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through a dimming and distorting glass.
    When they sat to lunch, Pol addressed Ibal:
    “All right, I’m surprised and I’m several hours older now. What’s become of the city?”
    Ibal nearly choked on his mush.
    “No, no,” he finally said. “Wait until dinnertime. Watch the show.”
    And so he did. As the sun moved westward and the shadow of the peak fell over the hazy outlines of the structures at its base, the flapping movement ceased and the walls began to acquire something of their former sheen. Pol and Mouseglove continued to stare as they approached. As the shadows lengthened, the place seemed to grow, slowly at first, more rapidly as the afternoon faded toward evening. The haze itself seemed to be dimming and the outline of higher structures again became visible within it. Drawing nearer to it, they became aware of the spurting of fountains. The colors gradually reappeared within the still-firming outlines of the buildings. The towers, columns and arches took on a greater solidity.
    By dinnertime they were very near, and the city was much closer to its early morning appearance. The haze continued to dissipate as they sat watching it, taking their meal.
    “Well, have you guessed?” Ibal asked, spooning in a dark broth.
    “It appears to be different things at different times,” Pol said. “So obviously it is not what it seems and must represent some sort of enchantment. I’ve no idea what’s really there, or why it changes.”
    “What is really there is a group of caves, shacks and tents,” Ibal explained. “Each time, by lot, various practitioners acquire the responsibility for putting the place into order for the gathering. What they normally do is send their apprentices and some servants on ahead. These clean and repair the structures, raise the tents and set up the various facilities. Then the apprentices usually vie in working out spells to give it a pleasing appearance. However, apprentices vary in ability, and since the thing is only to be temporary first class spells are seldom employed. Consequently, it is beautiful from evening through dawn. As the day progresses, however, it begins to waver. Things are weakest at noon, and then you catch glimpses of what is really behind it all.”
    “Do the spells hold on the inside as well as the outside?”
    “Indeed, Madwand, they do. You shall see for yourself soon.”
    As they watched, the sparkling began again, faint at first, growing.
     
    They reached the foot of Belken by evening and entered the bright city which had grown up there. The first archway through which they passed might have been made of branches strapped together, but it gave every appearance of gold-veined marble possessed of intricate carvings. Countless lights drifted through the air at several times the height of a man. Pol kept turning his head, assessing the wonders. Unlike any city with which he was familiar, this one seemed clean. The way beneath their feet was unnaturally bright. The buildings appeared almost fragile, with an eggshell translucence to them. Filigreed screens covered fancifully shaped windows in walls sporting designs of glowing gemstones. There were balconies and overhead walkways, arcades through which richly garbed men and women passed. Open-fronted shops displayed magical paraphernalia and exotic beasts were penned and tethered throughout the city—though a few wandered harmlessly, as if taking in the sights themselves. Thick clouds of red smoke rose from a brazier on a corner where a turbanned mage chanted, a demonic face and form taking shape within it high above the street. The sounds of flutes, stringed instruments and drums came from several directions. On an impulse, Pol jerked his guitar into existence, tuned it, slung it and began playing as they walked along. He felt his dragonmark throbbing invisibly, as if in response to the magical ambiance they were entering. Bright birds in cages of silver and gold trilled responses to his song. A few of the