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

invincible and had to go to their rescue when they found out otherwise. Whoever, whatever her trainer
was, Skan was just about ready to put the being on report. This little female had emerged with a load of
self-doubt from training that should have given her confidence in her own abilities. She would have been
useless except for her own courage, determination, and sense of responsibility. It was also fairly obvious
that this self-doubt carried right on down to how she felt about her physical appearance. She held herself
as if she was certain there was nothing attractive about her—in fact, as if she thought she was a horrid
freak.
Didn't he recall some of the fledglings in training baiting a smaller one a while ago, about a year or
two? It could have been—
Yes, he remembered now, as Zhaneel continued to protest that what she had done was less than
nothing, unworthy of reward. Three or four, all nest-brothers by the look of them, surrounded the smaller
one and had been name-calling and insulting the little one. The object of their taunting could have been
Zhaneel; he only remembered that he had broken it up when the trainer did not appear to intervene, and
that the youngster was a small, awkward adolescent. Considering the way she was trying to disappear
into the tent canvas now, it would not be surprising that—if it had been her—he did not remember her.
But that had been some time ago, and the only reason he remembered it was because the
appropriate authority had not stepped in to handle the problem, and the noise had gotten on his nerves.
There was a certain amount of competition among the youngsters; gryphons were still not a "finished"
race, and Urtho took those who could not succeed in training for the less demanding jobs of messenger
and camp-helper. These were, of course, never permitted to breed.
But if that youngster had been Zhaneel, she had proved herself by completing her training. Now,
Zhaneel was a working member of a wing, and entitled to the same care and protection Skan himself got.
There should be no reason why she should continue to suffer these feelings of inferiority. There would be
a Trondi'irn assigned to her wing, whose job was to see to everything but serious injuries, whose duty
was to know every gryphon in the wings assigned to him by name and peculiarity. So why hadn't the
Trondi'irn noticed Zhaneel's problems?
Well, there was someone who would take notice of her mental state, do something about it himself,
and then see to it that the Trondi'irn in question would get an earful afterward.
"If you have no plans for your token, you might take it to Amberdrake," he suggested casually. "He's
the best there is."
Drake will have her feeling better in no time—and by the time he and Gesten get done
massaging, grooming, and adorning her, she'll be so elegant that she'll have half her wing at her
feet. That should make her feel better about herself. That was one of the many things a truly talented
kestra'chern and his or her assistants did; spending hours, sometimes more, taking an ordinary creature
and transforming her (or him) into the most stunning example of her race possible within her physical
limitations. Most gryphons went to a kestra'chern before a mating-flight, though few could afford the
services of one like Amberdrake.
"That is simply a suggestion, of course," he added. "You may already have something in mind."
"N-no," she said. She seemed a bit stunned, though whether it was the suggestion itself or that Skan
had made it, he couldn't tell. "If you think it isss a good thing to do. I have neverrr had a token
beforrre...."
"Well, this is likely to be only the first of many tokens for you. You might as well spend this one on
something you are going to enjoy," Skan told her. "You won't regret going to Drake, I promise you."
She seemed to take that as a dismissal, although it had not been meant as one, and stammered her
thanks, backing out of the tent before Skan could ask her to stay. He thought about calling her back, but
it was already dark, and she probably had things she wanted to do.
He wondered about Urtho's interest in her; it had been something more than the usual interest in a
successful fighter. It was as if something about either the gryphon herself or the way she had fought had
brought back a memory that Urtho had forgotten for more pressing concerns.
But now that the visitors had left, and darkness had crept over the camp, not even the lamps could