The coastwind was cold by dawn, carrying the fading scent of golden fire from Brightharbor. The scouting party was preparing to leave warg saddles tightened, orc outriders checking weapons, goblins pulling down tent stakes when the air shifted.
The wargs felt it first.
Their hackles rose. A low whine rippled through the pack.
Maz lifted her head sharply.
“What is that?”
A chime.
Soft. Beautiful.
And wrong.
The next heartbeat exploded in light.
Radiant brilliance tore across the dunes like a falling star. Sand vitrified into glass under its heat. Warg riders shielded their eyes; several beasts buckled, howling.
A single figure walked from the blinding glow tall, armored in plates of luminous white, haloed by drifting shards of gold.
The Spear-Saint.
The First Spear of the Radiant Circle.
The Butcher of the Ashen Crusades.
His weapon burned like a lance made of liquefied sunlight.
He spoke with a voice like a bell:
“Vris the Fanglord. By decree of the Radiant Church, you are condemned.”
Maz stepped forward instantly, Scaldfang in hand.
“You want him,” she growled, “you go through me.”
The Saint didn’t hesitate.
The Spear-Saint launched forward speed unreal, divine, terrifying. Maz met him with a roar, Scaldfang streaking red arcs through the air.
Metal sang. Light screamed.
Maz was fast faster than any goblin had a right to be but he was faster still.
A spear-thrust tore across her ribs. Another pierced her thigh. She blocked the third with Scaldfang, sparks raining down on the sand.
She grinned through blood:
“Radiant coward… You don’t fight with honor!”
“Purification will commence now..” His reply was soft and gentle like a chime.
The next blow sent her flying, crashing into the sand, breath torn from her lungs.
“Maz!” Vris’s voice cracked as he sprinted forward.
But the Saint was already raising his spear to finish her.
Maz tried to stand, but her leg buckled. Blood pooled beneath her.
Her voice was a rasp:
“Run, Fanglord. He’s not here for me.”
That was enough.
Vris appeared in a blur Invisibility bursting around him as he drove Ruin toward the Saint’s heart.
The Saint parried with inhuman precision, the divine spear slicing past Vris’s cheek. Blood sprayed.
Heartfang came down next
The Saint blocked it, but the blade screamed against the radiant metal, as if hungry for it.
They circled.
Sand spun in spirals around them, disturbed by power and fury.
The Saint spoke while they fought:
“You slew innocents at Harrowhall.”
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“I slew warriors who stood between my people and extinction.”
Their weapons met again light against ruin, holiness against hunger.
The Saint’s face twisted with zeal:
“Your existence is sin.”
“Your faith is slavery.” Came Vris’s retort.
The Saint struck Vris across the chest armor splitting.
Vris slammed Heartfang into the Saint’s side lightburst erupting as it tried to devour the holy metal.
They broke apart, both bleeding light in different colors one gold, one dark crimson.
The Saint pointed his spear at Vris’s throat.
“You are a shadow given breath. I will purge-”
A warg slammed into his side Varhka, snarling, forcing the Saint to stab sideways to protect himself.
“Flee!” Maz coughed. “Get out, Vris!”
Vris hesitated only a heartbeat.
And that heartbeat almost got him killed.
The spear sliced across his jaw, carving a line from ear to chin.
Varhka shoved between them again, growling madly.
Finally, Vris grabbed Maz under the arms, lifting her onto his saddle as she hissed in pain.
“This isn’t over,” Vris growled at the Saint.
“It ends next we meet, Shadow-King,” the Saint replied.
Vris and his company vanished into the dunes wargs sprinting at full speed while the Saint stood in blinding silence, spear dripping both gold and red.
They returned to the Burrows at nightfall.
Ravha descended from her webs like a black sun eclipsing the cavern, mandibles clicking in grief.
“Lay her here, little Fang.”
Silk wrapped around Maz’s body cool, soothing, alive.
Ravha stitched wounds with threads that glowed faintly green, her many limbs moving with uncanny maternal precision.
Vris paced like a caged creature, every breath a growl.
At last Ravha spoke:
“She will live.”
Vris sagged.
Ravha added:
“But she will not fight for a while. Her body needs weaving. So does your heart.”
He clenched his fists. “The Spear-Saint will die for this.”
“Not if you die first.”
Vris looked up at Ravha his gaze becoming sterner more focused on leading less so on what could have happened. “I’ve been reckless.. My generals and even myself are more important now than ever.. I have to trust the Maw and all that pledge fealty to our cause..”
Ravha’s vibrations were full of pride for Vris her strongest little hatchling. “Hatchling is learning… Your matron is very proud of you…”
Vris approached the webbing that Maz was laying in , placing a gentle kiss on her forehead his clawed hand gently brushing her cheek causing a stray piece of webbing to cling to his hand. He no longer found Spider silk to be uncomfortable to the touch if anything he felt home feeling its vibrations.
“Vris…” Maz murmured softly up at him. “Vengeance can wait.. You must govern and build…”
“Take care of her Matron..” Vris said to Ravha who answered him with vibrations of relaxation.
The war leaders gathered:
Vris stepped onto the stone dais, Heartfang strapped to his spine, Ruin at his hip, new blood still drying on his armor.
His voice carried like thunder in the stone hall:
“The Church has declared us unworthy of existence.”
His eyes swept the room.
“Then we will build a world where their judgment cannot reach.”
He raised Heartfang.
The chamber fell to its knees.
“We make new rulse. Maw Law. For all who stand under the Fang.”
Maw Law Principles of the Red Maw
Strength leads, but loyalty binds.
The weak are not discarded they are made strong.
No one of the Maw kneels to light or crown.
Blood spilled without purpose is waste.
Children are the future of the tribe protected above all.
Traitors feed the Maw.
All who stand with the Fanglord stand together beast, goblin, ogre, dwarf, or orc.
Death is not failure. Survival is not shame.
Magic that enslaves the mind or soul is heresy against the Maw.
None rule alone. Counsel tempers the Fang.
When Vris finished reading, the hall trembled with roaring approval.
“There..” Dunzok approached Vris. “Thinking back when I had you in a cage..”
Vris’s eyes cast sideways looking at the Orc seeing his imposing visage cloaked in spidersilk and iron armor his war axe strapped to his back. “Hopefully I haven’t gotten you rethinking the little arrangement..”
Dunzok laughed. “No Fanglord you may be a bleedin goblin, but you’re far more than that now.. You’re something else… I’m thinking I follow this through and see just how far we can get before the gods decide to throw us into the abyss…”
“That’ll be an interesting day…” Vris said back then started to move down the dais.
Vris stepped down, the weight of leadership and vengeance settling on his shoulders like a mantle of iron.