Arc VII- Chapter 2: The Golden Silence

The first body was missing its head.

Eryss Quietfang discovered it beneath the collapsed archway of an abandoned dwarven watchpost, its remains half-concealed beneath loose masonry and the pale roots that had crept through the stonework.

A goblin.

Red Maw.

She recognized the crude fang insignia stitched into his leather harness.

One of her lower hands brushed the dust from his shoulder while another carefully lifted the severed strap hanging from his belt.

His signal horn was missing.

That troubled her more than the head.

"How long?" Vaerik asked.

The male Veilwalker stood several paces behind her, his four arms resting near the hooked blades secured along his waist. His dark chitin bore pale markings across his shoulders and upper limbs, distinguishing him from the others of Ravha's brood.

Eryss examined the blood.

"Less than a day."

"An animal?"

"No."

She rose, her long black hair sliding across her shoulders.

"An animal would have eaten."

Vaerik regarded the corpse.

"Something took the head."

"Something wanted us to find the rest."

Selyra emerged from the adjoining passage.

The younger female Veilwalker moved with a quiet grace, her slender form passing between the broken pillars without disturbing the dust beneath her feet. She carried a pair of narrow, curved blades and wore little beyond the dark chitinous armor naturally protecting her body.

"Two more," she reported. "Beyond the old market."

Eryss looked toward the deeper tunnels.

"Show me."

They had departed Harrowhall with a patrol of six Veilwalkers to investigate missing reports from the western border. The route passed through one of several abandoned dwarven settlements surrounding the old kingdom, a place whose name had long since been forgotten by most of the creatures living beneath the mountain.

The Stone-Eaters still remembered it.

They remembered all their lost halls.

Vris had ordered the border passages surveyed and secured, and Eryss had taken the assignment personally. The Fanglord wanted to know which tunnels could support an army, which gates could be defended, and which forgotten roads might allow enemies to approach unseen.

It was sensible.

Perhaps more sensible than many of his generals realized.

But someone had begun studying those same roads.

And they had arrived first.

The dead scouts lay beside the remains of a collapsed market stall.

One was a goblin.

The other a Stone-Eater dwarf.

Neither had drawn a weapon.

The dwarf's throat had been opened from behind, the cut so precise that his beard had barely been disturbed. The goblin had suffered a narrow puncture beneath his ribs.

Eryss crouched beside them.

"Blades," she murmured.

Vaerik knelt opposite her.

"Small ones."

"Made for slipping between armor."

Selyra examined the surrounding walls.

"No tracks."

"Not on the ground," Eryss answered.

She reached upward.

A thin strand of silk extended from her fingertip and caught against the stone ceiling.

There.

A scuff.

Another.

Someone had used the upper passages.

Someone who understood that the creatures of the Red Maw might look for footprints but would not necessarily expect humans to climb.

Eryss studied the marks.

"Climbing hooks."

Vaerik's mandibles shifted.

"Humans?"

"Perhaps."

Selyra looked toward the western gate.

"The patrols should have returned by now."

"Yes."

"And if they were killed here?"

Eryss rose.

"Then whoever killed them has been inside our territory longer than we thought."

They continued toward the gate.

It stood at the far end of a broad stone avenue, an enormous construction of dwarven engineering that had once protected the settlement from whatever horrors lurked beyond the mountain.

Its doors remained closed.

But the locking mechanism had been dismantled.

Not smashed.

Not forced.

Dismantled.

The retaining pins had been removed. Several counterweight chains hung loose, their links cut at carefully chosen points. The great iron wedges securing the doors had been withdrawn and stacked neatly beside the wall.

Vaerik stared.

"Whoever did this knew what they were doing."

Eryss examined the exposed machinery.

"Yes."

She ran a claw along one of the severed chains.

Fresh metal gleamed beneath the dust.

"Very recently."

Selyra approached the gate.

"Should we signal Harrowhall?"

Eryss considered it.

A warning horn would carry through the tunnels.

It would also announce their position.

"Not yet."

Vaerik looked at her.

"Why?"

