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Wharfton?”
    â€œHe won’t,” Leon had said, explaining what he knew of the men’s characters, and Gaia had trusted Leon’s guidance on the matter.
    In the end, Leon took charge of twelve crims for the exodus. Those twelve traveled the first three-quarters of the trail many times over, carrying stockpiles of water and supplies for replenishment stations along the route. Their thankless labor had been critical for setup long before the huge exodus ever began.
    â€œCome on, Mlass Matrarc!” a youthful voice called from the ridge. “You can see the Enclave from here, with the towers and the wall! It’s amazing!”
    â€œWait for me,” Gaia called back. “Just wait there. Break for lunch. I’m taking care of the crims.”
    Leon looked up at her voice. “Hold up there,” he said to the crims, and coordinated with his team to lower their platform.
    The other crims lowered their heavy water skins and stood panting under the bright sun, their gray and tan clothes saturated with sweat. Leon took off his hat to brush back his sweaty hair as he approached, and Gaia met the piercing blue of his eyes when he put the hat back on.
    â€œWhat’s up?” he asked.
    â€œIt’s time. We can’t go over the ridge with the crims in chains,” she said. “I don’t want Wharfton or the Enclave to see us like this.”
    She watched his gaze shift skeptically up the ridge. The travelers had put down their packs, and many were lounging on boulders amid the dry grass, passing canteens and resting their feet as they broke out their midday victuals. In contrast to their sturdy wholesomeness, the chained crims appeared even more depraved and vicious. What was more, the segregation of one small dangerous group cast an unsavory pall over everyone else, too.
    They couldn’t afford to look disunified.
    â€œI see your point,” Leon said. He turned to the crims, unclipping an iron key from his belt. “Malachai, you first.”
    The tallest crim and his chainmate left their burdens and made their way forward. Malachai was a stiff, deep-chested man with a rough, dark beard and gnarly knuckles who had killed his wife. Claiming self-defense and defense of his children from her abuse had not convinced the jury to release him. He had a way of regarding Gaia with an unblinking concentration that made her uneasy, and yet she knew Leon trusted him completely.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” called a burly man, strolling back down the ridge toward them. Bill, a thick-headed, well-liked miner from the rowdy end of Sylum, worked a lump of chaw in his cheek as he spoke. “I don’t remember anything about freeing the crims. What are you doing?”
    Behind Bill came several of the miners from his clan.
    â€œIt was part of the deal,” Gaia said. “The crims staged our supply drops and carried extra water for us in exchange for their freedom once we arrived. We’ve essentially arrived.”
    â€œNobody asked me about this deal,” Bill said.
    â€œIt was part of negotiations back in Sylum, weeks ago,” Gaia said. “You maybe don’t recall.”
    â€œI don’t like it,” Bill said. “You there, Vlatir, hold up a second.”
    Leon had already undone the shackles on Malachai’s and his chainmate’s ankles. He looked briefly at Bill, then moved pointedly to the next pair of crims.
    â€œHey!” Bill said. “I’m talking to you!”
    Leon straightened. He gave no overt command, but as fast as their chains would allow, the twelve crims circled defensively around Leon, Gaia, and Maya. Positioning himself between Gaia and Bill, Malachai picked up his chain and gripped it in one hand, silently prepared to swing it into savage motion.
    The only one more surprised than Bill was Gaia herself.
    â€œWhat’s this?” Bill demanded.
    â€œLeon, stop them,” Gaia said.
    â€œThey aren’t