‘There isn’t… time,’ said Helena Morthan, her voice little more than a strained croak. Romilla gave a start; in her sorrow, she had forgotten the captain’s presence.

‘I will make time,’ she replied angrily. ‘He died trying to protect your damned city.’

‘Draconium will die, too, if you people don’t act quickly!’ snarled Morthan, her fire flaring through the pain of her wounds. She broke off, coughing wetly into her fist, then stared straight at Romilla. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘A lot of people are going to die.’

‘A lot of people already have,’ replied Romilla, but she rose and crossed to the captain’s side, promising herself that she would attend to Olt’s rites before they left. Never mind that he had been a heathen – he had served the God-King all the same, and his soul deserved what protection she could offer.

‘Let me see what I can do for your wounds,’ she said, taking hold of a corner of the blanket that covered Morthan’s legs. The captain placed a blood-stained hand over hers and shook her head. A look of revulsion crossed her features.

‘Don’t. Please,’ she said. ‘I can’t look upon that again.’

‘The city is already lost,’ said Borik. ‘If it wasn’t before, it absolutely is now. Have you seen it out there? The greenskin filth have won this fight.’

‘Defeatist, for a duardin,’ said Captain Morthan bitterly.

‘Realistic,’ replied Borik. Morthan seemed to dismiss him, looking around as though in a daze until her pupils focused shakily on Aelyn. Romilla realised that the captain wasn’t just wounded; she was dying. Should probably already be dead, if the quantity of blood drenching her blanket was anything to go by.

Morthan grabbed Aelyn’s arm, and the aelf bore her touch without pulling away.

‘Take my seal. My brooch,’ coughed Morthan, pointing weakly to the ruby clasp that held her cloak in place. ‘The watch will obey whoever has that. Get it to Lieutenant Grange, if he lives. If not…’ she coughed again, this time blood spraying from her mouth. She winced, before waving a hand in a gesture that eloquently said ‘you figure it out’.

Aelyn took the proffered brooch and pocketed it.

‘You wish us to aid Grange in the evacuation?’ asked Romilla. Captain Morthan fixed her with a surprisingly fierce glare, for one so close to death’s door.

‘No!’ she hissed, her words becoming more and more laboured. ‘There are secondary armouries. Hidden safehouses. Stockpiles.’ She paused, drawing in a wrecked, rattling breath. ‘Grange has to lead the fight back.’

‘For what?’ asked Romilla, aghast. ‘Even if the city does have hidden reserves, even if by some miracle they’ve not been found and looted, what would be the point? Borik is right, the greenskins and their awful moon have killed this city in a night. All we can do now is to save as many folk as we can.’