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

Healer Tamsin and his lover and coworker, Lady Cinnabar, were on night duty for the next ten days
or so. He should be able to find them inside the surgery tent. There, past the Healers' and surgeons' tents,
on the little rise ahead of him called "Healer's Hill," stood the common tents being used for infirmaries and
treatment centers. Several of the tents had been used, in happier days, to hold Kaled'a'in celebrations,
and had the capacity of housing a hundred or more. Their colors had been allowed to discreetly fade
over the years since their current uses were anything but festive.
Lights in the central tent, and shadows moving inside it, told him that someone, at least, was there.
He pushed aside the flap and moved quietly inside, and found Tamsin and Cinnabar bandaging a
middle-aged land-scout, surrounded by tables bearing the debris of a thorough patching job. A
mercenary; Amberdrake caught sight of the badge on his shoulder and recognized the wolf-head of
Pedron's Wolves. Urtho was very careful about the mercenaries he hired, and the Wolves had a
particularly good reputation. Even the gryphons spoke well of them.
Even Skan had spoken well of—
Sketi, Drake, you're fixated. It's a downward spiral, and it's got to be broken—before you are.
He sagged against a tent brace and hid his face in the shadows as he lost control over his
expression. He wanted to be within sensing distance, but he also didn't want to be obtrusive. He shielded
as much of his grief as he could, but these were fellow Healers, Empaths—and the closest friends he had.
Next to Gesten and Skan....
Tamsin didn't look his way, but Amberdrake sensed his attention, and in the next moment he said to
the mercenary, "You'll do well enough, fire-eater. What you need now is some rest. Limit your activity to
complaining for a few days. Here's your green chit for days off." He signed the wooden square with a
silver-rod and handed it off. "Three days, and six more at light duty."
Now Tamsin looked up, as if noticing Amberdrake for the first time, and added quietly, "I think I
have a friend in need of a little help himself at the moment."
The merc looked up, caught sight of Amberdrake standing in the shadows, and grunted. "Thankee,
Master Tamsin. I 'spect you'll send me the charge, eh?"
Tamsin laughed at the tired old joke, and the mercenary shuffled off, passing Amberdrake with a
nod, and pushed through the tent flap into the warm dark beyond. Amberdrake laid himself down on the
cot the scout had just vacated, disregarding the binding of the silk caftan against his body as he rolled
over. He threw his arms over his eyes, hand bunched into a fist. A fist was a sign superstitiously avoided
among Healers as being bad luck, but his mind was not on wards and omens. He heard the sounds of
hands being washed and toweled dry, and instruments being laid back in trays. Minutes passed without a
word, and the after-Healing cleanup was concluded. He heard a curtain being drawn around them for
privacy.
"The rumors about Stelvi are true—the truth's probably worse than you've heard," he said to the
waiting silence. "And Skandranon didn't make it back."
He felt one hand lightly touch his cheek; felt someone else take his hand. Both touches released the
flood of grief he had pent up within him and, lost in the dark waters of mourning, he couldn't tell which of
the two was touching him. Focus wavered in his mind. It didn't matter which of the two touched him
where; what mattered was that they did. He welcomed them both.
Tears threaded their way down his face, soaking the hair at his temples. The knot in his throat
choked further speech.
"Don't mourn for one who might still be alive," Tamsin chided gently. "Wait until you know—"
But they both knew that if Skandranon were able, he'd have made it back by now or somehow have
sent a message. Tamsin made a swallowing sound, as if he had stopped himself before he said anything
stupid.
"I think it's the fact that we don't know," Lady Cinnabar said as Amberdrake fought for control.
"Drake, we love him too, you know—but we've seen too many times when people we've given up as lost
made it back. Skandranon—"
"Has never failed a mission in his life," Amberdrake cried, half in anger, half in grief. "If he didn't—if