"Clayton Emery - Card Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Emery Clayton)

Cerise shrugged. "If Rayner's house burns flat and he doesn't show to
stir the ashes, the whole city will assume he's dead. But did he die in the
fire?"

Byron's initial slip made him wary. Never give anything away, was a
magic-worker's first rule. "I'm not sureтАж"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Sure he didn't freeze to death?"

Byron squinted. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't deny it, either."

For the first time, Byron studied his strange companion.

Cerise was from the east, it was clear, from beyond the mountains. She
was middling height and stocky, all muscle. Her face was round, her
cheekbones flat, her hair straight and black and cropped at the shoulders,
her eyes slanted at the corners. She carried blood from the Shinyar
steppes or Kirthan frontier, he guessed. A long way from home. She wore a
crimson shirt and yellow-flowered vest laced tight, a dark cape,
red-striped pants, tall boots, a wide hat.

"You're a cardmaster," he said.

"You're a cardsmith."

Byron didn't argue. He wore the traditional costume of heavy clothes
even in spring and summer: black round hat above a black doublet above
black breeches above black hose above (one) black shoe. His hair, by
contrast, was bright blond, cut in a bowl with shaved sides. As cardsmiths
rose in prestige, they added silver thread to their outfits, but Byron didn't
own so much as a bone button.

Cerise startled him by taking his hand. "Here's the proof. Anyone can
dress in black, but your hands are like ice. And stained with chemicals and
burns. But how did you ignite your fingertips? I've never seen that before."

Byron gauged how much to tell herтАФnothing would be best. But it was
common knowledge a cardsmith was someone who made cards, as a
tinsmith made punched-tin lamps, and a blacksmith made ironware.
Except cardsmiths impressed their own life force into cards to bind the
magic. As such, they were notoriously cold all the time, even in summer
before blazing fires. He wondered again why anyone chose the profession.
Cardsmithing looked exciting from the outside, but was actually
soul-threatening drudgery. Still, only one person in ten thousand could
harness magic, so men and women worked at it, and prosperedтАж if they
didn't die, or worse.