"Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 01 - The Black Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes) "You're new to Urtho's camp, aren't you?" he asked softly, a sentence that had come to represent a
subtle insult among Urtho's troops. It implied every pejorative ever invented to describe someone who was hopelessly ignorant, impossibly inexperienced—dry-seed, greenie, wet-behind-the-ears, clod-hopper, milk-fed, dunce, country-cousin—and was generally used to begin a dressing-down of one kind or another. The boy had been with the troops long enough to recognize the phrase when he heard it. He flushed and opened his mouth, but Amberdrake cut him off before he could begin. "I'll make allowances for a new recruit," he said acidly. "But I suggest that you never address another kestra'chern in the tones you just used with me—not if you want to avoid getting yourself a lecture from your senior Healer and possibly find yourself beaten well enough your own skills wouldn't help you. Did you even bother to ask why 'your' patient was sent to me? For your information, 'your' patient was assigned to me by Senior Healer M'laud for therapeutic massage, and I had to seriously juggle my overcrowded schedule to fit him in. I am doing you a favor; the man needs treatments that you have not been trained to give. If you had tried, you probably would have injured him. If you had bothered to ask your Senior Healer why he had scheduled this patient for other treatments, instead of barging in here to insult and embarrass me, you would have been told exactly that." The boy's mouth hung open, and his ears reddened. His eyes were flat and expressionless, he had been taken so much by surprise. "Furthermore," Amberdrake continued, warming to his subject, "If you had taken the time to ask your Senior Healer why anyone would send a patient down the hill here to the kestra'chern for treatment, you would have learned that we are considered by all the Senior Healers to be Healers with skills on a par with their own—and that there are some things that you, with all your training, will never be able to supply that a kestra'chern can. Our preliminary training is identical to yours—with the exception that most kestra'chern don't have the luxury of Healing Gifts to rely on. We have to do our job with patience, words, and physical effort. Healing means more than mending the body, young man—it means mending than you. Just different. Just as there are times when you heal what we cannot, so there are times when we can mend what you cannot. You would do well to learn that, and quickly. Inexperience can be overcome, ignorance be enlightened, but prejudice will destroy you." He allowed his anger to show now, a little. "This war is not forgiving of fools." The Healer took another involuntary step back, his eyes wide and blind with confusion. Amberdrake nodded, stiffly. "I will see your former patient at the arranged time, and if you wish to overrule it, I will speak with Urtho personally about the matter. The word of Healer M'laud should take precedence over your objections." And with that, he turned and left the tent, too angry to wait and see if the boy managed to stammer out an apology, and in no mood to accept it if he did. He returned to his tent, knowing that it would be empty while Gesten made his own rounds up on Healer's Hill. That was good; he didn't really want anyone around at the moment. He needed to cool down; to temper his own reaction with reason. He shoved the tent flap aside and tied it closed; clear warning to anyone looking for him that he did not want to be disturbed. Once inside, he took several deep breaths, and considered his next action for a moment, letting the faintly-perfumed "twilight" within the tent walls soothe him. There were things he could do while he thought; plenty of things he normally left to Gesten. Mending, for one. Gesten would be only too pleased to discover that chore no longer waiting his attention. Fine. He passed into the inner chamber of the tent where no client ever came, to his own bed and the minor chaos that Gesten had not been able to clean up yet. Clothing needing mending is in the sage hamper. He gathered up a number of articles with popped seams and trim that had parted company with the main body of the garment; fetched the supply of needles and thread out from its hiding place. He settled himself on a pile of cushions where the light was good, and began replacing a sleeve |
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