pain.
The man watched silently. Then he relaxed, a thin smile touching the corners of his mouth. His hand fell away from the short sword.
He said something else, the words still incomprehensible. His eyebrows rose as he waited for a response, then fell as he sighed.
Shifting, he pointed to himself and said, “Aeren.” Then he pointed to Colin. “Name?”
Colin gaped in surprise, stunned into silence.
The man-Aeren-frowned, seemed to think about what he’d said, then said again, putting a slightly different emphasis on the word, as if he weren’t certain he’d pronouncing it correctly, “Name?”
“Colin,” Colin stuttered. “My name is Colin.”
Aeren nodded. “Colin.” He said it carefully, almost reverentially, then ruined the image by muttering something under his breath in his own language.
“How do you know my language?” Colin asked.
Aeren’s brow creased, and he tilted his head again. Then he shook it. “Where go?” He waved a hand into the darkness. “Where?”
Colin pointed. “South and east.”
Aeren followed his finger, his frown darkening, deepening. He turned back, the motion sharp again. “No.” He stood, and as he did so Colin realized he was tall-at least a hand taller than Colin-although the bow he now held in both hands, its point on the ground, still reached over his head. Colin wondered if he’d mistaken the bow for a spear earlier. “No,” Aeren repeated. “Meet here.” He motioned to the ground on the other side of the stream. “Meet here. Sun.” He gestured toward the horizon, his motions easy to read.
“Meet you here in the morning,” Colin said.
Aeren regarded him for a long moment, the lines of his face intent.
Then he turned and vanished into the night.
8
Panic spread through the wagons when Colin returned to tell his father of the meeting with Aeren at the stream. Everyone gathered closer to the center of the wagons, where the grass was stained red with deer blood. Tensions escalated, and arguments broke out. Arten and Tom sent more men to the edges of the camp, many men volunteering to help out, Walter hovering at the edges of the group, scowling, as the orders were issued. More wood was thrown on the central fire-wood they couldn’t afford to spare, not when the plains had so few trees-but one woman demanded it in a shrill voice, and Tom finally conceded. Many sought the solace of Diermani’s Hand, Domonic.
But nothing happened. When the night remained silent, the initial panic faded, reduced to a general murmur, a tightening of shoulders and furtive glances out into the night. As they relaxed, the people began to disperse back to their wagons and tents.
“They wouldn’t have warned us if they intended to attack,” Arten said. He surveyed those still gathered around the fire. “The additional sentries are useless.”
Tom nodded. “I know. But they’re also harmless. And they make the rest of the group feel more relaxed, more protected. Besides, how many of the men on duty would be able to sleep now?”
Arten snorted. “Given what we’ve seen so far and what Colin reported,” he said, looking toward him as he spoke, “they can take out any number of us from the darkness with their bows, and we wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. Our fire makes us easy targets.”
Colin shifted uncomfortably at that, his gaze darting toward the darkness beyond the nearest wagons. The hairs on the back of his neck stirred and he shivered, then shrugged the sensation of being watched aside.
The rest of the night passed slowly. Colin tried to sleep, but he woke constantly with sudden starts until it was close enough to dawn that he finally rose.
He found his father, mother, and Arten seated around the fire. As he approached, he heard his mother ask, “Are you certain Colin should be included?”
Colin slowed as his father sighed.
“No, but they made contact with him. I think he should be there in case there was a reason they chose to speak to him and not any of the others.”
“I don’t like it,” his mother said, and rubbed her upper arms with her hands, as if she were suddenly cold. “I don’t like it here on the upper plains. Maybe we shouldn’t be here. Maybe this is their land, whoever they are, and we’re trespassing.”
“We haven’t seen any roads anywhere,” Arten said, “and no signs of a city or even a village.”
“That doesn’t mean we aren’t intruding somehow.”
Arten didn’t have an answer, so Colin stepped into the fringe of the firelight, his feet making noise in the grass. All three of them turned, Arten’s hand dropping to his sword, then relaxing as Colin settled down before the fire next to Arten, opposite his mother and father.
“You’re going to include me in the group?” Colin asked.
His mother frowned, but it was his father who answered. “Yes. We’ve decided it will be you, me, Arten, and Walter.”
Colin grimaced. “Why Walter?”
“Because his name’s on the town’s charter.” He met Colin’s gaze. “He may not make the decisions, but he’s still the Proprietor.”
Colin thought about that a moment, then shifted back to Aeren and the meeting. “I don’t think they intend to hurt us,” he said. “He could have killed me at the stream. I didn’t even notice him when I approached, he was just there.” He ignored his mother’s shudder.
“So what do you think they want?” Arten asked.
Colin frowned. “I don’t know. He asked where we were headed and seemed upset when I showed him.”
“You told them where we were headed?” a bitter, derisive voice asked sharply.
Colin leaped up and turned to where Walter and Jackson stood at the fringe of the firelight. One hand dove into his pocket for a stone, but his sling was still bundled up in his satchel. He clenched his jaw and fought the urge to chuck the stone at Walter regardless. If his mother hadn’t been there, along with Arten and his father…
“That’s enough, Walter,” Arten said, with a note of warning.
“He gave away our only advantage,” Walter spat, taking one step closer to the fire.
“Yes, he did,” Colin’s father agreed, and Colin felt a harsh pain in his chest, his hand closing hard on the stone. He dropped his gaze to the grass, his eyes stinging, a bitter taste flooding his mouth as his father continued. “But it wasn’t much of an advantage. They may have been watching us for days, may already know where we’re headed.”
Walter glared at Tom, his jaw working. Around them the rest of the wagon party had begun to stir, to wake and gather. He cast a contemptuous glance at Colin, scowled, and turned away.
Arten stood, followed by Tom. “Shall we head to the bank, see if they’re there?” the commander of the Armory asked.
In answer, Walter stalked away from the fire.
Arten and Tom traded a look.
They followed him to the top of the embankment near the gap, coming up on the sentries on duty, one of them turning.
“Report,” Walter said, his face flushing red when the sentry looked toward Tom and received a nod before answering.
“Still too dark to see anything. We thought we heard some movement a little while ago, but we haven’t heard anything since.”
Tom looked toward the horizon to the east, where the sky was just beginning to lighten above the jagged peaks of distant mountains. He scanned the growing number of people behind them. Most of the men had
