Excerpt: Storm Glass by Maria V. Snyder

Posted May 6, 2009 by Holly in Promotions | 1 Comment

We’re very pleased to bring you this exclusive excerpt from Storm Glass by Maria V. Snyder.

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Excerpt from STORM GLASS:
Characters: Main – Opal Cowan (glass magician)
Zitora Cowan (Second Master Magician)
Kade Stormdance (Head Stormdancer)

We stopped at the town’s square. Zitora pointed to an official-looking building that was three times as wide as its neighbors and had been constructed with large white stones. Iron bars covered the windows along the ground floor of the structure.

“I’ll talk to the authorities about our ambushers. To save time, why don’t you buy our supplies and I’ll meet you at the market.” She recited a list of items to purchase.

Kade slid off the saddle to join Zitora and I was left to take care of the horses. Without the Stormdancer behind me, the cool air on my back gave me a chill. I couldn’t help feeling left out even though I knew Zitora was right. We shouldn’t linger too long since we had another five days until we reached Booruby.

I found the market by following the scent of spiced beef sizzling over an open flame. Tying the horses to a nearby hitching post, I wandered through the market’s stalls. The open wooden stands had roofs tiled with shale singles and all had bamboo shades to protect them from the wind and rain. On a clear day like this morning, the shades were rolled up and tied to the roof.

I bought a loaf of bread, a hunk of cow cheese and a handful of pork jerky. After I finished shopping, I packed the supplies in our saddle bags. With my chore done, I strolled through the market again. This time I purchased a spiced beef stick to eat for lunch and lingered to examine the glass wares for sale.

A stall filled with decorative pieces drew my attention. I stopped to appreciate the craftsmanship of a delicate vase. The clear glass had a swirl of green bubbles spiraling around the tall flute. Sometimes bubbles or seeds meant a mistake, but the effect was stunning. The vase didn’t sing, but faint pops throbbed in my finger tips.

“Ten silvers for the vase,” the stand owner said. She was an older woman with gray strands streaking her faded black hair. Her lined face looked as if she had weather one too many storms.

“Did you make this?” I asked.

“No. Imported from Ixia.”

“Ixia?” The few pieces I’ve seen from Ixia had all been thick and practical. No popping. She wanted to inflate the price.

“Nine silvers, but not a copper less.” She waggled a slender finger.

“Do you know who made the vase?”

“I’m not telling you! You’ll go right to the glassmaker, undercut my business. Eight and a half silvers. Final offer.”

“Six,” I countered.

“Seven.”

“Deal.”

The woman muttered under her breath as she wrapped the vase and snatched my money. I hoped to find the artist and the best way would be to show the vase around to see if anyone knew who made it.

The woman handed me the package. I could no longer feel the pops through the thick wrapping. Even so, I felt certain the glassmaker was in the market. I hurried toward the east side positive I would find him.

A column of gray smoke rising in the distance must be from a kiln. The hot smell of molten glass drew me on until I passed through the market and followed a narrow cobblestone street. Convinced I would find the artist working in one of these abandoned warehouses, I peered through all the windows.

One of the buildings had collapsed and covered the road, creating a dead end. When I reached the rubble, all signs of a kiln disappeared. And my conviction fled. The air smelled of excrement and garbage.

I turned to go back.

A man blocked my way.

He held a sword.

Blue Eyes.