A month after Bueralan and Dark took the job, Ruk returned to Örd.
Ruk’s great gift was his heritage, or the lack thereof. He did not know his father, and thus did not know his origins. His mother offered no help, either: she’d said his sire was from here and there, and described herself similarly. By the time Ruk was on the road and working as a saboteur, he was describing himself as a mongrel, a man who was white enough to claim five or six countries as his heritage, and brown enough for another four or five. Because of that, he was often Dark’s point man, the saboteur Bueralan sent in first, the man no one would look at twice in any bar or inn.
‘Zajce is a mess,’ Ruk said inside the farmhouse. He sat at the table with Bueralan and Kana and another member of Dark, Zean. The others had left Örd and drifted up north to markets in the cities there. ‘After Makara and Jaora removed Kana, the two of them took all the people who protested against their rule and put them in cages beneath the water towers – to be sold as slaves. From what people said, no one was sure that was their purpose at first, until the two began to bring in new flesh to sell. They’ve now got maybe four hundred people lined up in the streets, waiting to be sold.’
‘Waiting?’ Zean repeated. He was a lean, dark-skinned man, who had grown up with Bueralan. ‘No slaver keeps flesh sitting around doing nothing.’
‘They do if they’ve fallen out with their business partner,’ Ruk said. ‘According to the people I spoke to, Makara and Jaora fell out with each other after just a month. It was over what to do with their slave-trade profits. Lord Makara wants to invest in the town, while Lady Jaora wants to bleed it dry and move on to a more profitable position in Gogair. The tipping point came when Makara began building a port on the coast. Since they both have their own mercenaries, it’s a stalemate now.’
‘My people,’ Kana said quietly, ‘come to Zajce to be free. They flee slavery in other parts of the country.’
‘Some still arrive thinking that’s true.’
‘How many mercenaries do they have?’ Bueralan asked.
‘About two hundred,’ Ruk replied. ‘The first hundred belong to Echoes, run by Captain Gertz. It’s a new unit, most of it green. The captain is a bit special, though – the stories I’ve heard about him will stick with you. The second hundred belongs to Scratch, run by Captain Khoury. It’s your average mercenary unit: some discipline, some skill. The captain’s probably on the way out, if her use of laudanum is any indication. But that’s where we have a problem, boss.’
‘What kind of problem?’
‘Syl is in Zajce. She’s working as Captain Khoury’s second. She’s prepared to take over, if the captain should fall.’
Syl.
Dark-haired, smart, violent.
Bueralan had not seen Syl for five years. The last time had been in Taho, in the bar where they had said their goodbyes. ‘She’s never met any of you, so it’s a small problem, not a huge one. You just be careful around her. Stay in character. She knows enough about our work that we can’t afford to let the plan slip around her.’
‘Am I missing something?’ Kana asked. ‘To me, the problem is not one soldier, but the two hundred soldiers. I know you said that this job could be violent, but you cannot kill two hundred, surely? Seven men and women, no matter who they are, cannot compete with those odds.’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Bueralan turned to Zean. ‘You’re up next.’