They emerged through another arch and into a larger chamber that might once have been a chantry. Half its ceiling had collapsed, the rubble cleared away and silken awnings hung over the ragged hole. Wood and silk structures crowded the chamber’s wings, a small village’s worth of lightweight dwellings hidden away within the shadows of the ruined monastery. Hendrick noted that all of Stonehallow was hidden in this fashion. It was how the people had stayed safe during the Age of Chaos, concealed behind a façade of hollow ruin and the lingering holy energies that permeated the monastery’s stones.

It was why they had responded with such terror to Varlen.

This wing of the vast monastery had been abandoned, its inhabitants scurrying away elsewhere while the outsiders remained. They had enough space to work with, thought Hendrick; the monastery was immense, an inexplicable ruin left over from the Age of Myth. How else could you hide an entire town in its depths?

Three figures waited for them here.

Eleanora VanGhest sat propped against the stub of an old stone pillar, beside the heap of backpacks and satchels that contained their gear. She was clad in her ever-present engineer’s smock. Her hair was tousled and she had a lens-monocle pulled down over one eye. She was tinkering with an arrangement of gears and delicate metal arms, and barely glanced at Hendrick and Aelyn as they approached.

Borik Jorgensson and Romilla Aiden both rose at Hendrick’s approach. The former was a stocky slab of a Kharadron duardin. He had his helm hooked to his belt, and in the wan dawn light every wrinkle on his weathered face created its own sharp shadow. He appraised Hendrick with his steely gaze but said nothing. After a moment, the duardin mercenary went back to cleaning the considerable mass of the six-barrelled rotary cannon he lugged about with him.

Romilla came to meet Hendrick half way. She wore white and blue robes still stained with soot from the night before, and her tattooed scalp was shaven like Hendrick’s.

‘Sigmar’s blessings upon you,’ she said firmly, reaching up to clap one scarred hand on Hendrick’s shoulder. ‘I have prayed all night for your brother’s soul. If intercession were possible, I promise you it has been achieved.’

Hendrick gave Romilla a grateful nod then looked past her pointedly.

‘Bartiman is still asleep,’ said Aelyn.

‘Sigmar only knows how the old sorcerer has rested at all, after what occurred,’ added Romilla, her distaste clear.

‘Olt slept beyond the walls,’ continued Aelyn.

‘Not his gods, not his problem?’ asked Hendrick.

‘Nothing so callous,’ replied Romilla reproachfully. ‘Varlen was a friend to all of us, Olt as much so as any.’

Hendrick winced. ‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m exhausted and… out of sorts.’