Dromos 22 – Dromos 28, Imperial Year 1644
The Secondary Workshop, Hills Above Velathri
The workshop smelled of oil, metal, and burnt wood. Vlad had spent the past three days at the forge, working on projects he had delayed for months. The assassination of Volker had served its purpose – the knights had seen the foldable pistol in action. Now they needed tools of their own. Not firearms. Never firearms. But weapons that would give them an edge without risking the spread of advanced technology.
He worked through the night, the alchemical bulbs casting a steady yellow glow. The steam engine hummed in the background, powering his lathe and drill press. He moved from bench to bench, checking measurements, adjusting springs, testing balances.
By dawn, the weapons were ready.
Dromos 22, Imperial Year 1644
The Workshop – The Hound's Sword
The Hound arrived first. Vlad had summoned him at sunrise.
"You are a swordsman," Vlad said, without preamble. "Your longsword is adequate, but it is not suited to the work we do. It is too heavy, too slow, and too conspicuous."
He lifted a blade from the workbench. The sword was longer than a typical arming sword but shorter than a longsword – a hand‑and‑a‑half design, balanced for both one‑handed and two‑handed use. The blade was dark, treated with acid to reduce reflection. The crossguard was curved, with a small ring on each side to catch an opponent's blade. The grip was wrapped in black leather, wire‑bound for security.
"This is a bastard sword," Vlad said. "Light enough for quick cuts, strong enough to parry heavier blades. The steel is folded – not as advanced as my firearms, but tougher than anything a common smith can produce."
The Hound took the sword. He felt the balance, swung it in a slow arc, tested the grip.
"It is lighter than I expected."
"The fuller reduces weight without sacrificing strength. The point of balance is two inches from the crossguard – ideal for both cuts and thrusts."
The Hound performed a few practice cuts. The blade sang through the air.
"What else?"
Vlad smiled – a rare expression, hidden behind the mask. "Press the pommel."
The Hound pressed. A thin blade shot from the crossguard – a hidden dagger, spring‑loaded, extending six inches from the hilt.
"For close quarters," Vlad said. "When an opponent thinks they have disarmed you, they are wrong."
The Hound studied the mechanism. "How do I retract it?"
"Press the pommel again. The spring resets automatically."
He tried it. The blade retracted with a soft click.
"This is… remarkable."
"Do not rely on it. Surprise is useful only once. But that once may save your life."
The Hound sheathed the sword in a scabbard Vlad had also made – black leather, reinforced with steel, designed to hang at an angle for a faster draw.
"Thank you," the Hound said.
"Do not thank me. Prove worthy of it."
Dromos 24, Imperial Year 1644
The Workshop – The Sparrow's Bow
Sparrow arrived two days later, her old bow slung across her back. Vlad examined it without comment, then set it aside.
"Your bow is well‑made," he said. "But it is traditional. It requires strength to draw and releases with a loud snap. I have built you something different."
He lifted a weapon from the workbench. It was a compound bow – but not the complex pulley systems of his former world. Vlad had adapted the design to local materials: a laminated frame of wood and horn, with a system of levers and cams that multiplied the draw force.
"This bow has a mechanical advantage," Vlad said. "It requires half the strength to draw but delivers the same power. The cams also reduce the shock on release, making it quieter."
Sparrow took the bow. She tested the draw – smooth, almost effortless. She released without an arrow. The sound was a soft thrum, not a snap.
"It is quiet," she said.
"Very. At fifty paces, a target will not hear the shot until the arrow has struck."
She examined the cams, the levers, the string. "How do I maintain it?"
"The moving parts need oiling every week. I will show you. The string is waxed silk – stronger than hemp, less prone to fraying. I have made spare strings as well."
Vlad handed her a quiver of arrows – not wooden shafts, but hollow tubes of light metal, fletched with feathers and tipped with steel broadheads.
"These arrows are lighter than wood. They fly faster and penetrate deeper. The broadheads are designed to cause bleeding that will not stop."
Sparrow nocked an arrow, aimed at a target across the workshop, and released. The arrow struck dead center, burying itself deep in the straw.
"I have never shot that fast," she said.
"The bow does the work. You aim."
She looked at him. "You built this for me?"
"I built it for the mission. You are the one who will use it."
She nodded slowly. "Thank you."
"Prove worthy of it."
Dromos 26, Imperial Year 1644
The Workshop – The Rook's Gauntlet
Rook arrived with a notebook and a list of questions. He had seen the Hound's sword and the Sparrow's bow. He had wondered what Vlad would give him.
Vlad did not hand him a weapon. He handed him a leather gauntlet – black, fitted to the left hand, with a reinforced plate on the back.
"Put it on," Vlad said.
Rook slipped his hand into the gauntlet. It fit perfectly.
"Now clench your fist."
Rook clenched. A thin metal tube extended from the gauntlet's back, just above the knuckles.
"This is a dart launcher," Vlad said. "Spring‑loaded, silent. Three darts. The darts are tipped with a paralytic agent – not lethal, but incapacitating within seconds."
Rook flexed his hand. The tube retracted.
"How do I aim?"
"Point your fist. The darts fly straight for ten meters. Beyond that, accuracy drops. You are not a fighter. This is for emergencies only."
Rook studied the gauntlet. "And if I miss?"
"Then you run. Or you shout for the others. You are not expected to be a hero."
Rook nodded slowly. "I understand."
"The gauntlet also has a hidden compartment." Vlad pressed a small stud. A panel slid open, revealing a hollow space inside the wrist. "For lockpicks, small tools, or a folded note."
Rook smiled – a rare expression for him. "You have thought of everything."
"I have had time." Vlad handed him a small pouch of spare darts and a vial of the paralytic agent. "Do not touch the tips. The agent works through skin contact."
"How do I reload?"
"Press the stud on the side. The magazine drops out. Load three darts, slide it back in. I will show you."
Rook practiced reloading until he could do it without looking.
"Thank you," he said.
"Prove worthy of it."
Dromos 28, Imperial Year 1644
The Workshop – Final Assembly
Vlad gathered the three knights in the workshop. The weapons were laid out on the workbench – the Hound's sword, the Sparrow's bow, the Rook's gauntlet. Each had been tested, adjusted, and approved.
"These are your tools," Vlad said. "They are not firearms. They will not draw the crown's attention. But they are effective, and they are yours."
The Hound placed his hand on the sword's hilt. "When do we use them?"
"When the mission requires it. You will not kill indiscriminately. You will investigate, verify, and act only when the evidence is clear."
Sparrow picked up her bow. "And if we are attacked first?"
"Then you defend yourselves. The tenets allow for that."
Rook adjusted his gauntlet. "What is our next mission?"
Vlad walked to the map table. He pointed to a town in the southern Free Cities.
"A merchant accused of smuggling. The evidence is thin. You will investigate. You will determine the truth. And if the merchant is guilty, you will bring him to justice – alive, if possible."
"And if he resists?" the Hound asked.
"Then you have your weapons. Use them wisely."
The three knights exchanged glances. Then they nodded.
"We will not fail," Sparrow said.
"See that you do not."
Vlad watched them leave the workshop. The Hound moved with new confidence, his sword at his hip. Sparrow carried her bow like an extension of her arm. Rook flexed his gauntlet, testing the mechanism.
They are ready, Vlad thought. Or nearly.
He returned to his workbench and picked up the foldable pistol. He still had improvements to make. But for now, the Black Knights had teeth.
He holstered the pistol and began to clean the workshop.
The work was not all that mattered. But it was a start.
End of Chapter Twenty-Nine