"Because I believe someone is waiting for us to do exactly that."

A faint scrape came from above.

Eryss moved.

Her curved black blade flashed through the darkness.

A human fell from the archway, his throat opened before he struck the ground.

Another dropped behind Vaerik.

The male Veilwalker turned, caught the attacker's wrist, and drove a hooked blade through his chest.

A third rushed Selyra.

She caught him with her lower arms, lifted him bodily from the ground, and slammed him against a pillar.

The stone cracked.

The human did not rise.

The remaining attackers fled.

Eryss did not pursue.

"Hold."

Vaerik looked toward the retreating shadows.

"We can catch them."

"And follow them into whatever trap they've prepared?"

He hesitated.

Then lowered his blades.

Eryss approached the nearest corpse.

The man wore dark leather beneath a hooded cloak. His clothing had been treated to conceal its movement, and his weapons were narrow, practical instruments of murder.

There was no heraldry.

No identifying banner.

But beneath his collar hung a small silver sunburst.

Eryss pulled it free.

"The Radiant Church."

Selyra's expression darkened.

"Here?"

"Apparently."

Vaerik examined the dead man's wrist.

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A small tattoo marked the inner flesh.

An open eye above a downward-pointing dagger.

"What's that?"

Eryss studied it.

"I don't know."

She removed the man's weapons and passed them to Selyra.

"Keep these."

"What about the bodies?"

"Leave them."

Vaerik glanced toward the gate.

"And the warning?"

"We return to Harrowhall. Quietly."

Eryss looked once more at the dismantled mechanism.

This was no wandering band of human adventurers.

Someone had come into the mountain with a purpose.

And that purpose had required the Red Maw's scouts to die.

They found the Fleshfeeders along the old mining road.

At first, Eryss mistook them for statues.

Four figures stood beneath the ruined ceiling, their bodies frozen in positions of violent surprise.

Orcs.

Large, heavily built warriors wearing the crude bone adornments and scarred armor of the Fleshfeeder band.

But their skin was no longer flesh.

It was gold.

Every detail had been preserved.

The scars.

The broken tusks.

The crude stitching of their armor.

One had been caught raising an axe.

Another appeared to have been turning toward an unseen attacker.

A third stood with his mouth open in a silent roar.

The fourth lay on his side, his fingers clawing at the stone.

Selyra approached cautiously.

"What are they?"

"Fleshfeeders," Vaerik answered.

He recognized the ornaments.

"Blackgrin's lot."

Eryss touched the nearest figure.

Cold.

Hard.

Solid.

No pulse.

No breath.

Nothing.

She withdrew her hand.

"These were living warriors."

Selyra stared at the golden orc.

"What happened to them?"

Eryss examined the ground.

A long groove had been burned across the stone.

Its edges were unnaturally smooth.

The rock surrounding it had been bleached pale.

"Something struck them."

Vaerik studied the marks.

"Magic?"

"Yes."

Eryss looked toward the passage ahead.

"And something powerful."

She knew little of the Fleshfeeders beyond their reputation.

They had once been a savage band of cannibalistic orcs, defeated and brought into the Red Maw through Dunzok Blackgrin's intervention. Their hunger had made them feared even among other orcs.

But they were Red Maw now.

They had sworn themselves to Vris.

And someone had turned them into trophies.

Eryss's mandibles tightened.

"Back away."

Vaerik looked at her.

"Eryss?"

"Now."

They withdrew.

A faint sound reached them.

Footsteps.

Measured.

Unhurried.

Coming from the far end of the road.

A man emerged from the darkness.

He wore polished white and gold armor beneath a traveling cloak, his appearance strangely immaculate amid the abandoned ruins. His face was handsome in the severe fashion of human nobility, with carefully maintained hair and an expression of mild curiosity.

In one hand he carried a spear.

Its shaft gleamed with pale metal.

Its blade shone with a soft golden radiance.

The light seemed almost alive.

Eryss felt the hairs along her limbs rise.

The man regarded the golden Fleshfeeders.

"Remarkable creatures," he said.

