"Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 01 - The Black Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

He tumbled again, only nominally under control, shrieking incoherently around his beakful of stolen
weapon.
He shuddered under the impact of two more hits; the pain came quickly this time, but he forced
himself to ignore it. Once again, he tumbled out of control, and this time there was no handy cliff to push
off of.
He pulled in his left wing and rolled over completely; righted himself, still falling. He dared not try
and brake completely; the injured wing wouldn't take it. Instead, he extended just enough of both to turn
the fall into another steep dive, angled away from the battle and toward friendly territory.
Just after his wings flared, he saw Kili whistle past where he had been.
A little farther—a little farther—
The ground was coming up awfully fast.
He was over Urtho's territory now, on the other side of the enemy lines, but he could not, dared not,
flare his wings completely. His dive was a steep, fast one, but it was still a dive. The ground had never
looked so inviting. Or so hard.
Ah sketi, this is going to hurt—




Two
Amberdrake could not sleep; weary as he was, there was no point in lying awake and watching the
inside of his eyelids. He wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and made his way down the dark aisles
between the orderly tent rows to the landing field.
As he came out into the open, away from the lights of the camp, he saw that the sky to the west was
a haze of silvery light from the setting moon; it could not be long now, a few hours at most, until dawn.
Gesten waited patiently beside his fire, as he had waited all night. Amberdrake had left the last of his
clients to join the little lizard, but Gesten was clearly not in any mood to talk.
The hertasi tended to be silent when something affected his emotions. Amberdrake shared that
tendency. In his case, it was due to long self-training; for both of them, it was to preserve the illusion of
immutable and eternal stability.
It was Amberdrake's duty to convey an impression of serene concern—for Amberdrake's clients
were always damaged in some way these days. Sympathy worked better than empathy, more often than
not.
Clients didn't want to know their kestra'chern had problems of his own.
Since he couldn't be rid of them, he mustn't let them show, not even for a moment. It was part of the
burden of his avocation, and though he'd come to accept it, it still caused a dull ache like a sympathy
pain.
Sympathy pain. Yes, that was exactly what it was like.
The depression had worsened with every rumor, every bit of camp gossip. Skan had never been this
late in returning from a mission; even Gesten must know by now that he wasn't coming back. He had
often joked about how Skan always rushed back at top speed from a mission; that he couldn't be back
to his rewards and admiration fast enough.
By now the news had leaked out of a terrible disaster at Stelvi Pass, worse than any defeat Urtho's
forces had faced before. The reaction was not panic, but Amberdrake wondered if there was anyone in
the ranks who guessed at what he already knew; that the garrison had been overrun and wiped out
completely. As the night grew colder, so did Amberdrake's heart, and wrapping his body in a spiral-knit
blanket over his silks didn't help at all.
Gesten still hadn't spoken. Finally, he could bear it no longer. Without a word, he left his place
beside the watch-fire and walked away into the darkness, looking back over his shoulder at the little spot
of light and the patient figure hunched beside it. His heart ached, and his throat threatened to close with