“Hurry,” Qurrah said as Harruq climbed his way up, using a windowsill as a foothold. Together they stood upon the roof and gazed over the wall, mesmerized by the sight they saw. Hundreds and hundreds of orcs charged, mere seconds away. None carried torches. Their race could see as well in night as in day. That same racial ability allowed the two brothers to watch the orcs approach. Their bodies bulged with lean muscle and their pale gray skin glistened with sweat. Some wore mismatched armor, though most had only skulls, straps of leather, and war paint covering their bodies.

Wave after wave of arrows rained upon them, and those that fell were trampled by the rest. They were not even slowed. Harruq pointed past the army to where a long line of men stood in the distance, carrying no light or torch.

“What are they doing?” he asked.

Qurrah searched the line, and he saw what he suspected.

“The necromancer,” he said, pointing to the black shape covered in robes and a hood with its cowl pulled low. “Those with him are dead, Harruq. They serve only him.”

“Huh,” Harruq said. “Lot of good he’s doing. How are the orcs going to get through the wall, they have nothing but…”

The man in black robes lifted his hand. Qurrah saw pale and bony fingers hooked in strange formations. Then came the fire, erupting as if those fingers were a crack releasing the melted rock of the abyss. The sudden light blinded them both. The fire burned through the orcs as a solid beam, melting their bodies and scattering their remains. When it struck the wooden gate, it exploded. Wood shattered. Guards behind the gate howled as molten rock struck them, piercing through their shields and armor.

The orcs roared at the sight, not at all upset at their own losses. The way into the city was clear. Axes and swords held high, they rushed the opening.