She shook her head. ‘Hendrick, the regent militant may be right. The Moonshadow brings death, remember? What if this storm that occludes the moon is that shadow, and the eyes haunting people’s dreams belong to the God-King? What if our suspicions of Nurgle’s taint were wrong, and it is their heresy that is the source of Sigmar’s displeasure?’

‘Do you really believe that?’ he asked as he watched the last of the Chosen flow from the gate to join the massed gathering beyond. The ramparts trembled slightly as the portcullis lowered back into place, and the inner gates closed with a boom. Lightning split the sky, a vast web flashing there and gone. ‘Do you really believe they brought the animal attacks, the insects, the omens and tremors, all this just for wrongly interpreting the will of Sigmar?’

‘I do not know anymore,’ said Romilla. The anguished doubt he saw in her eyes was enough to stay any further questions. Instead, Hendrick squinted against rain-mist and brazier smoke as he watched the faithful preparing to depart.

‘Light the sacred torches, that they may show us the way back to the heavens,’ commanded Krysthenna.

Her Chosen obeyed, pulling out the torches they had soaked in blessed unguent and igniting them. The rain made it difficult, but they persisted. Krysthenna felt pride as she watched, for what was this but a microcosm of all they had suffered and prevailed over? They were going home, at last. They had kept the faith that their parents hid in secret, and their parents before them, and in these last dark days they had spread their message far and wide through the doubtful populace of Draconium. Where her flock had numbered less than a hundred souls a turning earlier, it was more than five times that number now.

‘We have saved so many,’ she breathed, ignoring the fierce tingle of the rain saturating her skin, the burning in her scalp and eyes. This mortal frame might be as corrupt as everything else around her, but it needed to support her soul for only a few days more and then she, and all her followers, would be blessed by Sigmar. In passing through the Gates of Aqshy they would be cleansed of the sins of the tainted realms. They would be shriven, purged of sin and corruption and made fit to dwell once again in the Realm of Heavens beneath holy Sigendil’s light. The thought sent rapturous joy surging through her.

‘Praise be to Sigmar,’ cried Krysthenna, unable to contain herself. ‘Gather the procession, my Chosen, and let us take the road south to salvation.’

‘Will you lead us, Lantern Bearer?’ asked a red-faced old man in merchant’s garb. His impure skin glistened red in the torchlight where the rain had scalded it, but the expression on his face was one of unalloyed joy.