The huge black towers had been erected along the wall, each topped with a crystal so black it seemed to drink the light.
Nothing reflected off their surfaces but each pulsed with wicked energies and could unleash bolts of green energy, which flew towards the flyers. The green light only needed to get close to the creatures to suck out their strange energies. Silver lights, like tiny bolts of lightning, flew from their bodies into the green beams as the flyers stiffened in mid-air and then fell to their deaths. Those farthest from the death bolts kept coming, but only to meet with death from the elves on the city walls.
The fighting was the bloodiest of the war so far. Every effort was being made to hold the monsters outside the city walls for as long as possible. The translocation portal in the centre of the city was transporting the Seven Stars and every magician who could be spared from that task was already here on the walls.
A crawler came up the wall so quickly Laromendis was almost taken unawares. He flicked his right hand but the bolt of energy from his wand missed the creature entirely. Quickly he sliced at its neck with his dagger. It was as tough as a tree-trunk and he barely cut into it, but it caused the demon enough pain to distract it; it lost its purchase and fell backwards onto another crawler. Laromendis wondered if others had noticed what he did, but the flyers were now breaching the energy barrier at an alarming rate.
‘We can’t keep this up for much longer,’ he said to no one in particular.
A veteran soldier next to him grunted, which he took was an agreement. The warrior was too busy cutting off the head of a flyer that breached the death tower defences to speak. He was also ignoring a gash in his left shoulder, a wound that would cause him serious blood loss if he didn’t get it tended to quickly.
‘Get that shoulder dressed!’ he shouted. ‘I’ll hold them!’
He conjured up an illusion, one of those he had prepared against this sort of contingency. A creature appeared in the air above him, a regal wrathbird. It had a seventeen-foot wingspan and was built of anger and muscle. Talons so sharp they could sever a torso, and a beak so strong it could snap through any armour suddenly confronted the demons remaining on the wall. The illusion was so real that they hesitated, which was all that Laromendis had wished for. He aimed his wand at the closest and sent a death bolt to strike it full in the face. It fell clawing its own eyes out in agony before it died.
The conjuration was so lifelike, defenders nearby fell away too. The wrathbird was one of the most feared predators on all of the planets ruled by the Clan of the Seven Stars, and Laromendis’s illusion was so vivid, they could smell the carrion stench from its breath, feel the beat of its wings, and see the vivid ruby highlights on its black feathers. The creature’s talons dripped with blood and its eyes were alight with rage and hatred. The phantom would remain for at least another minute before it began to waver and dissipate.
The Conjurer cast his wand once more and another demon fell. Archers were now targeting those on the wall, while the heavy engines poured rocks and hot oil, boiling water and flaming refuse upon those at the base of the wall. The corpses already piled high ignited, and the foul smoke that spiralled upwards choked defenders and attackers alike.
The attack faltered, and then the retreat began. Coughing from the rising smoke, the Conjurer moved over to a bucket of water, picked it up and drank from it. He had no idea his throat could become this parched. He ignored the bitter metallic flavour, thinking it wise not to contemplate what made the water taste like that. Catching his breath, Laromendis looked out over the battlefield and saw something new: half a dozen larger demons stood along the battle line, equally spaced and directing other demons. He was no expert, but he had read every report he could, and they had never mentioned the Legion was organized. They usually just came unexpectedly, a flood of creatures that flew, crawled, ran and hopped at defenders in waves. Most of them had no weapons, just teeth and claws, but a few carried swords of some alien metal or wore rudimentary armour.
But these figures looked like field commanders. They wore finer armour and other demons waited at their side, holding a banner of some fashion. The battlefield was too smoky, the light falling, and the standards too distant for him to make out any devices or patterns on them.