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 watered caravans here 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 here, 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:
The Crown Conspiracy
How a young prince and two thieves saved a kingdom
— Evening Shows Daily —
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 was 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 side-tracked, I suppose,” Royce said in his let us not talk about this tone, and Hadrian dropped it.
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 that 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 addressed Royce as he stepped out from behind one of the bridge lampposts. His skin was pale and his body so slender and boney 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, 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, 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, bucketman, and one of the most notorious members in the guild’s history.”
“Bucketman?” 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 bucketmen in the guild and all of them good friends. Jade, the guild’s only female assassin, was a beauty who—”