‘The arch-lector has made it clear that he would prefer I didn’t take that chance,’ said Captain Morthan sourly. ‘If a threat to the city is impending, and note the if there, he doesn’t want any risks taken with the integrity of the city’s gates.’

‘Where is the arch-lector?’ asked Hendrick.

‘Warm and dry in the shrine-militant, sending messages by runner,’ said Captain Morthan. ‘His holy and militant lordship takes a rather different approach to command than I.’

‘Captain Morthan!’ bellowed Krysthenna. ‘This is the last time that I will beg your indulgence. I am the Lantern Bearer of Sigmar and you ignore my words at your peril!’

‘All right, all right, you self-important little witch,’ muttered Helena, pushing her way through the cordon of watchmen to stand on the edge of the ring of light. ‘This ends now. You are endangering your flock with this foolish display. They will be scalded at the very least.’

‘Heretic!’ yelled the massed Chosen. ‘Unbeliever! Damned!’

‘I will not argue with one who stands already with one foot in the fires of the Dark Gods’ realm,’ cried Krysthenna, gesturing grandly down at Captain Morthan. ‘It is not for the faithful to explain themselves to those who will not see the truth, whose ears are deaf to the warnings that Sigmar has given. If you wish to damn yourself in your ignorance, Morthan, then that is your mistake to make. But to impede They Who Have Heard the Warning? That is heresy of the worst sort, for you defy the will of the God-King himself! Let us through or I shall order holy fire unleashed upon these tainted and impermanent gates.’

‘For Sigmar’s sake, Krysthenna–’ Captain Morthan began.

She didn’t get any further. At that moment a mighty peal of thunder rolled through the clouds, and lightning exploded like a spider’s web above the city. A ferocious gale swept across the rooftops and funnelled down the city streets, snatching up roof slates and hurling them through the air. A spark-lantern on the western edge of the square shattered, gas fire exploding from within. The Chosen wailed and prayed frantically. The watchmen looked askance at one another, shifting their grips on their cold and rainslick weapons.

‘Sigmar has nought but fury for the words of heretics!’ howled Krysthenna, turning, Hendrick assumed, to give the order for her followers to detonate their bombs. Yet she stopped as a new voice, a deep and booming baritone, answered her.

‘That he does, Krysthenna, and this night his fury is reserved for you.’