‘My dear Helena, it is the wisdom of Sigmar himself,’ replied Selvador. ‘We are a city of faith. We have no Stormcast Eternals to shepherd us, for the God-King trusts us to keep our own faith. That we have allowed a cult such as this to flourish within our walls… we believed that we were being magnanimous, but I see it now for the weakness that it was. They are practitioners of a false faith, deceived by the lies of Chaos and spreading their insidious mistruths through every strata of our society. Helena, they brought all of this upon us.’

‘If that is so, my lord, should we not detain them?’ asked Captain Morthan. ‘Many of these people may simply have been duped.’

The regent militant shook his head sorrowfully and spread his gloved hands upon the stones of the battlements, watching intently as the Shrine of the Last Days’ Warning flowed out into the night. ‘No, my dear Helena, they are tainted one and all,’ he said. ‘Worse, their taint has brought a curse down upon Draconium. Why else would Sigmar have sent a raging storm to show his displeasure? These heretics must be expunged from our city in order that the God-King’s wrath may be appeased. That they have chosen to depart of their own free will spares us the risk of a costly civil conflict, does it not?’

‘My lord, this doesn’t feel right,’ said Morthan. Hendrick heard the frustration in her voice. ‘They go unarmed into the wilderness. You know as well as I the dangers out there, even in these supposedly reconquered lands. These are folk of our city, we have a duty to them.’

‘They are cursed, and they spread their curse to all they touch, and we shall harbour them no longer,’ said Selvador in a voice that brooked no argument. Hendrick heard in that moment the uncompromising strength of faith that the regent militant possessed. He could well imagine that voice bellowing righteous imprecations across a blood-soaked battlefield. The man was every bit as fanatical as those he was exiling into the night. Hendrick just hoped that he was right.

Seeming to recognise that the regent militant was immovable, Captain Morthan took a place next to him behind the battlements, as did her lieutenants. The driving rain beat a tattoo upon the leather awnings that shielded the ramparts. The wind howled, and thunder boomed like a gargant’s war drum. Militia-militant packed the firestep, staring down at the mass of people departing the city into the storm; it was easy enough for Hendrick and his comrades to squeeze in amongst them and watch for themselves.

‘Should we try to stop this?’ he asked Romilla.