His voice carried easily through the chamber.

"I had wondered whether the transformation would preserve the scars."

He approached one of the statues.

"Apparently it does."

Vaerik raised his blades.

"Name yourself."

The man looked at him.

Then smiled.

"Aurex Vaunt."

He inclined his head.

"Saint of the Radiant Church."

Eryss felt something cold settle beneath her chitin.

A Saint.

Inside the mountain.

Aurex's gaze moved across the Veilwalkers.

"Ah. More of the mountain's peculiar inhabitants."

He studied their four arms, their chitin, their curved weapons.

"Fascinating."

Eryss said nothing.

The spear's light troubled her.

It was not merely bright.

It seemed to press against the darkness itself, forcing every shadow away from its wielder.

Aurex looked toward her.

"You appear to be their leader."

Eryss remained silent.

"Perhaps you might tell me where your little goblin king keeps his throne."

Vaerik stepped forward.

"Keep your distance."

Aurex sighed.

"I had hoped we might avoid this."

He raised the spear.

Eryss saw the light gather.

"DOWN!"

The world turned gold.

Vaerik moved first.

He hurled himself toward Aurex, both hooked blades sweeping toward the Saint's throat.

He was fast.

Faster than most creatures his size.

Eryss had watched him cut down armored enemies before they could raise their shields.

Aurex barely moved.

The spear turned in his hand.

Its blade caught the first hook.

A flash of gold followed.

Vaerik's right arm vanished beneath the shoulder.

He screamed.

The second strike never landed.

Aurex drove the spear forward.

The blade passed through Vaerik's chest.

For one terrible instant, the male Veilwalker remained suspended upon it.

Then the light spread.

Gold raced across his chitin.

His limbs stiffened.

His mandibles opened.

And Vaerik became a statue.

Aurex withdrew the spear.

The golden body struck the ground with a heavy metallic sound.

It did not break.

Eryss stared.

Vaerik was gone.

Aurex regarded the statue.

"Excellent."

Selyra attacked.

Her blades flashed toward the Saint's spine.

Aurex pivoted.

The spear swept in a wide arc.

Selyra ducked beneath it.

For a heartbeat, Eryss thought she had succeeded.

Then the light curved.

Not the spear.

The light.

A golden crescent tore through the air.

It struck Selyra across the chest.

The female Veilwalker staggered.

Her blades fell.

She looked down.

A brilliant line had appeared across her carapace, burning through the armor and the flesh beneath.

"Selyra!"

Eryss lunged.

Too late.

Gold spread from the wound.

Selyra's body hardened.

Her limbs froze.

The light reached her face.

And she became a statue.

She remained standing, one hand still extended toward Eryss.

Aurex smiled.

"Two."

Eryss heard herself make a sound she had never made before.

Something between a scream and a hiss.

She attacked.

All four arms moved.

Blade.

Claw.

Silk.

Her body twisted around the Saint in a blur of black chitin and crimson markings.

She struck high, low, and from the side, forcing him to retreat a step.

Then another.

Aurex laughed.

"Wonderful!"

He caught her blade against the spear shaft.

"You creatures really are extraordinary."

Eryss's silk wrapped around his wrist.

She pulled.

The Saint's arm jerked sideways.

Her lower claw struck his face.

Blood appeared along his cheek.

For the first time, his smile faded.

He touched the wound.

Looked at the blood.

Then at her.

"That," he said quietly, "was unnecessary."

The spear blazed.

Eryss barely managed to turn.

The blade passed through her side.

Pain exploded beneath her ribs.

Golden fire spread through the wound.

She screamed.

Her legs buckled.

Aurex twisted the spear.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked.

Eryss could barely hear him.

The light was inside her.

Burning.

Changing.

Trying to make her still.

"This is Aurora."

He withdrew the weapon.

Eryss collapsed.

The Saint regarded the spear with something approaching reverence.

"A weapon once carried by a man who forgot what it meant to serve the Light."

His expression hardened.

"Fortunately, the Church has reclaimed what belongs to it."

Eryss dragged herself backward.

