Storm Glass. Maria Snyder V.Читать онлайн книгу.
entire population of the Keep knew Zitora’s displeasure over being accompanied by guards on her missions. Having only passed the Master-level test five years ago, most magicians still thought of her as an apprentice instead of the second-most-powerful magician. And with the horrible events that led to the death of Roze Featherstone, the former First Magician, the Councillors of Sitia were being overprotective of the three remaining Masters.
“Just the two of you this time,” Master Jewelrose said with a smile. “You can move faster.”
Zitora stood with a burst of energy. “We’ll leave within the hour.”
“Contact us if you need help. Opal, have you finished my new glass animal?”
“Yes. It’s at Aydan’s factory. I think you’ll like this one.”
“I love them all. It’s a shame they lose their spark after a while.” Master Jewelrose grew thoughtful. “But it makes sense. The magic inside is a certain quantity. Once used, it’s gone.”
“Job security for Opal.” Master Bloodgood stroked the map in front of him. His gaze settled on me. “We have been searching for another magician to apprentice to you. No luck so far. The Council’s been bugging us to share your wonderful glass…messengers.”
Right now, I made them for the Masters and for magicians who were on assignment. At least one magician carried one of my glass animals in each town.
“It would be helpful if we could find another able to duplicate her skill.” Master Jewelrose agreed.
My skill. Singular. The One-Trick Wonder. I should be content with providing those messengers for the magicians. Content with my role in life. But I’d seen the wonders magic can do and I wanted more. Magic and glass had so much in common. Both were fluid. Both held endless potential to be shaped and used in various ways. I desired to gather the magic to me and spin it into a marvel.
“Let’s go.” Zitora strode toward the door and I hurried after her.
She paused when we reached the outside. Darkness blanketed the Keep’s campus and the smell of burning wood tainted the air. The empty walkways reflected the weak moonlight. The other students were probably in their rooms, studying and preparing for tomorrow.
“We can get in a couple hours of travel tonight,” Zitora said. “Go get a change of clothes and pack a few essential supplies. We’ll buy food on the road. I’ll meet you in the barn. You have a horse, right?”
“Yes, but I just started my lessons.” Another worry.
“Which horse is yours?”
“A painted mare named Quartz.”
“The Sandseed bred horse? How did you get so lucky?”
“Yelena was visiting the Keep when the new herd of horses arrived. She told the Stable Master to save Quartz for me.”
Zitora laughed. “And Yelena is the only person the Stable Master listens to when it comes to horses. There are hidden perks when you save someone’s life.”
“But I didn’t—”
She waved my protest away with her nimble fingers. It had been thoughtful of Yelena to choose a horse for me, but once the story about her involvement flew through the campus population like sand grains in the wind, I lost the few acquaintances I had to jealousy. Again.
Liaison Yelena was the true hero of Sitia and Ixia. If she talked to a student, the gossips mulled over the implications for weeks.
“Don’t worry about not being an expert with a horse. Quartz will follow Sudi. All you need to do is stay in the saddle.” She moved to leave, then stopped. “Opal, go visit the armory before you come to the barn.”
“Why?”
“It’s time to trade in your practice sais for real ones.”
“Thirteen inches or fifteen inches?” Captain Marrok, the Keep’s new Weapons Master asked with impatience, after I’d grabbed my supplies and cleaned up.
When I didn’t respond, he yanked my right arm out and measured my forearm from wrist to elbow.
“Thirteen inches should work.” He rummaged around the armory. Swords hung on the walls and spears glinted from racks. Arrows lined up like soldiers, and the odor of metallic sweat and leather filled the air.
I rubbed my forearm, massaging the thick muscles and tracing my burn scars with a finger. One benefit of working with glass, strong arms, but they limited my flexibility when fighting. By the end of my first year, the Weapons Master had decided that, even though I could heft and move a staff of wood like a pontil iron, I was too slow. He made the same assessment of me with a sword and a spear.
I found the sais by accident when I helped clean up after a practice session. They resembled strange short swords, but instead of a flat blade, the weapon’s main shaft was thick—about half an inch wide near the hilt and a quarter of an inch at the tip—and rounded yet with eight flat sides. Octagonal, the Weapons Master had called it. Only the tip of the shaft was sharp. He was thrilled I had discovered them, claiming they were the perfect weapon for me as they needed arm strength and hand dexterity.
“Here, try these. If they’re too heavy, I’ll find you a lighter pair.” The Weapons Master handed me two sais, one for each hand. The silver metal shone as if recently polished. The U-shaped guard pointed toward the tip of the weapon so the sais resembled a three-pronged pitchfork with a very long center tine.
I executed a few blocks and strikes to get the feel of the weapons.
“These are heavier than the practice ones,” I said.
“Too heavy? I started to add weight to your practice pair, but the Masters are in a rush. That’s always the way.” He tsked.
“They’re fine.”
“Practice as often as you can. You might want to cut bigger slits in your cloak so you can grab them quicker.” He hurried over to a large chest in the corner of the armory. Lifting the lid, he sorted through the contents and removed a belt with two short scabbards. “Wear this when you carry them. Horses don’t like to be poked with the pointy ends. Not good for your legs, neither.”
I thanked him and ran toward the stables. The weight of the weapons hanging from my waist seemed heavier. Would I need to use them? Could I defend myself? This whole mission felt as if I’d been wrenched from a kiln before I could reach the perfect temperature.
In the stables, Zitora helped the Stable Master saddle Quartz. The Stable Master muttered and fussed to no one in particular as he yanked straps and adjusted the reins. In the weak lantern light, Quartz’s reddish-brown areas appeared black and the white parts looked gray. She nickered at me in greeting and I stroked her nose. Her face was brown except for a white patch between her eyes.
Already saddled, Sudi, Zitora’s roan-colored mare shuffled with impatience.
When the Stable Master handed me Quartz’s reins, he said, “You’re going to be sore tomorrow and in outright pain by the next day. Stop often to stretch your muscles and rest your back.”
“There won’t be time,” Zitora said as she mounted Sudi.
“Why am I not surprised? Dashing off before she’s properly trained is becoming standard procedure around here.” The Stable Master shook his head and ranted under his breath. He ambled past the horse stalls, checking water buckets.
“Do you have a Barbasco yam?” Zitora asked. “That’ll help with the pain.”
“I don’t need it. How bad can it be?”
It was bad. And not just regular bad. After three days, the pain was back-wrenching, legs-burning, mind- numbing bad.
Zitora set a killer pace. We only stopped for food, to rest and care for the horses, and to sleep a few hours. Not long enough to wring out the exhaustion