"Mercedes Lackey & Larry Dixon - Mage Wars 03 - The Silver Gryphon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

Tadrith snorted. "Just because you're obsessed with eating it doesn't follow that I am! I'll have you
know that I only just now escaped from yet another yawnsome Section meeting. Food was the very last
thing on my mind, and escaping Aubri was the first!"
Keenath laughed silently, beak parted, as his tongue flicked in and out while his sides heaved. "That
must have been a first, then," he bantered. "So who was she? The pretty young thing that your mind was
really on, I mean. Kylleen, perhaps?"
Tadrith was not going to get caught in that trap. "I haven't made up my mind," he said loftily. "I have
so many to choose from, after all, it hardly seems reasonable to narrow the field this early in the race. It
wouldn't be fair to the ladies, either, to deny my company to any of them. It is only polite to distribute my
attentions over as wide a selection as possible."
Keenath reached out a claw and snagged a pillow, spun it twice as he raised up, and expertly hurled
it at his brother's head. Tadrith ducked, and it shot across the room to thud against the wall on the other
side.
"You should be careful doing that," he warned, flopping down on the cool stone himself. "We've lost
too many pillows over the cliff that way. So what were you studying that has you panting so hard?"
"Field treatment and rescues under combat conditions, and specifically, blood stanching and wound
binding," Keenath replied. "Why? Don't ask me; we haven't seen a state of combat since before you and
I were born. Winterhart's idea. Probably because I take after Mother."
Tadrith nodded; Keenath was very similar in size and build to their mother, Zhaneel. Like her, he
was technically a gryfalcon rather than a gryphon. He was small and light, most of his musculature in his
chest and shoulders. His coloring and body type were that of a peregrine, his wings long and narrow, but
most importantly, he had inherited Zhaneel's stub-taloned, dexterous claw-hands.
This was important, for Keenath was learning the craft of the trondi'irn from Winterhart herself, and
he needed "hands" as clever as a human's. Before his apprenticeship was complete, he would be able to
do anything a Healer with no Gift could do. The difference between him and an herb-, fire-, or
knife-Healer was that, like all trondi'irn, his training was tailored to the needs and physiology of
gryphons and other nonhumans.
Zhaneel had been trained as a fighter—and others had come to the realization that her small size and
lack of fighting talons could be put to other uses too late for her to learn a new trade. At that point, she
had opted to adapt her style of fighting to her body type rather than try to fit the accepted mold, and with
Skandranon's help she had made the best of her situation with brilliant results. But when Keenath had
shown early signs that he would resemble her physically, he was encouraged to think of a career in
something other than the Silvers.
Nevertheless, it had surprised everyone when he had declared he wanted to train as a trondi'irn.
Up until now, that had been an occupation reserved for humans and hertasi.
Tadrith stretched and yawned, turning his head so that the breeze coming in from the open door
could ruffle his crest-feathers. "At least you were doing something!" he complained. "I sat there until I
thought my hindquarters were going to turn to stone, and if any part of me is going to grow stiff on a day
like this, that is not my primary choice. I couldn't even take a nap; as usual, old Aubri had me
conspicuously up front. Have to maintain the tradition of the Black Gryphon, of course; have to pretend
every Section meeting is as important as a wartime conference. Have to act as if every detail could mean
life or death." He stretched again, enjoying the fact that he could always vent his frustration to his twin.
"You should be glad you look the way you do, Keeth. It's bad enough being Skandranon's son, but the
fact that I look like him doesn't even remotely help! You try living up to the legend, sometime! It's enough
to make anyone want to bite something!"
And to display the strength of his own frustration, he snagged the poor, mistreated pillow Keenath
had lately lobbed at him, and bit at it savagely. It was a good thing they had the cushions covered in
tough linen-canvas, for the pillows had to take a great deal of punishment.
"Well, if you think it's hard living up to the legend, just try breaking away from it!" Keenath retorted,
as he always did. Tadrith's twin groaned as he followed Tadrith's example, stretching. "Half the time I'm