Caimbeul went to the French doors leading out to the terrace and pushed them open. The air was sweet up here, with none of the sour, acrid smells I normally associated with cities. I knew they’d done much to manipulate the land in the Tir. The magical energy fairly pulsed in the air. If they’d put out a large neon sign telling the Enemy "Come and get us." they couldn’t have done better.