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

there was hell to pay. Obviously, Shaiknam picked underlings who had that same humanocentric attitude.
Skan put his chin down on his foreclaws and brooded. It wasn't often he had his beak so thoroughly
rubbed in the fact that he was incredibly lucky to have Amberdrake as his Trondi'irn and Tamsin and
Cinnabar as his assigned Healers-of-choice.
And if anything ever happened to Amberdrake?
I could end up with another cold, unfeeling rock like Winterhart. And I would have no say in
the matter... just as I have no say in when I may sire young, which commander I must serve, nor
any way to change battle-plans if the commander does not wish a gryphon's viewpoint.
The gryphons found themselves treated, as often as not, as exactly what Shaiknam and his ilk
thought them to be; stupid animals, deployable decoys, with no will, intelligence, or souls of their own.
The more he brooded, the more bitter his thoughts became. Thanks to Amberdrake, he had led a
relatively indulged life, insofar as it was possible for any of Urtho's combatants to be sheltered. But
Zhaneel was an example of how a perfectly good gryphon could be turned into a self-deprecating mess,
simply by neglect.
Because too many of Urtho's folk—and sometimes even Urtho!—treat us as if we aren't
intelligent beings, we're things. We have no autonomy.
From where he lay, he had no trouble reading the titles on the spines of the books Urtho had loaned
to him. Biographies and diaries, mostly—all humans, of course—and all great leaders, or leaders Skan
considered to be great. Did Urtho have any notion how Skan studied those books, those men and
women, and what they did to inspire those who followed them? How he searched for the spark, the
secret, the words that turned mere followers into devotees? Or did he think that Skan read them as pure
entertainment?
Make your motivations secret to the enemy, fool them into false planning, use their force
against them, lead them onto harsh ground, hold true to the beliefs of your followers, and show
them the ways they may become like you. Lead by example. Those weren't fictions on a page, they
were a way of life for those who had become legends in the past. Urtho knew half of these writers. A
quarter of them worked for him when he created us. One he served.
Urtho had learned from all of them, and now so did Skandranon. So why must things remain the
same?
Amberdrake came awake to the smell of simmering bitteralm-and-cream. Gesten bustled about with
fluid efficiency as the kestra'chern awoke, whistling jaunty hertasi tunes while he folded towels and
polished brass, pausing only to check the bitteralm pot on the brazier between tasks. Amberdrake
couldn't help thinking of morning-wrens greeting the dawn, like the hertasi tale of how the sun had to be
coaxed from slumber each day with music.
Amberdrake rolled over and slid sideways, stretching his legs underneath the glossy red and silver
satin cover that Urtho had sent to him when he had joined Urtho's forces as a kestra'chern. He curled up
around a body-pillow and hoped that Gesten wouldn't realize he was awake, but it was too late. The
hertasi pulled back a corner of the blanket and offered a cup.
"Morning and daylight, kestra'chern. Much to be done, as always."
Amberdrake blinked and mumbled something that could have been interpreted as rude, if it had
been intelligible. Gesten was as unimpressed by it as he'd been the last hundred times and proceeded to
prop up pillows behind the Healer's head. "There's hot bread and sliced kilsie waiting outside. We have
three clients today. Losita has pulled muscles and can't take her usual clients, so I accepted one of hers
for us. Should not take long. And before you ask, nothing has gone wrong with Skandranon. He is fine
and sends his best regards."
Amberdrake took a sip of the hot, frothy bitteralm-and-cream and smiled at Gesten. What would
any kestra'chern do without hertasi, and what would he do without Gesten? "So things are back to
normal."
"As normal as ever in a war. Tchah," the hertasi spat, and flicked his tail. "New orders are down
from Shaiknam and his second, Garber. 'All hertasi of convalescing personnel are to be reassigned to