The illusion of the forest that surrounded the city of Dragonkeep, hiding it from the eyes of both humans and dragons was a supreme illusion and close to perfect. Draconas had not been able to penetrate it until Grald had lifted the spell, and he still had trouble seeing through it, though he knew it was there. Perhaps Grald had worn himself out casting that illusion, which, even after it was cast, required a certain amount of energy to keep in place. The palace was an ordinary dragon-illusion, meant to fool human eyes alone and it was doing a good job of that, judging by the gape-jawed wonder of the youngsters. Draconas glanced at the boy with the dragon-magic and saw that he was as wide-eyed as the rest.

Draconas saw no pillars or spires or marble stairs. What he saw, when he looked across that bridge, was the side of the mountain pierced by the dark opening at its base. Draconas crept nearer.

“Don’t let them see you!” said the leader, and he reached out and dragged Draca back into the shadows.

A cadre of monks guarded the bridge on the city side of the ravine. Draconas noted, as a point of interest, that there were no guards posted on the palace side of the bridge. Apparently the dragon was concerned about people from the city entering the palace, not about those in the palace leaving to enter the city.

The Blessed did not make very good guards. They wandered about in a desultory manner, gazing with their mad, unfocused eyes at the sky or the clouds, or staring blankly into the empty city streets, or peering over the edge of the bridge into the ravine.

“Why? What would happen if they did see me?” Draconas asked. “Would the dragon really eat me?”

“No. At least, I don’t think so. But the Blessed wouldn’t like it. They don’t like anyone getting too curious about the palace.”

“I wonder what’s inside,” said Draconas.

“A whole ‘nother city, replied the leader. “So my father says.”

“Truly?” Draca regarded him with admiration. “Tell me about it.”

“No one knows,” the leader admitted. “But the people who live there send letters that say how beautiful everything is.”

“Someone must have gone in there and come back out again. Don’t the Blessed go inside?”

“They go in,” said the boy with the dragon-magic. He stood staring at the illusion with a wistful hunger in his eyes. He was biting his fingernails. “The Blessed go in and they come back out, too. Some of them. But they don’t talk about it.”

One of the boys pointed at the lengthening shadows. “Hey, fellows, it’s almost suppertime. We better be getting back. My mistress will be hopping mad.”

Having found what he sought, Draconas was more than willing to leave. He and the others started to retrace their steps, when he suddenly realized that one of them was missing.