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

great integrrrity!"
"You what?" he said, trying to picture Skan doing anything of the sort.
"I heard him," she said firmly, and with coaxing, the story emerged. She had, once again, been
eavesdropping when she shouldn't have. Some of the mercenary captains had been bandying about the
names and reputations of several of the perchi and kestra'chern, and Amberdrake's name had come up
just as Skan passed by. That would have been enough to attract his attention, but one of the captains had
called out to him, tauntingly, asking him to verify what they had heard "since you know him so well."
And Skan had, indeed, defended Amberdrake's problematical honor, at the cost of some ridicule,
which Skan hated worse than cold water.
"So," Zhaneel concluded. "You see."
Amberdrake did see—and he was rather overwhelmed at this evidence of affection, affection that he
had hoped for but had not really believed in. A kestra'chern had so few friends—so few of those more
than the merest of superficial acquaintances....
He blinked, finding his eyes stinging a little.
"Amberdrake," she said into the silence. "You are a Healer."
He blinked his eyes clear and returned her grave stare, expecting a return to the earlier topic of
discussion. "Of course, sky-lady."
But she turned the tables on him. "And when you are hurt, who heals the Healer?"
Has she suddenly turned into Gesten, or Tamsin, to sense my feelings before I know them? he
thought, startled again. But he chuckled, to cover his confusion, and replied, "My lady, I am not likely to
be needing the services of a Healer, after all. I do not ply my various trades on the battlefield."
She snorted, in a way that sounded very like Skan, but she said nothing more. And just at that
moment, the sentries called midnight, and they both blinked in surprise.
Half the night has gone—but why am I surprised? It almost feels like half a year.
"You should take some rest, lady," he said, taking the half-forgotten token and putting it back in her
pouch. She started to protest; he placed a hand on her beak to stop her. "It is at my discretion to
determine my fee. You keep this. If you have some difficulty convincing your wingleader that you need
special training and equipment, you could use that to deal with him. And when you find someone worthy
of you, then come to me with it, and I shall turn you from simply lovely into the most breathtaking
creature ever to fly."
Her nares flushed again, this time with pleasure. She started to leave, then paused on the threshold.
Tugging a hand-sized covert-feather loose, she gravely handed it to him. "And when you
need—anything—you bring me this. Healer."
Then she was gone, leaving him with a slate-gray feather in his hand, and a great deal to think about.
He let down the entrance flap, closing his tent against the night and any observers, and ran the feather
between the fingers of his right hand.
Who heals the Healer...?




Five
"Well, great hero," Tamsin said dryly, pushing his way through the tent flap, "I see you have a
tent-mate now. Did they discover you weren't a general, and you weren't supposed to have private
quarters?"
Skan chuckled; it was amazing how much better a tiny improvement in his condition made him feel.
Not great, but less like snapping someone's head off anyway. "No, they decided that I must be lonely,
but instead of giving me a lithe young female, they sent this disgusting heap of tattered feathers. Meet
Aubri. Be careful not to step in him."
The other gryphon in the tent, swathed in bandages covering burns, raised one lazy eyebrow and