The Warlock shook his head. "There is some trickery here! I know it! They've bottled us up so that when the forces of the walled city arrive, we'll have no escape. And they'll come with at least one Wizard this time, to pit himself against the Demons who will arrive within days, with the next wave!
"It's Belloc! He's mastered the secret of the Vhurd-aq! Argh! His Lordship lied to us, curse Him! He must have known! He must! He's abandoned us here to gnaw our own flesh, while the armies of the walled city prepare to grind us into the dirt!"
Apoplectic with rage and perceived betrayal, the Warlock began planning a desperate, prolonged, massed assault that would break through the bottleneck held by the defenders and out of the valley, back towards the relative safety of the Burning Lands, and then . . .
He sighed, remembering. "And then, I will go north, I think . . . far north and east, back to my native hill country . . . far from the mad Wizard who dies not . . . far from His Lordship, whose grandiose promises always turn to ashes and death!
"But . . . no! I cannot afford such foolish thoughts! Even now His Lordship is aware of me. Should I be found derelict in my duties, or were I to cast aside this periapt, I would be tortured unto death and rent limb from limb . . ."