Hendrick stepped out from cover. He stared up at the battlements. The daylight was beginning to fade as the hour grew late and the storm clouds massed, but he could make out a tall figure leaning over the battlements. Her shock of red hair was vivid in the twilight.

‘Are you someone with the sense to listen to us?’ he called back. ‘Or am I going to have to dance around a few more arrows first?’

‘The former,’ came the reply. ‘You’ve got five minutes until I open this gate, then two more after that before it shuts again whether you’re inside or not. And if you mean the city any harm, Sigmar help me I’ll run you through myself. Clear?’

‘Clear,’ Hendrick shouted back, feeling something loosen a little in his chest. He ignored the indignant shouts of the bargemen as he and his comrades broke down their shelter and traipsed towards the gate. They were getting somewhere.

The gatehouse backed onto a broad courtyard, from which cobbled streets thrust away into the city like splayed fingers. Buildings rose on all sides, large and small, dilapidated and newly built, lantern-lights flickering in their windows and doorways as the evening drew in. Factory stacks rose from nearby streets, smoke rising from them to add to the malaise above the city. The sounds and smells of civilisation filled the air, though muffled by the curtain of steadily falling rain. Lamplight danced on slick cobbles in the twilight.

As they stepped through the second set of gates, Hendrick and his companions found themselves halted by a thicket of halberd blades. The men and women who confronted them wore black uniforms and cloaks clasped with sigils wrought from various precious metals. Cogwork lanterns and pistols hung from their belts.

At their head stood the woman who had addressed him from the walls. She was tall and powerfully built, and accompanied by a rangy and rather aristocratic young man that Hendrick took to be her second. Both wore more ornate versions of their followers’ uniforms.

‘Welcome to Draconium,’ said the red-haired woman. ‘Now, who in the realms are you, and where did you come by your warning?’

‘Hendrick Saul, sergeant of the Swords of Sigmar mercenary company. My companions and I…’ his throat clicked, but he swallowed over it and pressed on. ‘Our leader was recently slain by the curse of a malefic artefact, but before his death he garnered a mystical revelation that danger threatened your city.’

Hendrick saw the young officer’s lip curl at his words, saw his distaste at the Swords’ rag-tag appearance. He caught the boy’s eye and favoured him with a dangerous smile. The officer paled slightly.

‘If you’re done intimidating my lieutenant, Hendrick Saul, then you’ll follow me. All of you, we’ve carriages waiting.’