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

Skan released his wingtips and pulled himself across the body of the slain human, keelbone scraping
against the ragged edge of sundered wood. His wing-edges caught, pinning him in the opening, and he
wheezed with the effort of pulling himself through. It was dim inside. Only the waning light from outside
leaking through the canvas-openings provided any illumination. Around him, stacked in open cases,
waited glistening objects, the same as the Weaponsmaster had held, each the size of his foreclaws.
Each far more deadly than his claws, he was sure.
They must be some entirely new kind of weapon, and he needed no spell-casting to know their
magical origin. They exuded magic, their collective power making his feathers crawl like being in the heart
of a lightning storm abrewing. Now to grab one and leave! Skan reached toward the cases, almost
touching one of them, when his inner voice screamed "No!"
The Weaponsmaster had one, he was guarding these, these may all be trapped....
A hair-thin crackle of reddish energy arced between the weapons and his extended foreclaw,
confirming his fears.
Then there may be only one that isn't trapped....
He moved slowly, wings folded so tight it hurt. Up onto his haunches, then back down to all fours,
until he faced the rear of the wagon. Then he reached down through the shattered floorboards, groping
for the slain Master's weapon. It didn't make sense to Skan that the man would trap his own weapon,
even if he was a mage; Weaponsmasters as a rule tended to be terribly impressed with themselves, and
thought they could handle anything.... Too bad, so sad, first mistake and last. What's that, stupid
bird, you're getting cocky because you've lasted this long? More to do, and every second is
borrowed time.
At last came the feel of the rod, warm to his touch despite the thickness of his scaled skin. He
reared back, eyes closed to the thinnest of slits, concentrating on not touching the racks of trapped arms.
He transferred his prize to his mouth, clenching it tightly above his tongue, and fell forward across the
gaping entrance he'd made, stretching across it toward the untied flap of the wagon bonnet.
All right. What's the worst that could happen? I touch the canvas, and the entire wagon goes
up with all the energy in these things. That'd be just like Ma'ar, if he can't have them, no one else
can.... I'd better count on it.
Skandranon bunched up his leg muscles, preparing for a massive leap through the exit, when he
heard bootsteps outside, and a moment later, a shadowy figure opened the flap, cursing in the enemy's
tongue.
Now. Now!
In the same instant, the figure opened the canvas, and the gryphon leapt. Skan used the man's
shoulders as a vault, crushing the man's face against the back of the wagon from his momentum. He
snapped his wings open, catching the edges, as the human crumpled underneath him. Then a deafening
sound exploded around them as the wagon's massive final trap was set off—a crimson circle of fire
spread across the ground, incinerating the human, catching the other wagon. A thrashing body was
engulfed in the flame arcing from it as Skandranon gained altitude.
The makaar roused.
End of your charmed life, gryphon. At least now you can cast freely before you die... find her,
wherever she is, accomplish that at least—
Skan's wings rowed at the air, clutching for distance from the camp. There was one thing yet to do
before his conscience would let him leave. Somewhere—his mind searched through the camp and town
for where—there was one of his own kind being killed, slowly....
He searched, and found her tortured mind as he crested the ridge. It felt as if her body had been
lanced deep by thousands of needles, cut on by a hundred mad surgeons, broken by mallets, yet still she
lived. There was a wrenching moment as Skan's mind reeled from the backlash of what had been done to
her, and he felt his wings fold involuntarily.
:Kill me,: she screamed, :Stop them, something—anything!:
 :Open up to me,: Skan sent to her, :Open up to me and trust—there will be pain at first, then