of the Hands of Diermani, Domonic Hansi, to accompany you.” The priest beside Brindisi knelt, kissed the Patris’ ring in blessing, then rose and bowed to Colin’s father before moving to the middle of the group. A few of the men and women smiled at him, touching his robe or murmuring a few words of welcome.
“And lastly, my own representative.”
Colin felt his stomach clench even as Sartori turned toward his two sons. His mother’s hand tightened on his shoulder in warning as he tensed, his hand dropping toward his satchel and the sling inside.
But Sartori had already continued. “For such an important venture, I cannot send simply anyone. The Family must be represented with someone of significance. And so I choose to send my younger son.
“I choose Walter Carrente.”
“Did you know?” Colin demanded, glaring out over the grass in front of the wagons to where Walter had mounted and fallen into place behind Arten with a resentful scowl. The supplies for Sartori’s group had been thrown into the last wagon, and men were doing last-minute checks on traces and harnesses and horses before climbing up into the seats behind their teams. But Colin’s eyes were fixed on Walter, on where he sat stiffly in his saddle, chin lifted, gaze straight ahead. So arrogant, so proud.
Colin snorted, turned toward his mother, and asked again, his voice tighter, denser, “Did you know?”
She shook her head. “No, and neither did your father. We’re as surprised as you. We expected him to send a token representative, one of the mercantile men associated with the Family, someone like that. Certainly not one of his own sons.” She spoke calmly, but now her face tightened into a frown. “But it doesn’t matter, Colin. He’s here now. We can’t tell Sartori he can’t send his own son.”
Colin’s nostrils flared. “I thought I’d be rid of him.”
“He doesn’t have the rest of his gang with him. He’s alone.”
Colin saw his father give the signal to head out, the order passed down the line. Before it reached the last of the wagons, the first two had already started rolling forward, Walter and his escort in front of them. Horses stamped their feet and tossed their heads, and dogs began barking wildly, dashing out ahead of the group into the grass and racing back. Children of all ages raced out with them before being called back sharply by their mothers.
When the wagon next to them lurched into motion, blocking the view of Walter and his group, Colin turned to his mother.
“Just stay out of his way,” she said, her voice laced with warning.
Colin spat to one side and saw his mother’s frown deepen, but he didn’t care. He turned away, caught sight of Sartori’s escort as they pulled their mounts around and headed back toward Portstown, then began jogging out ahead of the wagon train as it formed up. He heard his mother sigh in exasperation as he left and caught sight of his father from the side, but he ignored them both. He didn’t even stop when he heard Karen call his name, her voice distant, tattered by the wind. He pretended he hadn’t heard her.
He passed the lead group, the men who were scouting for the best path for the wagons, and as he moved he took the sling from his satchel, slowing enough to tie the straps to his arm.
When he had drawn far enough away from the wagons that they wouldn’t catch up to him for at least an hour, he began to hunt.
Colin returned to the wagons at midday, two prairie dogs in his satchel, and found his father waiting. Someone had forewarned him; he stood on a knoll, arms crossed over his chest. Colin halted when he saw him, then changed course to meet him. As he trudged up the slope, the wagons came into view, trundling down into the shallow fold of land behind his father.
He stopped a few paces away, noting the creases in his father’s forehead, the set expression on his face.
“Don’t ever run off like that again,” his father said.
Colin stiffened defensively. “I was hunting-”
“No! Hunting alone while we were in Lean-to was fine. The land around Portstown had been explored. But once we pass beyond the last farmstead, once we pass onto the real plains, you can never hunt alone. We don’t know what’s out there, what the dangers will be. And we don’t have that many men. We can’t afford to lose anyone.”
Colin drew breath to protest, but the seriousness in his father’s voice forced him to stop. This wasn’t a lecture, spoken to a child. His father meant it.
He released the pent up breath. Looking at the ground, he said grudgingly, “I won’t hunt alone.”
His father relaxed, but he wasn’t finished. “I didn’t expect Sartori to give this expedition over to Walter, but he’s part of it now. This isn’t Portstown. This isn’t even Lean-to. Officially, Walter is in charge of this expedition. His word is final; he is, in effect, the Proprietor of the wagon train.”
His father glanced toward where Walter rode at the head of the wagons themselves; they’d begun making their way up the ridge they stood on. The tension-the sternness in his expression-suddenly lessened.
“But that’s only what’s written on paper. We have nearly eighty people here-thirty men, nearly twenty women, and twenty-seven children-and none of us will be inclined to follow his orders if they don’t make any sense. I haven’t had a chance to speak to Arten, the commander of Walter’s escort, so I don’t know how the Armory will react if we disagree, whether they’ll side with Walter or with us. But it doesn’t matter.” And here his father turned back to him. “I don’t want Arten to have to make a choice. Walter hasn’t caused any problems so far. He’s been content to lead the train with his escort, talking with Jackson. But once we reach the last farmstead tomorrow, that will change. So leave him be, Colin. Don’t provoke him, don’t speak to him, don’t even interact with him if you can manage it. Agreed?”
Colin had spent the entire morning venting his anger on the prairie dogs and the defenseless grass. He still shook with rage when he thought of the penance lock, of what Walter and the others had done to him while he was trapped in it, but he didn’t need to do anything about that now. He could wait.
So he looked his father in the eye and said, “Agreed.”
His father held his gaze a moment, lips pressed together, as if he didn’t quite believe him, but then he nodded, his features smoothing out. “Good.” He motioned toward Colin’s satchel with one hand. “Now, what did you catch?”
They passed the last farmstead deeded by Sartori as the sun began to sink into the horizon the next day. The farmer’s wife appeared in the doorway of the small wooden house, wiping her hands on the folds of her dress. Four small children ranging in age from a little over a year all the way up to seven crowded around her legs to watch the wagon train pass. Dust rose on a field behind the barn, and if Colin shaded his eyes, he could see someone turning the soil on a new field.
And then they passed beyond, the farmstead falling behind.
“Looks like we’re going to have company,” Sam said, and pointed with his chin toward where Arten and one of the other guardsmen had broken away from Walter’s escort and were riding toward them.
Colin’s father merely grunted. They continued walking, even when Arten and the guardsman arrived and drew the horses up alongside them.
“Walter Carrente would like to know when you intend to stop for the day,” Arten said, his tone formal.
“Were those his words?”
Arten’s mouth twitched. “I’ve… paraphrased them slightly.”
Colin’s father grunted. “We’ll stop when we hit the river, where we’ll restock on fresh water. Also, it makes sense to follow the river upstream. If we’re going to settle somewhere, we’re going to need a readily available water source. It seems likely we’ll find something suitable if we keep to the river’s edge.”
Arten nodded. “You’ve thought this out.”
“As much as possible, given the time we had to prepare.”
Arten looked at Colin’s father a long moment, thoughtful. But all he said was, “I’ll inform Walter.”
They camped on a rise above the river, the wagons forming a rough boundary surrounding the tents that those from Lean-to erected on the grass, even though most chose to sleep on pallets under the open night sky. Fire pits were dug, and whatever had been caught during the day was skinned and cooked. The pelts were set to dry on stakes near the fire. The women organized the meals while the men cared for the horses and inspected the wagons. The priest Domonic blessed the meal and the campsite. Sentries were posted-two of the Armory along with a few men from Lean-to, alternating in two-hour shifts-but the night was cool and quiet.
They followed the river for the next week, sometimes moving far from its banks in order to find safe
