"Steven Piziks - Smoke and Mirrors" - читать интересную книгу автора (Piziks Steven)

were small, in the days before magic and swords had taken over their lives. Those days were over now,
though Dagmar couldn't resist scuffling through crunchy leaves when Ramdane wasn't looking. And then,
in mid-scuffle, she stopped and stared.
"Flax," Ramdane said, pointing to a ground-hugging patch.
"Statue," Dagmar said, pointing to the trees. A motionless, white figure stood visible among them.
Ramdane caught his breath and went into a crouch. Dagmar whipped her shield off her back and
followed suit. They crept closer, trying to be quiet but constantly betrayed by crunching leaves. Dagmar
kept her highly-polished, silvery shield in front of her as she crouch-walked forward. Her mail shirt
jingled at every move.
"You look like an armored duck," Ramdane complained in a whisper. "And you're twice as loud.
Here." He took a dog's ear from his amulet belt and hung it around Dagmar's neck.
"Hush," Ramdane said. The amulet glowed red and faded. Then the pair continued creeping toward
the house, but silently.
After a certain amount of nerve-wracking shuffling ahead, Dagmar could see the statue more
clearly. It was a teenage girl carrying a basket and wearing the ragged clothes of a poor servant. She
looked thin and tired, and it seemed as if she would gladly collapse to the grass if her muscles hadn't been
carved from solid white marble. Behind the statue, the roof of a small cottage peeked above a tall,
well-kept hedge. Dagmar blinked.
"I think," Ramdane whispered, "we've found our gorgon."
Dagmar eyed the cottage suspiciously. "It lives in a house?"
"Let's get the head and worry about details later."
"Easy for you to say. You aren't carrying the sword. No, don't say it. I'll scout. You take care
of . . . her."
Without waiting for a reply, Dagmar slipped up to a gap in the hedge. She positioned her shield so it
would reflect the view inside. The shield showed a well-kept little yard and a red front door with a fair
amount of gingerbread molding.
Weirder and weirder, she thought nervously.
Ramdane, meanwhile, sidled up to the statue. With trembling fingers, he slipped the new talisman
over its head and whispered, "Change."
A moment passed. Then the stone amulet shattered with a light popping sound that made Dagmar
jump. A spot of fleshy pink formed on the statue's chest and spread with a wet, peeling noise. The young
woman's cheeks acquired a rosy blush which crawled down her neck and swiftly suffused the rest of her
body. Then the statue's arms plopped to the ground, followed by the head, torso, and legs. Ramdane
leaped backward. Within seconds, the entire figure had collapsed into a mushy red pile at his feet.
Dagmar stared.
"What," asked a querulous female voice, "have you done to my statue?"
Dagmar, who had been watching the statue instead of the yard's reflection, yelped and accidentally
dropped her shield. It showed a perfect reflection of overhead green leaves.
"Watch out, Ramdane," Dagmar barked, fumbling madly for her sword and trying to recover her
shield without raising her eyes. "Don't look at her."
"Too late," came the sour reply.
 Startled, Dagmar snuck a glance in her brother's direction. Ramdane was leaning back on his
elbows and looking directly past Dagmar. She could see reflected in the shield an elderly woman with a
dark, raisin-like face. Obsidian eyes flashed in anger. She was standing in the gap in the hedge. Belatedly
Dagmar realized she was staring at what must be the forest gorgon.
"I repeat," the woman said. "What have you done to my statue?"
"Are you the gorgon?" Ramdane asked cautiously.
It was the woman's turn to look surprised. "Gorgon?"
A rather pretty teenage girl stepped around the hedge, and Dagmar inhaled sharply. It was the
young woman whose image lay squashed on the ground, only she wasn't nearly as thin and tired-looking.