Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (39 page)

“Did you see the size of that guy?” Hadrian asked Royce, still glancing over his shoulder as if the giant might try to sneak up on them. “I’ve never seen anyone that big. He had to be a good seven feet tall, and that neck, those shoulders, and that axe! It would take two of me just to lift it. Maybe he isn’t human; maybe he’s a giant, or a troll. Some people swear they exist. I’ve met a few who say they have seen them personally.”

Royce looked at his friend and scowled.

“Okay, so it’s mostly drunks in bars who say that, but that doesn’t mean it’s not possible. Ask Myron, he’ll back me up.”

The two headed north toward the Langdon Bridge. It was quiet here. In the respectable hill district of Colnora, people
were more inclined to sleep at night than to carouse in taverns. This was the home of merchant titans, affluent businessmen who owned houses grander than many of the palatial mansions of upper nobility.

Colnora had started out as a meager rest stop at the intersection of the Wesbaden and Aquesta trade routes. Originally, a farmer named Hollenbeck and his wife had watered caravans there and granted room in their barn to the traders in return for news and goods. Hollenbeck had an eye for quality and always picked the best of the lot.

Soon his farm became an inn and Hollenbeck added a store and a warehouse to sell what he acquired to passing travelers. The merchants deprived of first pick bought plots next to his farm and opened their own shops, taverns, and roadhouses. The farm became a village, then a city, but still, the caravans gave preference to Hollenbeck. Legend held that the reason was their fondness for his wife, a wonderful woman who, in addition to being uncommonly beautiful, sang and played the mandolin. It was said she baked the finest cobblers of peach, blueberry, and apple. Centuries later, when no one could accurately place the location of the original Hollenbeck farm, and few remembered there had ever been such a farmer, they continued to remember his wife—Colnora.

Over the years the city flourished, until it became the largest urban center in Avryn. Shoppers found the latest style in clothes, the most exquisite jewelry, and the widest variety of exotic spices from hundreds of shops and marketplaces. In addition, the city was home to some of the best artisans and boasted the finest, most popular inns and taverns in the country. Entertainers had long congregated there, prompting Cosmos DeLur, the city’s wealthiest resident and patron of the arts, to construct the DeLur Theatre.

Crossing the district, Royce and Hadrian halted abruptly
in front of the theatre’s large white painted board. It depicted the silhouette of two men scaling the outside of a castle tower and read:

T
HE
C
ROWN
C
ONSPIRACY

H
OW A YOUNG PRINCE AND TWO THIEVES SAVED A KINGDOM

E
VENING
S
HOWS
D
AILY

Royce raised an eyebrow while Hadrian slipped the tip of his tongue along his front teeth. They glanced at each other, but neither said a word before continuing on their way.

Leaving the hill district, they continued along Bridge Street as the land sloped downward toward the river. They passed rows of warehouses—mammoth buildings emblazoned with company brands like royal crests. Some were simply initials, usually the new businesses that had no sense of themselves. Others bore trademarks, like the boar’s head of the Bocant Company, an empire whose genesis had been pork, or the diamond symbol of DeLur Enterprises.

“You realize he’ll never be able to pay us the hundred?” Hadrian asked.

“I just didn’t want him to think he was getting off easy.”

“You didn’t want him to think Royce Melborn went soft at the sight of a little girl’s tears.”

“She wasn’t just
any
girl, and besides, he saved her from Ambrose Moor. For that alone he earned one life.”

“That’s something that has always puzzled me. How is it Ambrose is still alive?”

“I’ve been sidetracked, I suppose,” Royce said in his
let’s not talk about it
tone, and Hadrian dropped the subject.

Of the city’s three main bridges, the Langdon was the most ornate. Made from cut stone, it was lined every few feet by large lampposts fashioned in the shapes of swans, which,
when lit, gave the bridge a festive look. Now, however, with the lights out, the stone was wet and appeared oily and dangerous.

