The road narrowed to a shelf carved into the side of a gray hill before the midday meal.
The carts moved single file. On the left, the slope rose through thorn trees and pale grass. On the right, the ground fell away into a long basin where a stream cut through black stone. A loaded cart would roll to the water.
Vhar walked beside the rear brake, watching the wheel and the ropes in turn.
The hook-carrying worker stopped near a bend.
"Hold there," he called.
Vhar brought the brake down.
SCREECH!
The worker crouched beside the outer wheel track. A narrow drainage channel crossed beneath the road. Its timber cover had shifted, leaving one end lower than the packed earth around it.
"The support is loose," he said. "I want the crates moved toward the inner rail before we cross."
The supervisor climbed down. "Loose from rain?"
The worker ran his thumb along the edge of the timber. He held it up. Fresh pale fibers clung beneath the dirt.
"Someone cut it from below."
The cut was deliberate. No one needed to name the likely hand behind it.
The supervisor looked at the descending road ahead, then back toward the hill behind them. "We could turn around and lose the day. We could unload, carry every crate across, and leave the carts to follow empty. Or we can reinforce the cover and cross one cart at a time."
"The food jars break if we carry them on that slope," the driver said. "The oil crates are worse."
Vhar examined the channel. The cover was broad enough for a wheel, but only if the weight stayed centered. The rear cart carried the heaviest crates. He could see where the outer timber had been shaved thin and packed with dry mud.
"Move the iron-bound crate to the inner side," he said. "Use it as a counterweight. I will hold the rear rail while the wheel crosses."
The supervisor looked at his wrists. "You are still bandaged."
"My wrists still work, and the cart will take the slope whether they hurt or not."
"We keep the load on the inner side and cross slowly." She turned toward the others. "The lead pair crosses empty. Second cart follows with half its cargo. He takes the rear cart after we move the crate. Nobody stands below the wheel line. If the cover goes, you release the horses and leave the cart."
They worked for almost an hour.
The first two carts crossed with workers at the wheels. The timber groaned under the second load, but held. Vhar and the others moved the iron-bound crate across the rear bed one handspan at a time until it rested against the inner rail.
THUD!
The freight supervisor tested the lashings herself before climbing to the driver's bench and taking the reins.
"Brake hand, stay at the outside rail until the rear wheel is clear," she said. "Do not try to catch the cart if the whole shelf comes away."
Vhar took his position. "If the cover gives under one wheel, keep the horses straight."
"Keep your hands on the rail and let me manage the team."
The cart moved.
The wheel completed one slow turn and continued into another.
The front wheel reached the timber cover. It pressed down with a wet creak. The supervisor kept the reins taut, and the horses stepped forward together.
The rear wheel rolled onto the channel.
CRACK!
The outer support dropped.
The cart lurched hard toward the basin. The driver shouted and pulled the team left. The worker with the hook threw himself clear of the wheel line. A food jar slid from the cargo stack and broke against the rail.
SMASH!
Vhar planted both feet against the packed inner edge and caught the rear rail with both hands.
The cart's weight tore through his shoulders. The outer wheel hung half over the broken channel. Dirt streamed away beneath it. For one sharp moment, the whole load pulled toward the drop, dragging Vhar's hands along the rough wood.
Pain shot through his wrists and down his spine. Heat flared at its base, sharp and unfamiliar.
A third Bloodmark locked beneath the cart's pull. Force ran from the soles of his feet through his legs, hips, spine, and locked arms. The load stayed on the rail, but his body drove it down into the packed road instead of letting it tear his shoulders apart.
Vhar drove his heels deeper into the road.
THUD!
The packed earth broke around his boots. Force ran down through his knees, crossed his hips, and entered the hill instead of tearing his shoulders apart. The rear rail stopped moving.
The horses felt the change and surged forward under the supervisor's shout. The inner wheel climbed the raised timber. The outer wheel scraped along the broken channel, then found solid ground beyond it.
SCRAPE!
The cart cleared the gap.
Vhar released the rail only after the wheel was safely past. He took two steps back from the edge. The wood had pressed deep red lines into his palms, but his hands still closed when he flexed them.
