Sidharth moved through the village like a ghost.
He kept to the edges, using buildings for cover, and watched the soldiers fan out through Thornvale with practiced efficiency. They'd done this before. Many times. Every movement was routine-surround the square, block the exits, establish dominance.
Twelve soldiers in total. The Captain with the bisected scar, obviously in command. Eight regulars in various states of readiness. Three that hung back, hands on sword hilts, eyes scanning for trouble.
Those three are the dangerous ones, Sidharth remarked. The others are thugs in uniform. But those three are actual soldiers.
His knight training kicked in automatically. Assess threats. Identify weaknesses. Plan contingencies. The fact that he was barely healed, armed with only a hilt, and dying from a cursed brand didn't change the fundamentals.
He just had to be smarter than them.
The Captain stood in the center of the square, one boot propped on the village well. Thirty villagers had gathered before him—everyone who'd heard the bells. Fear painted every face. Ravi stood near the front, his father beside him. Neither looked at where Sidharth hid in the shadows between buildings.
"Good people of Thornvale!" the Captain declared, his voice carrying easily. "Duke Rael sends his regards. And his quarterly assessment."
Quarterly. Madhubala had said they came every few weeks. This wasn't routine. This was something else.
"As you know," the Captain continued, walking among the villagers like a predator among sheep, "the Duke's protection costs money. Soldiers to keep you safe. Patrols to drive off bandits. Administrative oversight to make sure you backward peasants don't accidentally burn your own village down."
A few of the soldiers laughed. None of the villagers did.
"This quarter, the tax is fifty silver per household. Plus ten percent of your winter stores. Plus—" He stopped beside a young woman, the same one he'd grabbed earlier. She couldn't have been more than twenty. "Plus the usual. cooperation."
The way he said that last word made Sidharth's blood run cold.
The woman's father, an older man with the build of a blacksmith, came forward. "Captain Vane. We paid last month. Thirty silver and stores. We can't—
"Can't?" Captain Vane turned slowly. "Did I hear you say can't to your Duke's appointed representative?"
"We don't have it," the blacksmith said desperately. "Harvest was poor. Winter's coming early. If we give you fifty silver per house and ten percent of stores, we'll starve."
"Then starve quietly." Vane's hand rested on his sword hilt. "The Duke's tax isn't a negotiation. It's a command."
"We have twenty-eight households," the blacksmith pressed. "That is fourteen hundred silver total. That's more than—"
Vane moved quicker than Sidharth anticipated. His mailed fist caught the blacksmith across the jaw, dropping him like a stone. The man's daughter screamed and rushed to him.
"Anyone else want to do mathematics?" Vane asked the crowd. "Or shall we proceed to collection?"
Silencio. Absolute. Aterrorizado.
Vane smiled. "Good. Sensible. Now, you have two hours to gather the tax. My men will come door to door to collect. And the young lady—" He grabbed the blacksmith's daughter again, hauling her to her feet. "She'll keep me company while we wait. To ensure prompt payment."
"No!" The blacksmith struggled up, blood streaming from his mouth. "Please, she's—"
Then one of the dangerous soldiers-a lean man with dead eyes-put a sword to the blacksmith's throat. "Sit. Down."
The blacksmith froze, his daughter struggling in Vane's grip, weeping.
Rage surged through Sidharth, white-hot and complete. His hand tightened on the sword hilt, his knuckles bleaching white. The shard in his pocket pulsed madly, its rhythm responding to his emotion.
Not yet, he told himself. Wait. Watch. Choose your moment.
But to watch felt like betrayal. Felt like the alley all over again - standing aside while someone suffered because it was safer, easier, more convenient.
"Actually," one voice rose out of the crowd, calm, clear, feminine.
Madhubala stepped forward.
Sidharth felt his heart drop into his stomach. No. What are you doing?
She strode forward with silent confidence, head held high, her eyes meeting Captain Vane's without faltering. "The girl's father is right. You're asking for payment we can't provide. But there is. alternative compensation."
Vane's eyes lit with interest. "Is there now?"
"I'm the village herbalist. I have stores of medicines, rare ingredients, preserved goods. Worth easily three hundred silver on the market." She gestured to her house—where thornvines now covered half the walls. "I offer them in exchange for reducing the tax to something manageable. Twenty silver per household. Five percent of stores."
"And why," Vane said slowly, releasing the blacksmith's daughter but moving toward Madhubala instead, "would I accept a trade when I can simply take everything? Your medicines and the full tax?"
