Five months earlier, Bueralan had arrived in the coastal town of Örd.
He left Myntalo alone. Beneath the morning’s sun, the first sun of the day, he wound his way through the dirt streets of the poor town and out into the farmland. It was defined by scrappy yellow grass and hard soil that promised to yield little, and the farm he approached was a sad affair. Along the right of the old house, empty kennels waited, their depths dark and full of yearning. It was a darkness repeated inside, where a solitary man waited for Bueralan at a large table, a series of locks and chains were laid before him, each of them slithering as if alive.
‘That’s a nice trick,’ Bueralan said before he untied his sword and laid it on the table. ‘I guess what I hear about you is true, then?’
‘Yes, Enaka’s power is within me.’ The man’s name was Kana. His age was difficult to determine – he was one of those men whom the sun had turned hard and dark – but it was said that he was older than most thought him to be. Bueralan thought he looked fifty. ‘But power is nothing unless you have the will to exercise it. Isn’t that right, Baron Le?’
‘It’s Captain, now,’ he said. ‘That title is an old one, and I lost it a long time ago. I have no interest in taking it back, either. Consider it a free piece of advice, Mayor.’
The man who claimed a god’s power smiled faintly. ‘If I was the Mayor of Örd, I would. But I am not. I am the Mayor of Zajce.’
‘You’re also the mayor who was driven out of his town by Lord Makara and Lady Jaora. At least, that’s how I’ve heard it explained.’
‘It’s true. They wish to return Zajce to its original trade.’
‘The slave trade?’
‘I am told you know that line of work well.’ The chains on the table turned still, lifeless. Kana ran his hands along one of them as if it were a pet. ‘The power I have is not enough to take Zajce back. Not from the mercenaries they have hired. Not from their violence and their cunning. The power I have is but the smallest portion of Enaka’s divinity. It gives me a long life and the ability to move a chain. I cannot do what others like me can. That is why I need you.’
‘You have to do exactly what I say,’ Bueralan said quietly. ‘You might not like everything I do, but you must trust me and do as I say. If you can agree to that, I can help you.’
The two men talked until the midday sun set and the afternoon sun rose. Afterwards, Bueralan left the farmhouse alone and returned to the winding streets of Örd. There he found a small bar. Out the back were the men and women of Dark, the saboteur group he led. They numbered seven, including him, and occupied a table that was left well alone by everyone else in the bar.
‘We have a job,’ he said to them.