Her lower hands pressed against the wound.

Gold traced the edges of her chitin.

She could feel it spreading.

Aurex approached.

"Don't struggle."

He raised Aurora.

"It will be quicker."

Eryss looked toward Vaerik.

A golden statue.

Then Selyra.

Another.

Both motionless.

Both lost.

She thought of Ravha.

Of the Rootweb.

Of the Fanglord who had entrusted her with the defense of these tunnels.

She could not die here.

Not without warning him.

A thread tightened beneath her fingers.

Then another.

Silk.

She had left strands throughout the ruins.

Across pillars.

Beneath broken doors.

Along the old mining road.

A web too thin for human eyes.

Aurex stepped forward.

Eryss pulled.

The road came alive.

Silk snapped taut around the Saint's legs.

More descended from the ceiling.

Aurex staggered.

"What—"

Eryss drove her claws into the stone.

Pulled herself backward.

The threads tightened.

Aurex raised Aurora.

Golden light erupted around him.

The silk burned.

But it bought her a heartbeat.

One heartbeat was enough.

Eryss vanished into the darkness.

Aurex watched the shadows swallow her.

Then he laughed.

"Persistent little thing."

He lowered Aurora.

Dark blood stained the spear's blade.

A figure emerged from the ruins behind him.

A human wearing a hooded cloak.

The same eye-and-blade insignia marked his wrist.

"Saint Vaunt."

Aurex did not turn.

"Yes?"

"She escaped."

"I noticed."

"Shall we pursue?"

Aurex considered the question.

Then shook his head.

"No."

The hooded man hesitated.

"She could warn them."

"Perhaps."

"That would compromise the operation."

Aurex smiled.

"Then perhaps your brothers should move more quickly."

The assassin bowed.

"As you command."

Aurex looked toward the golden statues standing in the road.

"Leave those two."

The assassin glanced at them.

"Saint?"

"They may prove useful."

He turned away.

"Tell your chapter master to continue."

The hooded figure disappeared.

Aurex examined the faint cut along his cheek.

Then smiled again.

"Such interesting monsters."

Eryss did not know how far she had traveled.

The tunnels blurred.

Stone became shadow.

Shadow became pain.

Every movement sent fresh agony through her side.

The wound refused to close.

Golden veins spread beneath the chitin surrounding it, branching outward like roots searching for purchase.

She had torn away the worst of the affected plating.

It had slowed the transformation.

Not stopped it.

Her silk dragged behind her, marking the passages with faint threads that trembled whenever she stumbled.

She had lost Vaerik.

Selyra.

Two of her kin.

Two who had trusted her to lead them home.

Eryss pressed one hand against the wall.

Her breathing grew shallow.

She could still hear Aurex laughing.

Still see the spear.

Aurora.

She forced herself onward.

At the next junction, she found another dead scout.

An orc.

His throat had been cut.

Beside him lay the shattered remains of a warning horn.

Eryss stared.

Then she understood.

The watchpost.

The dismantled gate.

The dead patrols.

The golden Fleshfeeders.

The humans had not simply stumbled into Red Maw territory.

They had prepared the route.

Silenced the scouts.

Opened the defenses.

And sent a Saint through the breach.

Eryss looked toward the branching tunnels.

How many more?

How many gates?

How many patrols had already vanished?

A distant sound reached her.

Metal striking stone.

Then another.

Not from the direction she had come.

From somewhere deeper within the mountain.

A second attack.

Perhaps a third.

The realization settled over her like ice.

This was not a raid.

It was an invasion.

And the Red Maw did not know.

Eryss pushed herself away from the wall.

Her legs trembled.

The gold beneath her chitin pulsed.

She could barely stand.

But Harrowhall lay ahead.

Vris was there.

Ravha's hatchlings were there.

Her people were there.

She thought of the Fanglord upon his newly claimed throne, speaking of walls, scouts, and preparation.

We shall carve our place into the bones of this world.

Eryss gave a weak, bitter laugh.

"Then you'd best be ready, Little Fanglord."

She took another step.

Then another.

