The rain didn’t so much fall as hang in the air. It had been this way for most of the previous day and both Emmaline and Kasimir were, if not soaked, damp to the bone. The sight of the mutants had banished any thought of diverting off the road to find shelter and Kasimir at least believed that the enemy's outriders and scouts might have reached this far. Or at least he said he did, Emmaline wouldn’t have put it past him to have made that last part up just to spite her.

Taalagad did not sneak up on them. It’s presence was advertised hours in advance by a long stream of refugees. Trails of dirty, soaked, peasants stumbled along the widening road, many carrying their possessions in carts or simply on their backs. They were dull eyed and hopeless, some leading infants, others carrying the elderly in improvised rickshaws or stretchers. Emmaline could see no wounds but reaping hooks, scythes and hunting bows were much in evidence. One man had an old blunderbuss that must have been old when Helborg was a boy, its double hammers wrapped in a piece of oilcloth and two corks pressed into its barrels to keep the powder dry. They might easily be a mob if they weren’t so cold and hungry, and it wouldn’t take much to push them there regardless. Emmaline took an apple from the saddlebag and tossed it to a hungry looking girl of perhaps seven summers. The girl caught it by reflex and stared wide eyed.

“What? Emmaline aske, “You’ve never been hungry before?” The Bastard of Middenheim didn’t respond, merely touched his heels to his steed to move it along. Not too much later the river came into view, it was foggy, seeming to radiate mist in retaliation to the continual drizzle that dappled its sluggish surface. River craft of all sorts were in evidence, merchant captains trying to get timber and hides down river on high sterened river barges shook their fists at fishing smacks and cargo lighters forcing their way up the river. There were even a few row boats containing refugees, pulling up stream or racing down river depending on where their idea of safety laid. Both groups kept to the center of the river to avoid the risk of a sudden rush by the stream of humanity heading into Taalagad. The precaution was probably a wise one but it increased the congestion terribly. Even as Emmaline watched she saw a grain barge collide side on with a timber carrier with a ringing crack. Rope parted and the piled up timber rolled into the river in a series of prodigious splashes, prompting shouts and threats.

“Doesn’t bode well for our chances of getting a ship,” Emmaline observed. Kasimir rolled his shoulders and made a non-committal sound. The real danger was that Taalagad might simply shut its gates, not wishing to be overrun by peasants seeking shelter when a siege was possible. Sigmar knew where these poor people would go of that happened, the crater mountains perhaps, but that was a best a slow death by starvation and at worst a quick one by beastman axes.

“We will find something, so long as we don’t tarry too long,” Kasimir said, seeming distracted.

“What is it?” Emmaline asked, giving the man a searching look. Kasimir looked uncomfortable but finally shrugged his shoulders.

“I feel like we are being watched,” he admitted. Emmaline glanced around at the dull eyed refugees. A few eyes were on them because of their horses but no more than might be expected.

“I don’t see anything,” she replied, cursing the man for infecting her with his jumpiness.

“It is more of a feeling.”