"Because if you take everything, this village dies. You get one good collection and then nothing. Forever. The Duke loses a revenue stream." Madhubala's voice never wavered. "But if you're reasonable, we survive. We pay again next quarter. And the quarter after. It's better business."
Vane studied her. Sidharth could see him calculating, weighing options.
"You're the healer," Vane said. "I remember you. My men were here three months ago. You patched up one of them after he 'accidentally' fell off his horse."
"I remember, your man had broken ribs and a concussion. I set them properly."
"And charged us nothing."
"Professional courtesy."
Vane laughed. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "You're clever. I'll give you that. Trying to negotiate like you have leverage." He stepped closer, invading her space. "But here's the problem with your offer, healer. I'm not actually interested in fair business. I'm interested in obedience."
He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "So here's my counteroffer. I take your medicines and the full tax and you spend the next few hours entertaining my men. Then maybe-maybe-I don't burn this pathetic village to the ground for wasting my time. How's that for business?"
Madhubala spit in his face.
The square went deathly silent.
Vane slowly wiped the spit from his cheek. His expression didn't change. "Bad choice, healer."
He backhanded her across the face. She went down hard, blood blooming from her split lip. The villagers gasped but no one moved. The soldiers had their hands on weapons now, watching for any sign of resistance.
"String her up," Vane ordered two of his men. "In the square. Public flogging. Twenty lashes. Then we take everything anyway. Let that be a lesson about negotiation."
Now, something whispered in Sidharth's mind. The shard pulsed in sync with his heartbeat. Now or never.
His feet moved before his brain did.
Sidharth stepped from the shadows into the square. Fourteen pairs of eyes snapped to him-the soldiers whirling with half-drawn weaponry; the villagers, shell-shocked and appalled; Madhubala, her gaze rising from the ground, blood on her lips and fire in her eyes.
"Stop," Sidharth said, his voice carrying despite its quietness. "Let her go."
Captain Vane stared at him. Then laughed. "And who in the frozen hells are you supposed to be?"
Sidharth didn't reply. He started walking forward, the gap between them shrinking. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. His sword hilt hung at his side, deceptively casual.
One of the soldiers—a younger one, more eager than smart—drew his blade. "Captain, he's got the—"
"I see what he's got," Vane said, interrupting. "He's got half a sword and a death wish." His eyes narrowed and he studied Sidharth more closely. "Wait. That brand on your shoulder. Turn around."
Sidharth did. Let him see the Forsaken mark through his shirt.
Whispers erupted in the square. The soldiers took a step back. The villagers looked at Madhubala in a new light-she'd been harbouring an exile, a branded one. That was death if discovered.
"Well, well," Vane said softly. "An exile. Harbored in violation of royal decree." He looked at Madhubala. "You really are stupid, healer. You know what we do to people who help the Forsaken?
"Same thing you were going to do anyway," Madhubala said, wiping blood from her mouth. "At least this way I chose my crime."
Vane's smile was thin and cruel. "Fair point. But now I get to make an example of both of you. Kill the exile," he ordered his men. "Slowly. Make sure everyone watches. Then—"
"Or," Sidharth interrupted, "you could leave. Now. While you still can."
The silence that followed was profound.
Then Vane laughed. Really laughed, bending over with it. His soldiers joined in. Even some of the villagers looked at Sidharth like he'd lost his mind.
"You-" Vane gasped between laughs. "You're threatening me? You're a dying exile with half a sword against twelve armed soldiers. What exactly do you think happens here?"
"I think you're about to find out why they branded me instead of just killing me," Sidharth said quietly. "They knew exile wasn't enough. That I was too dangerous to let live. They cursed me with a slow death because a fast one wasn't certain."
That sobered Vane's laughter. Something shifted in his expression. "You're bluffing."
"Test me."
The three dangerous soldiers had formed a loose triangle around Sidharth without his knowing. Professional positioning. One wrong move and they'd have him surrounded, cut off from escape.
Good, Sidharth thought. Means they take me seriously.
"Last chance," Sidharth said. "Take your men and ride out. No tax collection today. No blood. Just. leave."
"And if we don't?"
Sidharth met his eyes. Let the faint silver glow in them show fully. "Then I hurt you. A lot. And when you finally crawl back to your Duke, you tell him Thornvale is under protection now. That if his men come back, they don't leave."
The shard pulsed. The branded mark screamed. And somewhere deep in Sidharth's chest, something that had been sleeping since his exile began to wake.
The thornvines now spread faster, creeping across the grounds of Madhubala's house, moving toward the square like seeking fingers.
Vane noticed. His hand tightened on his sword. "What the hell is that?"
"Me being merciful," Sidharth said. "While I still can be."