"Tamora Pierce - Circle Opens 4 - Shatterglass" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pierce Tamora)

burning hair rolled away from its feet. The man swore and slapped at it. Terrified, his creation fled. As it
flew, its features became sharper, more identifiable. The big lumps became very large, bat-like wings.
Smaller lumps stretched out to become powerful hind legs and short forelegs. Lesser points shaped
themselves as ears; an upright ribbed fin rose on its neck; another point fixed the end of the glass as a tail.
When the thing lit on a worktable, Tris saw the form it had fought to gain. It was a glass dragon, silver-
veined with magic, clear through and through. It was thirty centimetres long from nose to rump, with
fifteen more centimetres of tail.

The man had dumped a pail of water on his head as soon as the dragon left him. Now he flung his
blowpipe across the room, shattering three vases.

“Tantrums don’t do the least bit of good,” Tris informed him, hands on hips. “Old as you are, surely you
know that much.” She noted distantly that there was a circle of dead white hair atop the man’s head,
almost invisible against the bright, closely cropped blond hair that surrounded it.

He wheezed, coughed, gasped, and glared at her with very blue eyes. “Who in Eilig’s name are you? And
what did you do to me?“ He spoke slowly and carefully, which didn’t match his scarlet face and
trembling hands.


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Tris scowled. “You did it yourself, dolt. You threw good magic after bad, including power you drained
from all around this neighbourhood because you didn’t protect the workshop. Now look. You’ll have to
feed it and care for it, you know: And what it eats is beyond me. Living metal feeds on metal ores in the
ground, but living glass?” She tugged one of the thin braids that framed her face, picking the problem
apart. “Sand, I’d suspect. And natron, and seashells, since that’s what you make glass with in the first
place. And antimony and magnesium to make it clear.”

“Will you be quiet?” the man cried, his voice still slow. “I have — no magic! Just — a seed, barely
enough to, to make the glass easier.”

Tris glared at him. “I may only be fourteen, but I’m not stupid, and you’re a terrible liar.”

The glassblower doubled his big hands into fists. “I — am — not — a — liar!” he cried, his slow words a
sharp contrast to his enraged face. “How dare you address me like that? Get out!”

Little Bear didn’t like the thing that zipped so dangerously around the workshop, but even less did he like
the glassblower. He thrust himself between Tris and the man, hackles up, lips peeled away from his teeth,
a low growl rumbling through his large chest.

“Now look,” Tris said with a sigh. “You upset my dog.”

The glassblower backed away. “I am a journeyman of the Glassmakers’ Guild,” he said, forcing the
words past clumsy lips. “I have no magic. I am no liar. I want you and your dog gone. And that thing
you made, too!”

“I made?” Tris demanded, aghast. “As if I didn’t see the power flow from you into the glass! Look,