge.

Tovin ran forward with another.

“Stay clear!” Daren shouted.

The boy stopped, torn between the order and the sight of the falling stone.

“Throw it,” Brida said.

He threw.

She caught the wedge, drove it beneath the beam, and hammered it home with three blows. The timber lifted enough for Daren to crawl free.

The sliding stone struck the crib instead of his back.

For several breaths, the courtyard contained only coughing.

Selka spat blood, then counted the workers. Everyone answered.

Daren sat against the trough until he could breathe without making a sound.

Tovin stood a few paces away, hands clenched.

“I could have reached you.”

“And the stone could have reached you,” Daren said.

The boy stared at the ground.

Daren made himself soften his voice.

“You helped because you listened to Brida. That’s the part I need you to learn.”

They finished the brace by lowering the unstable stones deliberately, one at a time. The gateway became shorter and narrower. It looked less like a fortress entrance and more like a cattle passage.

It stood.

Near noon, Brida laid a broken fragment from the arch beside Daren.

A narrow bronze tube ran through its center.

He had mistaken it for reinforcement until she turned it over.

There were teeth along one end.

“Not a brace,” she said. “Part of the old tithe works.”

From somewhere under the courtyard came a faint answering click.