Aelyn tensed as she heard footfalls slapping the cobbles, approaching fast from the north end of the street. A man burst into her field of view, running hard, slipping and skidding on the treacherous footing. He was dressed in colourful pantaloons that had been torn and stained, and the remains of a large wicker basket dangled from his back. Aelyn tensed as she saw him shoot a panicked look over his shoulder, then cry out as his foot struck something buried in the fungi. The man pitched forwards, landing amidst the foulness in a spray of slime. He scrabbled frantically as he tried to rise. The aelf began to reach for her bow, then stopped herself. The safety of her friends came first. She couldn’t endanger them by drawing attention.

More figures dashed into view, sprinting things with deformed faces and revolting froth spilling from their jaws. A mob of spore-sickened sprung onto the man before he could rise, and his screams echoed along the street. Aelyn made herself watch until it was over, until the infected had risen and stalked away, twitching and gibbering, a new figure in torn pantaloons lurching along in their midst.

She heard movement behind her, turned to see Romilla standing in the doorway.

‘They’re gone,’ she said quietly in answer to the priest’s unasked question.

‘So many we can’t save,’ said Romilla, shaking her head in sorrow.

‘There are those we can,’ said Aelyn. ‘But we need to decide how, and whom, and we need to do it now. I don’t believe that this building will remain inviolate for long.’

‘That’s true enough,’ said Romilla. ‘There are patches of fungi beginning to sprout from the walls on the ground floor, and watchman Shen found insects spilling into the basement armoury through a drain cover. He’s blocked it, but…’ Romilla’s shrug was eloquence enough.

This was a temporary sanctuary at best. At any moment, the horrors that prowled beyond its walls could come spilling in.

The two of them made their way along the house’s landing and down its ironoak stairs to the ground floor. Despite its dilapidated outward appearance, the interior of the building was smartly appointed in the colours of the Draconium Watch. It had the feel of a fortress, its fixtures and fittings austere and functional but for a few portraits of previous watch captains that hung on the walls. Aelyn wondered if such a portrait would be commissioned of Helena Morthan. It was the least she deserved, but it seemed tragically unlikely. Barring a miracle, Aelyn wasn’t sure there would be a city left for that portrait to be painted in soon.

They picked their way over the sleeping forms of exhausted city folk and nodded reassuringly to others who huddled watchfully in corners, their clothes stained with dirt and blood, their possessions or loved ones clutched close.