Elsewhere in the mountain, Veshra Bloodmoon stood before a stone table covered in maps.

The Fleshfeeder matriarch was tall and slender, nearly the height of Dunzok Blackgrin, though her narrow waist and refined posture made her seem smaller beside the enormous orc warlord.

Her skin was a dark reddish-brown.

Her hair, bound tightly in deep blood-red braids, fell across her shoulders.

And her eyes burned like coals.

There were no tusks protruding from her lower jaw.

Only the old scars where they had been taken from her as a child.

A simple human longsword rested at her hip, its worn steel refurbished and adorned with small bones, carved teeth, and blood-red cords.

Dunzok stood opposite her.

"You've lost another patrol?"

Veshra nodded.

"Four warriors."

"Fleshfeeders?"

"Yes."

Dunzok frowned.

"That's not like them."

"No."

Veshra looked toward the western passages marked upon the map.

"They were meant to return before dawn."

"Could've found something to eat."

Her ember eyes shifted toward him.

"Blackgrin."

He grunted.

"What?"

"My warriors know the difference between hunting and abandoning their posts."

Dunzok folded his arms.

"Fair."

Veshra studied the map again.

A faint crimson glow stirred beneath the skin of her hands.

Something was wrong.

She could feel it.

Not through magic.

Not yet.

Through the silence.

The Fleshfeeders were many things.

Cruel.

Hungry.

Violent.

But they were not careless.

And four of them had vanished without a word.

Dunzok watched her.

"You worried?"

Veshra smiled faintly.

"Of course."

"Didn't think Fleshfeeders worried."

"We worry about our own."

She looked up.

"Just as you do."

Dunzok said nothing.

Veshra's smile softened.

"Come. We should tell the little Fanglord."

Dunzok snorted.

"Little Fanglord?"

"Yes."

"He's a king now."

"And?"

"He's got a crown."

Veshra tilted her head.

"Does the crown make him taller?"

Dunzok barked a laugh.

"No."

"Then he remains my little Fanglord."

She gathered the maps.

"And I intend to make certain he's eaten before we trouble him with more bad news."

Dunzok shook his head.

"You're a strange woman, Bloodmoon."

Veshra glanced back at him.

"And yet you keep finding reasons to visit."

For once, Dunzok had no answer.

Veshra smiled.

Then the smile faded.

Somewhere beyond the western tunnels, four of her warriors were missing.

And the silence was growing.

Far from Harrowhall, the assassins of the Radiant Church continued their work.

They moved through the abandoned dwarven passages in small groups, extinguishing watchfires, cutting signal lines, and eliminating isolated patrols before warnings could be raised.

Their chapter had served the Church for generations.

They were not soldiers.

They were the hands that moved before armies marched.

The knives that opened gates.

The whispers that silenced inconvenient voices.

And among them walked men who carried a grievance older than the Red Maw itself.

Years ago, one of their brothers had been slain by a goblin.

The creature had taken a ring from his corpse.

A relic entrusted to their chapter, enchanted to conceal its bearer from sight.

The ring had vanished.

But the brotherhood had not forgotten.

Now rumors of an ash-gray goblin king had reached their ears.

A creature who wielded strange magic.

Who commanded monsters.

Who had somehow risen from the depths to challenge the powers of the world above.

The assassins had come for more than a relic.

They had come to remind the Red Maw that the Church had long memories.

And very sharp knives.

Eryss stumbled.

Her hand struck the wall.

She caught herself before falling.

The golden veins beneath her chitin had spread farther.

Her side burned.

Her vision blurred.

She could no longer feel two of her lower fingers.

But she could hear something ahead.

Voices.

Distant.

Familiar.

Red Maw.

She tried to call out.

Only a rasp escaped her throat.

She took another step.

Then another.

The darkness shifted.

A distant torch flickered.

Eryss reached toward it.

Her legs gave way.

She fell to one knee.

"Fanglord…"

The word barely escaped her lips.

She forced herself upright.

She had to reach Harrowhall.

She had to warn them.

Before the silence reached the throne.