Chapter 26: The Viper's Nest
While Asher and Lucas were celebrating in the workshop, a very different scene was unfolding five miles away.
Blackwood Manor did not have electric lights. It did not have warm, polished wood floors. It was a fortress of cold grey stone, lit by flickering torches and smelling of damp moss and old iron.
In the main hall, Lord Malachi Blackwood sat on a high-backed chair that looked more like a throne. He was a man of fifty, with a face like carved granite and eyes as cold as a winter frost. He peeled an apple with a small, sharp knife, the skin curling away in a single long strip.
"Speak," Malachi commanded, not looking up from his apple.
A scout was kneeling on the stone floor, his clothes dusty and his chest heaving from a hard ride. He was trembling—not from the cold, but from fear of the man sitting in front of him.
"My Lord," the scout stammered. "I... I saw something at the Ven Dor Hoven estate. On the main road."
"Lucas is playing with his new toys?" Malachi sneered, slicing a piece of apple. "Let me guess. Another new loom for his textiles? A faster way to mill grain? The boy thinks commerce makes a king."
"No, my Lord," the scout swallowed hard. "It wasn't a loom. It... it was a monster."
Malachi paused, the knife hovering over the fruit. He looked up, his grey eyes boring into the scout.
"A monster?"
"It was made of metal, my Lord. It had no horses. No oxen. It moved on its own, screaming like a dragon and spitting black smoke." The scout's voice rose in panic. "It moved faster than my best stallion! It tore past the merchant caravan and vanished in a cloud of dust. It was... unnatural."
The hall went silent.
Malachi stared at the scout for a long time. Then, he slowly placed the knife on the table.
"A carriage without horses," Malachi mused. "That moves faster than a stallion."
He stood up, his heavy fur cloak sweeping across the floor. He walked to the window and looked out toward the distant lights of the city.
"Lucas Ven Dor Hoven is arrogant," Malachi said quietly. "But he is not a wizard. He cannot breathe life into metal. Someone is helping him."
He turned back to the scout.
"Did you see the driver?"
"Two men, my Lord. Master Lucas was one. The driver was... a stranger. Young. Short dark hair. I didn't recognize him."
"A stranger," Malachi whispered.
He walked over to a map on the wall. He traced a finger from his estate to the capital.
"If Lucas controls speed, he controls trade," Malachi said, his voice hardening. "And if he controls trade, House Blackwood becomes obsolete."
He turned to the shadows in the corner of the room.
"Garret."
A figure stepped out of the darkness. He moved with a twitchy, jerky rhythm, like a puppet with tangled strings.
"Yes, Father," Garret Blackwood rasped.
He stepped into the torchlight, revealing a face that was a ruin of old violence. A jagged scar ran from his left eye down to his jaw, pulling his mouth into a permanent, cruel sneer. He didn't look like a noble; he looked like a mad dog on a very thin leash. He ran a thumb over the serrated blade at his hip, his eyes wide and unblinking.
Yes, Father," Garret Blackwood answered. His smile was sharp and cruel.
"We need to know what that machine is," Malachi commanded. "But more importantly, we need to know who built it."
"Shall I destroy it?" Garret asked, his hand drifting to the hilt of his dagger.
"Not yet," Malachi shook his head. "First, find the engineer. If he can build one monster... he can build an army."
Malachi picked up the apple slice and crushed it in his fist, juice dripping onto the stone floor.
"Bring him to me."