Brother Qown watched Janel work, feeling numb, not ready to deal with what had just happened. If he didn’t know her, Qown wouldn’t have guessed her true age. The count seemed immune to the deaths they had just witnessed, immune to the horror, immune to the shock. Whereas Brother Qown fought not to break down, the count ordered survivors to separate into groups. She instructed them to search the town for others: those who hadn’t attended, or those who had fled when the demon revealed himself. These might have taken refuge in their homes, praying the horror would pass them by. Janel ordered people to gather supplies, confiscate wagons, prepare the evacuation.

She’s been trained for this, he thought. Trained her whole life to be the voice anyone would follow in an emergency. She assumed she was in charge, and thus, it was true.

Brother Qown watched as people vanished into patio areas, until what he saw registered: ramps. In every private area, ramps led underground or back into hillsides, as if Mereina had forgotten to build houses over their basements. The circular brick stacks he’d taken for firepits were chimneys.

Brother Qown snapped from his reverie when he heard shouting; Dango yelling for the survivors to be quiet. Count Janel had covered herself with a long red cloak she must have picked up from the tournament grounds. It was obvious she wore armor, but her temporary disguise as the Black Knight was hidden. She took Ninavis’s place on Arasgon, using the height this gave her to speak to the crowd.

“Mereina was attacked today,” Janel declared. “Foul black magic has been used against her people. The blue smoke you see behind us is that witchcraft manifested; it will kill anyone who lingers near it without protection. We don’t know how long the smoke will last, but it’s not possible to burn the dead while it remains. For this reason, it isn’t safe to stay here past sundown.”

“What about the Gatestone?” someone in the back shouted.

“What of it?” Sir Baramon replied. “It’s back at the castle! Might as well be at the bottom of Lake Jorat.”

Ninavis scowled. “What happens when the Gatekeeper opens the portal tomorrow morning?”

Janel’s expression flattened as she hesitated.

“Depends on whether that Gatekeeper is fool enough to step through, doncha think?” Dorna wiped her chili-stained fingers on her skirts. “He’s supposed to step through. That way, he can open the gates all them tournament folk and travelers need to go home. If he’s watching his step, though, he’ll stay right where he is. He’ll see the smoke and go tell his people in House D’Aramarin something’s gone screwy. But if he ain’t paying attention?” Dorna shrugged. “Figure he’ll either die from the witch-smoke, or he’ll meet the local hell spawn when they start ambling about—and then he’ll die from that.”