I didn’t pull him up so much as let him use my arm as a brace. Arasgon tilted himself downward to make it easier for Brother Qown to slide into the saddle behind me. I didn’t have time to teach him how to ride Arasgon; one couldn’t ride a giant fireblood the same way one rode a smaller steed.

“Hold on!” Arasgon yelled.

We galloped toward the castle then, trying to outrace the cloud.

Even though the runes created sweet air around our heads, the blue smoke was worse than the densest fog, obstructing all sight.

“If I trip and break a leg,” Arasgon said, “I’m going to find whoever is responsible for this and bite out their tongue.”

“You have my permission!” I yelled.

“What did he say?” Brother Qown asked. I was surprised he could hear Arasgon over the galloping, over the screams from the town.

“He said he’s not happy!”

“Oh. I’m not either. But don’t talk unless you must!”

I turned in the saddle. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know if this makes the air clean or if we have a limited supply, like breathing from a bag.”

I took a deep breath on instinct, unable to stop myself. Was my air bubble smaller than it had been before? I couldn’t tell.

In any event, neither Arasgon nor I said another word while we raced toward the castle.

We broke free from the smoke a hundred feet from the gate. The blue tendrils clutched after us like a predator lamenting its prey’s escape, but the fighting ahead was an equal concern. A different sort of smoke ruled the castle, billowing thick and black from the fires burning across multiple fortress sections: the stables, the storerooms, part of the tower.

Sabotage. I’d have bet Ninavis was responsible—if I hadn’t known Kalazan was still loose, with his expert knowledge of the castle’s servant passages.

From the look of things, the guards had tried to close the castle gate against the rolling smoke advancing from the fairgrounds. This happened as several knights—Sir Baramon included—arrived on horseback, hoping to gain entry and safety inside the castle walls. The desperate skirmish that followed was still raging as the witch-smoke arrived on our tails, to end all debates. Sir Baramon fought on the far side, holding off two soldiers, but looking weaker with every step. The other soldiers, though …

“Janel!”

“I see them,” I said.

They were raising the drawbridge.

It wouldn’t help them against the smoke, but it would stop our progress.

“Come on, Arasgon!” I shouted to him.

We galloped.

We jumped.