Aelyn saw that he was right. She guessed that perhaps a couple of hundred greenskins had packed themselves in around their idol, drawn up in ragged ranks with banners flying and gongs clanging. A few troggoths loomed amongst them and, further back, she saw a gaggle of bizarre grots clustered before the tunnel mouth dug into the idol’s base. These sat astride walking toadstools or were carried on large squig-skulls, or else were bent double beneath the weight of weird paraphernalia and baskets of potions and poisons.

Yet her eye was drawn to the ragged figure that surveyed them regally from the platform etched into the top of the idol. He was tall, for a grot, and he carried a moon-fungus staff in one hand from which filthy light spilled in waves.

‘Their leader,’ she said.

‘Must be,’ replied Bartiman. ‘Wish we had Borik here, one good shot from that cannon of his…’

‘I doubt it would be that easy,’ said Aelyn. ‘No, we must do this ourselves. I just hope that Watchman Shen remembers the plan.’

Looking at the man, though, she doubted it. He swept past them with a fire in his eyes and his halberd raised high, advancing at a trot into the square. His watchmen followed him, several hundred in number now and bolstered further by at least half that many militia. Somewhere near the back of their ragged formation, Aelyn knew they had a couple of cannons being heaved along by sweating crewmen.

‘We can finish this!’ cried Shen, and his men and women cheered his words. ‘In Sigmar’s name, there’s a damned handful of them! Is this what we feared, my friends? Forwards, now, for the regent militant, for Captain Morthan and Arch-Lector Kayl, for Sigmar and Draconium!’

The city’s defenders cheered again and surged forwards, holding to only the barest suggestion of discipline or coherency as they charged. Aelyn felt the fanatical fervour of the mob around her, the weeks of frustration and fear and suffering that fuelled their rage. The enemy were here, at last, visible and in numbers they believed they could defeat.

‘He intended this all along,’ breathed Aelyn as warriors jostled and barged past her and Bartiman on both sides.

‘Whassat?’ asked Bartiman, hanging on to her to avoid himself being knocked from his feet.

‘Shen, that fool, was planning this all along! He didn’t hear a word we said. He’s trying to win this in a straight fight, drive the enemy from the city he still thinks he can save. This doesn’t feel right,’ said Aelyn.

‘Not too late to cut and run, you know,’ said Bartiman.

‘There are good women and men here, Bartiman, servants of Sigmar who don’t deserve to die. We need to aid them,’ said Aelyn. ‘Besides, if they all get killed…’