"Pierce, Tamora - Circle Of Magic 03 - Daja's Book E-Txt" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pierce Tamora)

sides, dreaming of ships under full sail in the Pebbled Sea. She was big for her years,
deep-chested and thick-waisted, dressed in a boyТs thigh-length black tunic and black
leggings. The leather apron that protected her clothes was grimy and spotted with
burns. The steady glow of light from her fire-weaving played over skin as brown as
mahogany, a wide, full-lipped mouth now tight with unhappiness, and large, deep-set
brown eyes. The only touches of colour about her were a scarlet arm-band and red ties
at the ends of her braids.
СТYou are the smith?У a female voice enquired behind her. ФI have work to be done.У

Daja turned, squinting. At first it was hard to make out the woman who stood in the
wide doorway - the sun was at her back, leaving her face in shadow. The only thing
clear at first glance was that she had but one leg. The other, cut off at mid-thigh, had
been replaced by a sturdy length of fitted wood.
УIТm not the smith,Ф Daja replied.
The visitor shifted uneasily: she was staring at DajaТs fire-square. The girl sighed.
People were always so nervous about the strange way she and her friends shaped
magic! УSorry,Ф Daja murmured, and flapped a hand at the square. It twisted,
becoming a single rope, then snaked back into the forge.
The visitor took two hopping steps into the building. Now Daja saw her clearly, and
wished she could not. One side of the newcomerТs face was the colour of deep bronze,
lit with a single, heavy-lidded dark eye. The other side was a ruin of shiny brown
scars, the eye only a lumpy pit. Scars dragged at one side of the womanТs wide,
broad-curved mouth, so that she seemed to be forever sneering. Her nose was
unscarred, but something had broken it enough to make it nearly flat. Both of her
eyebrows were thick, making Daja wonder if she had been any kind of beauty even
before the loss of half of her face. The scarring aside, she didnТt look very old - no
more than twenty-five at the most.
The newcomer wore an earth-brown tunic that reached halfway down her thighs. Like
Daja, she wore leggings. They were the same dark colour as her tunic, with one leg
shortened to cover the joining of the wooden leg to her flesh. Daja noticed all of this
in an eye-blink. The thing that brought her mind to a halt was the brass-capped staff
the woman leaned on.
She was a Trader.

DajaТs belly clenched. She tried not to stare hungrily at the etchings and metal inlays
that decorated the cap on the visitorТs staff, the marks that told those who knew how
to read them of the womanТs family and deeds. Now that she was trangshi, Daja
wasnТt supposed to care about things like that, but she couldnТt help herself.
The woman scowled and thumped the ground with her staff as she took a more
comfortable position. УWhatТs the matter, lugsha?Ф she demanded in a deep, pleasant
voice, using the word - only slightly complimentary - for ФcraftsmanУ. ФHavenТt you
seen a cripple before? Or just not one as pretty as me?У
Daja lowered her head and waited. As soon as the TraderТs eye adjusted to the gloom,
this conversation would end.
УNo, youТre not big enough to be a whole smith. Apprentice, I desire to speak with
your master,Ф the woman said flatly. УThere is work to be done, andЧФ
Since Daja wasnТt looking, she couldnТt watch the Trader examine their surroundings
as she tried to spot an adult smith. When the woman fell silent, though, Daja knew
what she had seen: her staff, with its unmarked cap.
Daja looked up, in time to catch the glare the Trader directed her way. Then the