“Well, at least we didn’t spend the last month looking for DeWitt for nothing,” Hadrian said sarcastically as they crossed the bridge. “I would have thought—”

Royce stopped walking and abruptly raised his hand. Both men looked around and, without a word, drew their weapons as they moved back to back. Nothing seemed amiss. The only sound was the roar of the tumultuous waters that rushed and churned below them.

“Impressive, Duster,” a man said, addressing Royce, as he stepped out from behind one of the bridge lampposts. His skin was pale, and his body so slender and bony that he swam in his loose britches and shirt. He looked like a corpse someone forgot to bury.

Behind them, Hadrian noted three more men crawling onto the span. They all had similar appearances, thin and muscular, each in dark-colored clothes. They circled like wolves.

“What tipped you off we were here?” the thin man asked.

“I’m guessing it was your breath, but body odor really can’t be ruled out,” Hadrian replied with a grin while noting their positions, their movements, and the direction of their eyes.

“Mind yer mouth, bub,” the tallest of the four threatened.

“To what do we owe this visit, Price?” Royce asked.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same,” the thin man replied. “This is our city, after all, not yours—not anymore.”

“Black Diamond?” Hadrian asked.

Royce nodded.

“And you would be Hadrian Blackwater,” Price noted. “I always thought you’d be bigger.”

“And you’re a Black Diamond. I always thought there were more of you.”

Price smiled, held his gaze long enough to suggest a threat, and returned his attention to Royce. “So what are you doing here, Duster?”

“Just passing through.”

“Really? No business?”

“Nothing that would interest you.”

“Well now, you see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Price stepped away from the swan lamppost and began slowly circling them as he talked. The wind blowing down the river whipped his loose shirt like a flag at mast. “The Black Diamond is interested in everything that happens in Colnora, most particularly when it involves you, Duster.”

Hadrian leaned over and asked, “Why does he keep calling you
Duster
?”

“That was my guild name,” Royce replied.

“
He
was a Black Diamond?” asked the youngest-looking of the four. He had round, chubby cheeks blown red and blotchy and a narrow mouth wreathed by a thin mustache and goatee.

“Oh yes, that’s right, Etcher, you’ve never heard of Duster before, have you? Etcher is new to the guild, only been with us, what—six months? Well, you see, not only was Duster a Diamond, he was an officer, bucket man, and one of the most notorious members in the guild’s history.”

“Bucket man?” Hadrian asked.

“Assassin,” Royce explained.

“He’s a legend, this one is,” Price went on, pacing around the stone bridge, carefully avoiding the puddles. “Wonder boy of his day, he rose through the ranks so fast it unnerved people.”

“Funny,” Royce said, “I only remember one.”

“Well, when the First Officer of the guild is nervous, so is everyone else. You see, back then the Jewel had a man named Hoyte running the show. He was an ass to most of us—a
good thief and administrator, but an ass just the same. Duster here had a lot of support from the lower ranks and Hoyte was concerned Duster might replace him. He began ordering Duster on the most dangerous jobs—jobs that went suspiciously bad. Still, Duster always escaped unscathed, making him even more a hero. Rumors began circulating we might have a traitor in the guild. Rather than being concerned, Hoyte saw this as an opportunity.”

Price paused in his orator’s trek around the bridge and stopped in front of Royce. “You see, at that time there were three bucket men in the guild and all of them good friends. Jade, the guild’s only female assassin, was a beauty who—”

“Is this going somewhere, Price?” Royce snapped.

“Just giving Etcher a little background, Duster. You wouldn’t begrudge me the chance to educate my boys, would you?” Price smiled and returned to his casual pacing, slipping his thumbs into the loose waistline of his pants. “Where was I? Oh yes, Jade. It happened right over there.” He pointed back across the bridge. “That empty warehouse with the clover symbol on its side. That’s where Hoyte set them up, pitting one against the other. Then, like now, bucket men wore masks to prevent being marked.” Price paused and looked at Royce with feigned sympathy. “You had no idea who she was until it was over, did you, Duster? Or did you know and kill her anyway?”