For several breaths, the workers simply looked at the track his heels had left in the road.
The hook-carrying worker was the first to move. He dragged the broken timber farther from the lane and kicked dirt over the cut end.
"That was done," he said. "Rain does not shave a beam from below."
The supervisor stepped down from the bench. Her face had lost color, but her voice remained level. "Can you walk?"
Vhar rolled his shoulders once. The strain was there, but it no longer felt as though the cart had tried to pull him apart.
"I can still walk."
"We are not stopping in the open. The lead cart goes on while we keep the roadside clear and report the damage at the receiving yard."
The driver stared at Vhar's hands. "You held a loaded rear cart."
Vhar opened and closed his fingers before picking up the broken food jar. "Long enough for the horses to find their footing. Check the rear axle before we trust it with the next bend."
The supervisor caught his wrist before he reached for another shard. "The axle can wait until I know whether that rail tore something in your hand."
"Nothing tore." Vhar turned his palm for her, where the skin was red but unbroken. "It only feels like I argued with the whole cart and lost on weight."
They left the damaged crossing behind. No one spoke of turning back again.
The supervisor walked beside Vhar for the next stretch instead of returning to the bench.
"At the yard, I'll tell the marshal where the beam was cut and where you were standing when the cart slipped," she said. "After that, my crew unloads, collects its pay, and turns east."
"Tell him the cut was clean," Vhar said. "Whoever did it knew when the road would carry freight."
"I saw it." She flexed the hand beneath her glove and grimaced. "I'll be glad to reach a road that isn't trying to throw my carts down a hill."
Vhar looked back toward the bend. "The cart may be happier than you are."
The crew kept him in the freight line until evening.
The road leveled near evening. Far beyond the next fields, high walls cut against the red light, with square towers and dark-roofed buildings behind the outer gate.
"Is that the First Measure Academy?" he asked.
The supervisor followed his gaze. "Its receiving yard. The teaching grounds are farther inside. Freight goes through the outer gate, gets weighed, and waits for a receiving token. People who need the intake hall use the side road after we unload."
"Will the post record have reached them?"
"The relay rider left hours ahead of us. His report will be waiting before the gates open."
Vhar expected that. The question was whether the people at the gate would say why House Talvern had sent a death notice before he arrived alive.
At the night halt, the crew set the carts in a half-circle beside a stone well. The workers fed the horses while the supervisor inspected the damaged wheel and counted the jars that had survived. Vhar carried water, checked the rear ropes, and took the second watch after eating his advance portion.
The hill road stayed quiet through the dark hours.
Near dawn, when the others were still asleep, Vhar sat beside the rear wheel with his back against the wood. The third Bloodmark still held. His weight settled differently now, and each breath ran more steadily through his spine and into his legs.
He touched the raw lines across his palms and focused inward.
The recognition beneath his ribs answered. He willed a record of the change into view.
[SSS PRIMEVAL BLOODFORGE: Bloodmark Record]
[ REALM: Bloodless Husk ]
[ BLOODMARK: 3rd ]
[ CONDITION COMPLETED: Load-Transfer Circuit Closed ]
[ BODY PATH: Soles, Legs, Hips, Spine, Shoulders, Arms, And Hands ]
[ FUNCTION: Weight And Impact Entering Your Body Can Be Distributed Through The Completed Circuit And Driven Into A Chosen Physical Support ]
[ BOUNDARY: The Load Must Physically Reach Your Body, Grip, Stance, Or Held Armament ]
[ UVAR CAPACITY: 30 ]
[ UVAR RESERVE: 24 / 30 ]
[ EVOLUTION: 4th Bloodmark Circuit Unopened ]
[End Bloodmark Record]
The red pressure in his palms had eased, although the deep lines from the rail remained. He closed the record before the first worker woke, then pressed his fingers against the wheel spoke. The spoke did not bend; the new circuit sent his weight through his hand and into the ground without waking the crew.
The sun had reached the walls when the freight line moved again. The cut support lay behind them, and the First Measure Academy gates waited ahead with House Talvern's report already inside.