"Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 02 - The White Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

that point to cut all of the terraces that the cliff could hold, and to build the water and sewage system to
allow for that maximum population. Water came from a spring in the cliff, and streams that had once
cascaded into the sea in silver-ribbon waterfalls, carried down through holes cut into the living rock to
emerge in several places in the city. It would not be impossible to cut off the water supply—Skan was
not willing to say that anything was impossible anymore, given what he himself had survived—but it
would be very, very difficult and would require reliably-working magic. It would also not be impossible
to invade the city—but every path, either leading down from the verdant lands above, or up from the
bay, had been edged, walled, or built so that a single creature with a bow could hold off an army. The
lessons learned from Ma'ar's conquests might have been bitter, but they were valuable now.
Skan raised his head and tested the air coming up from below. Saltwater, kelp, and fish. New fish,
not old fish. The fleet must be coming in. It had taken him time to learn to recognize those scents; time
for his senses to get accustomed to the ever-present tang of saltwater in the air. No gryphon had ever
seen the Western Sea before; his scouts hadn't even known what it was when they first encountered it.
Huh. "My" scouts. He shook his head. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for—but I
should have seen it coming. Amberdrake certainly tried to warn me, and so did Gesten and
Winterhart. But did I listen? Oh, no. And now, here I am, with a city named after me and a
thousand stupid little decisions to make, all my time eaten up by "solving" problems I don't care
about for people who could certainly solve those problems themselves if they tried. Now he knew
what Amberdrake meant, when the kestra'chern said that "my time is not my own."
And I don't like it, damn it all. I should be practicing flying, or practicing making more
gryphlets with Zhaneel....
Instead, he was going to have to return for another blasted Council session. They could do this
without me. They don't need me. There is nothing I can contribute except my presence.
But his presence seemed to make everyone else feel better. Was that all that being a leader was
about?
:Papa Skan,: said a sweet, childlike voice in his head, right on cue. :Mama says it is time for the
meeting, and will you please come?: Even without a mage-made teleson set to amplify her thoughts,
Kechara's mind-voice was as clear as if she had spoken the words to him directly. It was another of the
endless ironies of the current situation that the little "misborn" gryfalcon had become one of the most
valuable members of the White Gryphon community. With magic—and thus, magical devices—gone
unreliable, Kechara could and did communicate over huge distances with all the clarity and strength of
teleson-enhanced Mindspeech. She was the communication coordinator for all of the leaders—and,
more importantly, for all the Silver Gryphons. The Silvers were a resourceful policing organization formed
of the remnants of the fighters and soldiers who had made it through the two Kaled'a'in Gates, rather than
through the Gates they'd been assigned.
Kechara's ability, combined with her eternal child-mind, would have caused her nothing but trouble
in the old days, which was why Urtho had hidden her away in his Tower. But now—now she was the
answer to a profound need. No one ever questioned the care lavished on her, or the way her special
needs were always answered, no matter what else had to be sacrificed. She, in turn, had blossomed
under the affection; her sweet temper never broke, and if she didn't understand more than a tenth of what
she was asked to relay, it never seemed to bother her. Everyone loved her, and she loved
everyone—and with Zhaneel watching over her zealously, making sure she had playtime and naptime, her
new life was hundreds of times more enjoyable than her isolation in Urtho's Tower.
:I'm coming, kitten,: he told her with resignation. :Tell Mama I'm on my way.:
He stood up and stretched his wings; the wind rushing up the cliff face tugged at his primaries like an
impatient gryphlet. He took a last, deep breath of the air of freedom, cupped his wings close to his body,
and leaped out onto the updraft.
The cliff face rushed past him, and he snapped his wings open with a flourish—and clacked his beak
on a gasp of pain as his wing muscles spasmed.
Stupid gryphon—stupid, fat, out-of-condition gryphon! What are you trying to prove? That