Royce said nothing but glared at Price with a dangerous look.

“The last of the three bucket men was Cutter, who was understandably upset to learn Duster murdered Jade, since Cutter and Jade were lovers. The fact that his friend was responsible made it personal, and Hoyte was happy to let Cutter settle the score.

“But Cutter didn’t want Duster dead. He wanted him to
suffer and insisted on something more elaborate, more painful. The man is a strategic mastermind—our best heist planner—and arranged for Duster to be apprehended by the city guard. Cutter traded a few favors and, with some money, bought a trial that resulted in Duster going to Manzant Prison. The hole no one ever comes back from. Escape was thought to be impossible—only somehow Duster managed it. You know, we still don’t know how you got out.” He paused, giving Royce a chance to reply.

Again, Royce remained silent.

Price shrugged. “When Duster escaped, he returned to Colnora. First, the magistrate who presided over his trial was found dead in his bed. Then the false witnesses—all three on the same night—and finally the lawyer. Soon, one by one, members of the Black Diamond started disappearing. They turned up in the strangest places: the river, the city square, even the steeple of the church.

“After losing more than a dozen members, the Jewel made a deal. He gave Hoyte to Duster, who forced him to confess publicly. Then Duster killed Hoyte and left his body in the Hill Square Fountain—it was pure artistry. It stopped the war, but the wounds were too deep to forgive. Duster left, only to reemerge years later working out of Crimson Hand territory up north. But you’re not a member, are you?”

“I don’t have much use for guilds anymore,” Royce replied coldly.

“And who’s that?” Etcher asked, pointing at Hadrian. “Duster’s servant? He’s carrying enough weapons for the both of them.”

Price smiled at Etcher. “That’s Hadrian Blackwater, and I wouldn’t point at him—you’re likely to lose that arm.”

Etcher looked at Hadrian skeptically. “What? He’s some kind of master swordsman? Is that it?”

Price chuckled. “Sword, spear, arrow, rock, whatever is at hand.” He turned to Hadrian. “The Diamond doesn’t know as much about you, but there are a lot of rumors. One says you were a gladiator. Another reports you were a general in a Calian army—successful, too, if the stories can be trusted. There’s even one tale circulating that you were the enslaved courtier of an exotic eastern queen.”

Some of the other Diamonds, including Etcher, chuckled.

“As much fun as this trip down memory lane has been, Price, do you have a reason for stopping us?”

“You mean beyond entertainment? Beyond harassment? Beyond reminding you that this is a Black Diamond–controlled city? Beyond informing you that unguilded thieves like yourselves are not allowed to practice here, and that you personally are not welcome?”

“Yeah, that’s what I meant.”

“Actually, there is one more thing. There’s a girl looking for you two.”

Royce and Hadrian glanced at each other curiously.

“She’s been going around asking about two thieves named Hadrian and Royce. Now, as entertaining as it has been to hear your names publicly advertised, it’s embarrassing for the Black Diamond to have anyone asking for thieves in Colnora that are not members of our guild. People are apt to get the wrong impression about this city.”

“Who is she?” Royce asked.

“No idea.”

“Where is she?”

“Sleeping under the Tradesmen’s Arch on Capital Boulevard, so I think we can rule out her being a noble debutant or a rich merchant’s daughter. Since she is traveling alone, I think you can also rule out the possibility that she is here to kill you or have you arrested. If I had to guess, I should think she is
looking to hire you. I must say, if she is typical of the kind of patrons you two attract, I would consider a more traditional line of work. Perhaps there’s a pig farm you might be able to get a job at—at least you would be keeping the same level of company.”

Price’s tone and expression dropped to a serious level. “Find her and get her, and yourselves, out of our city by tomorrow night. You might want to hurry. Cleaned up, she could be pretty and might fetch a fair price or at least provide several minutes of pleasure for someone. I suspect the only reason she hasn’t been touched so far is that she’s been dropping your names everywhere. Around here, Royce Melborn is still something of a bogeyman.”