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Benas shook his head. There was hardly enough room for them all inside the walls, and the line stretched far beyond the gates. Benas watched from his window as they trod the road to the city. They carried what belongings they could from their homes, some guiding carts drawn by braying oxen. They looked like one, writhing snake in the drab colors of peasant's clothing. With so many refugees close together, disease would run rampant through Krychnov. And with the Vermintide on the Commonwealth's border, it would play right into the ratmens' hands. 
Earlier that morning, a lone scout had made a beeline for Krychnov, and sputtered the news of a massive vermin host amassing in the north between panicked breaths. The rest of the north seemed eager to follow suit, abandoning their villages and seeking shelter within the closest city. Already, Benas had dispatched men to relay Krychov's plight to the south. He just hoped that help could arrive in time.

"My lord," a voice said from the doorway, and Benas turned to regard his steward.
"Ignas. Krychnov's walls will strain to keep them all inside. The city wasn't built to accommodate the entire countryside." 
"What are we to do? It will be impossible to feed every mouth, and if we are besieged, then our food stores will not last a week."
"The rest will have to make camp outside or make for Prostějov. Tell the Guard to cut them off. It's for their own safety as much as ours."
"Yes, my lord. And what of our defenses?"
Benas sighed. He'd played the vermintide's attack on the city hundreds of times in his head now, and it always ended in disaster. What was one city to do against the force of a horde?
"We can only pray word reaches the capital before the vermin decide to attack. I won't sugarcoat it, Ignas. The survival of Krychnov hinges on time."
The steward's head sagged for a few seconds, before it bobbed back up, and there was a light his eye. "What of the dwarves? They are not so far. A threat to the Commonwealth is also a threat to Thundrim Kadrin."
Benas regarded the thin man, fingers prodding at his beard. "Very well. It can't hurt to try, not when we are this desperate. Send a courier to King Bagrick. Hell, send one to Yore as well. The Empire won't suffer an incursion on its doorstep. We'll take what help we can." His quill danced on parchment, and he handed them to Ignas when he'd finished.
"As you wish, lord." The steward turned with haste and disappeared.

Benas leaned back in his chair, wiping a hand down his face. His eyes drifted to the suit of black three-quarter armor at the far side of the room and lingered there. He would have to don it very soon, and possibly for the last time.