He looked around and wondered if he was the only one to notice. He saw no footman officer or soldier of the Regent’s Guard or City Watch move to carry word of this to the Regent Lord; nor any magicians or priests make their way down the long stone steps to the bailey below. Most were simply catching their breath, drinking water or tending to the wounded. A few sat, back against the wall, legs outstretched in exhaustion. All were waiting for the next onslaught.
Laromendis looked around again, and finally decided to take matters into his own hands. The officer detailed to watch over him was nowhere to be seen. Obviously other duties had called him away or he was dead. Either way, Laromendis had no one to tell him not to go, so he decided that his time on the wall was over.
Making his way down the long stone steps to the outer bailey, he saw a cluster of officers gathered around a figure Laromendis knew well: Lord General Mantranos, second only to the Regent Lord in command of the army, and a critical force in the Regent’s Meeting. He was white-haired and battle-scarred, but still possessed as keen a military mind as the People had ever known. Years of fighting the Demon Legion had brought his skills in the field to near perfection. Although he had never been able to defeat them - no commander of the taredhel had ever won a victory - he had repulsed them, slowed them down, and cost them more blood than any elven commander before him.
He knew better than to attempt to speak directly to the Lord General, so the Conjurer studied the group around him.
Half a dozen senior commanders stared down at a hastily drawn map of the northern defences, covered with marks in chalk. Behind them, ready to carry their commands to any position along the defensive front, was a group of junior officers. Seeing that he was being ignored, Laromendis used his arts to shift his appearance to that of a messenger, covered in blood and nursing an injured arm. He made his way up to a junior officer and said, ‘Sir!’
The young commander turned and saw what the Conjurer wished him to see, and said, ‘Report!’
‘From the wall, sir. I’m to tell you the Legion has officers!’
The Lord General couldn’t avoid overhearing. He turned his attention to Laromendis and said, ‘What? Repeat that immediately!’
‘Sir,’ said Laromendis, trying his best to sound faint from his wounds. ‘There are half a dozen demon officers upon the field, with standard bearers beside them. They’re rallying the creatures for another assault.’
‘Who told you to report this?’ demanded the Lord General.
Feigning weakness and disorientation, Laromendis said, ‘Why ... it was an officer . . . my lord . . .’ He waved towards the outer wall. ‘Up there.’
To one of his younger officers, the general said, ‘Go see what the truth is.’ To Laromendis he said, ‘Have your wounds seen to; you’re of no use to us as you are. If you’re not fit for duty, go to the portal and leave with the others.’
Laromendis bowed as best he could, then moved away. As soon as he was out of sight, he dropped his illusion and hurried towards the translocation portal. As far as the Conjurer was concerned, he had just received permission to leave for Home from the foremost military commander in all Andcardia, and he wasn’t prepared to debate the finer points of this with anyone.
He reached the translocation portal and saw something truly awe-inspiring. A massive tree, oak-like in form, but bearing larger shimmering golden leaves, was being carried above ground by magic, floating yards above the earth as it was guided by ropes tied to godos, the massive oxen-like creatures native to this world. It was being pulled through the translocation portal while a stream of refugees moved alongside. The Conjurer got in line with those waiting to go through and watched as the last two of the Seven Stars rose into the air and were tied to the teams of godos. Within an hour the trees would be safely back on their native soil, after being away for millennia, and at that moment Andcardia would become a memory.
The Regent Lord would order the remaining soldiers on the wall to flee to the portal. Those who reached it before the demons would find refuge, and those who arrived too late would die on this world. Two priests watched as the Conjurer and others around him stepped forward. Laromendis knew they would eventually sacrifice their lives, for it was their responsibility to destroy the translocation device. The demons would have to find their own way to Midkemia.
Until this battle, the demons had been clever enough to find and hold gates open to each world they attacked, but this time was different. Or so the Regent Lord and every taredhel hoped, especially Laromendis. For there was only one gate to Midkemia, and despite its massive size, it was easy to destroy. Break the machine, and the gate collapsed. Without the machine, their destination would be untraceable. At least that was the theory.