Confiding in Dreen Brislyn, she learns her fears are shared. And so they decide they must take as much of Dorana with them as can safely be carried: books and scrolls of magic, of history, seeds from their most precious and beloved plants, paintings and other artworks, squares of stained glass. Representatives from each First Family that has decided to leave are called to a privy meeting and asked to help the General Council bear this grave burden. If each trusted mage carries a little, then a great deal can be saved.

The First Families agree.

The General Council convenes for the last time in swiftly decaying Elvado’s beautiful Hall of Knowledge. The mages of Dorana cannot flee north, for beyond the northern borders of Brantone and Feen there is naught but wilderness, bleak and inhospitable. They cannot seek safety beyond the east or west coasts, for Dorana is landlocked with no tradition of the sea. Nor will they find comfort in the lands of their immediate neighbours, whose warriors ride towards them with innocent blood on their hands. Dorana’s mages have but one choice: they must flee south. In fleeing south, only Manemli will stand between them and the unblighted lands of Vharne, Iringa and mysterious Benbarsk. In one of those three nations they will surely find respite.

The terrible exodus begins.

Within a day, they are dying from mage-mist. There is no time for funerals. The dead are left behind. Thousands of mages struggle and straggle across blighted Dorana, bewildered by these unimaginable events. Their bludgeoning fear is a blessing. It makes them docile, and easier to lead.

Soaked in grief and guilt, Barl rides in a pony cart, desperately working on the magics they will need to escape, letting her brother and Venette Martain and Dreen Brislyn and the General Council shepherd the frightened mages of Dorana towards the unknown.

The princes and potentates command many warriors, but not enough to encompass Dorana’s entire border. Imperfectly shielded by Barl’s blurring magics, the fleeing mages cross into northern Manemli, where blight has chased the inhabitants south. The General Council decides they will seek shelter in Vharne. Though its people are warriors, they are kindlier than the Iringans. Surely they will understand the mages of Dorana mean no harm.

But the very old, the very young, the sick and infirm, they travel too slowly. The princes and potentates’ pursuing warriors find them before they reach the border with Vharne. Terrified, the mages try to defend themselves with magework. Blood is spilled on both sides.

And in spilling warrior blood with magic, Dorana’s mages seal their fate.