The King Who Broke Heaven’s Tithe

Chapter 30 The Weight That Came Home

Daren found the cut branch before he found the men.

It lay across the charcoal path with its pale wood turned downward, a poor attempt to make yesterday’s work look old. Beyond it, the track narrowed between a rock shelf and a steep bank leading to the ford.

He stopped the mule train behind the bend.

“Stay here,” he told Vann. “Keep their heads turned uphill.”

Jun crouched beside him. Through the brush, they could see three men waiting near the leaning pine. One wore the green sash from the ridge road. Another held a bow pointed at the ground.

Daren had hoped for robbers. Robbers might take a toll and leave. These men had already learned that cruelty could be called inspection.

The steward called before Daren stepped into view.

“Grain for Hearthfast is detained.”

“By whose measure?”

“Mine will do.”

So there would be no paper this time.

Daren studied the ground while the man spoke. The pine leaned because water had eaten beneath its roots. An old charcoal sled track ran behind it, climbing toward a rocky shelf above the ford.

Oren had marked that track on Jun’s board. Too steep for a cart. Possible for unloaded mules.

Daren backed away slowly, letting the steward believe he was considering terms.

Behind the bend, he explained the choice. They could risk the ford under a bow or carry the grain up the sled track in smaller loads. If the guards came after them, the narrow climb would let fewer attack at once.

“We lose daylight,” Vann said.

“We keep people.”

Asha was already untying a sack.

They worked without speeches. Jun and Vann carried the first loads while Asha led the empty pack mules upward. Selka stayed seated on Halvek’s beast until the slope steepened, then dismounted and climbed with her good hand on its mane.

Daren waited at the lower turn with his spear.

The steward discovered the maneuver when a mule kicked loose stones onto the path. He shouted, and the bowman came forward too quickly to see the narrow ground clearly.

Daren threw a fistful of grit into his face.

The arrow struck rock. Daren drove the spear shaft across the man’s forearm and knocked the bow away. The second guard lunged with a short blade.

Daren could not dodge on his bad knee. He stepped inward instead, taking the man’s wrist against his spear shaft. Pain tore through his shoulder. He gathered one controlled breath, steadied his grip, and turned the blade toward the bank.

Jun hit the guard behind the knee with a fallen branch.

He went down hard.

“Go,” she said.

The steward swung at her. Daren caught the blow on the spear and shoved him into the other men. It bought seconds, not victory.

They climbed.

Behind them, the bowman recovered his weapon. An arrow struck a grain sack on Vann’s shoulder, tearing a dark mouth in the cloth. Barley spilled along the track.

Vann dropped flat. Jun pulled him behind a boulder while Daren cut the leaking sack free. They dragged it upward between them, leaving a precious trail.

Asha held the mules at the shelf. There was no room for another attack without the guards climbing one at a time beneath Daren’s spear.

The steward stopped below.

“You’ll starve up there.”

“Come count it,” Daren said.

The man did not.

They waited until dusk, then followed the shelf to the ford’s upper shallows. Vann tested every step before bringing the animals through. The grain stayed dry. Selka crossed gripping the saddle with her one usable arm, her face rigid with pain.

They camped without a fire.

In the morning they weighed the torn sack with Vann’s small balance. Twelve pounds were gone. Their promised delivery had fallen to two hundred and four.

No one called it a small loss.

They reached Rillmarket near sunset on the tenth day. Halvek took back his mule, examined its rubbed flank, and listened to the account of the crossing. Daren apologized for the late return, gave back the shortened rope, and offered to replace it with his own labor.

“Add it to the bridge,” Halvek said. He returned the chisel. “Your messenger came through. I sent the word onward.”

The message had reached Iven that morning. Her reply, waiting with Halvek, was brief: the peas were gone, the gathering parties had brought roots, and Brida had stopped heavy work. They would keep the hall fed through the night.

Daren read it twice. He had missed the deadline. People at home had carried the consequence without him, using the authority he had finally left in their hands.

Hearthfast’s gate opened after dark.

Iven met the sacks with scales. Brida met Daren with an arm under his shoulder before his knee gave way. Orin came last, fierce and silent, pressing the wooden horse into his father’s hand.

Two hundred and four pounds. At four ounces each day, more than eleven days for seventy residents and their two guests, still short of full meals. Iven said the numbers aloud, then ordered a thicker pot for that night.

Asha ate before inspecting anything.

At dawn, she walked the small terrace above the spring with Daren and pushed her knife into the soil. The blade came out streaked white.

She checked a second place, then a third.

Daren recognized the crust from Harrowmere’s drain.

Asha looked toward the old fortress, where smoke now rose from a fed hearth.

“How long,” she asked, “has this ground been receiving what your walls throw away?”