Day twenty of the march brought them within sight of Valengard.
The city sprawled across rolling hills like something from a painting—white stone buildings with red tile roofs, organized streets that spoke to centuries of careful planning, walls that were substantial without being overwhelming.
Church spires rose from multiple districts, their gold-leaf crosses catching the afternoon sun in ways that made them look like they were burning.
It was beautiful. Civilized. Everything demon territories aspired to be and rarely achieved.
And in two days, Liam would order its destruction.
"Walls are twenty feet high, three feet thick stone construction," Zara reported as they surveyed the city from elevated position two miles distant. "Five gates—north, south, east, west, and a smaller service entrance on the northeast corner. Each gate has defensive towers. Artillery positions on the walls at regular intervals."
"Garrison strength?" Torven asked.
