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

surveys."
"But most of all, you'll be on your own," Keenath said enviously. "I wish I could find some way to
escape for a few months."
Blade patted his shoulder sympathetically. "And miss all the benefits of trondi'irn, hertasi and
kestra'chern fawning on you every spare moment? The horror! You could ask to be taken on by the
Silvers once you've finished training under Winterhart," she suggested. "Then you'd get some assignments
elsewhere. Down with the embassy at Khimbata, maybe; you could go as the trondi'irn taking care of
the Emperor's gryphon-guards."
Keenath's eyes lit up at the idea, and Tadrith knew how he felt. For a chance to get out of White
Gryphon he would have put up with just about anything.
The problem was that there was literally nothing that he said or did that Skandranon didn't eventually
find out about. It wasn't that Skan was purposefully spying on his sons, or even deliberately overseeing
them—
Well, not much, anyway. And not overtly.
—it was just that everyone told the Black Gryphon everything that went on in this city. A mouse
couldn't sneeze without Skandranon finding out about it eventually.
Neither can we—except that it's guaranteed that if we sneeze, someone will go running to
Father with the news. Not only that, but the report would be detailed as to how, when, and how
well we sneezed.
It wasn't exactly tale-bearing, for people made certain to bring Skan the most flattering reports
possible. Skan was a very proud father.
He can't get enough of hearing about all the marvelous things Keeth and I are doing,
especially now that we aren't in the family aerie to bully into making reports on ourselves. The
trouble is, he is fully capable of blowing the most minor accomplishment up into the equivalent of
a brilliant piece of wartime strategy or heroism.
It was embarrassing, to say the least.
And, of course, anyone who wanted to curry favor with the Black Gryphon knew the fastest way to
his heart was to praise his sons. Skan would go out of his way to see that someone who flattered the
twins got a full hearing and careful consideration. That was all he would do, but often enough, that was
sufficient.
As Keeth continued to look envious and a little pained, Tadrith preened his short eartufts in
sympathy. "I wish there was a way to send you out of the city for trondi'irn training, Twin," he
murmured.
Keenath sighed. "So do I. When we were all choosing the subject we wanted to study, I tried to
think of some discipline I could enjoy that would also get me out of the city at the same time, but I
couldn't. I think I'm going to be good at this, and it certainly feels right, but it means I'm stuck here."
Blade wore as sympathetic an expression as Tadrith.
"There is this, Keeth," the gryphon said to his twin. "You can just go on doing what you are doing
and you will have earned every right to be considered unique and special. You're writing your own
definition of a trondi'irn. You don't have to stand there, blushing at the nares with embarrassment when
someone comes in acting as if running the obstacle course was the equivalent of stealing one of Ma'ar's
magical weapons."
But Keenath ruffled his neck-feathers and clicked his beak. "That's true up to a point, but there is
another problem. Father literally does not understand me. We have absolutely nothing in common. When
I talk about what I'm doing, he gets this strange look on his face, as if I were speaking a foreign tongue."
He laughed weakly. "I suppose I am, really. Well, I'll get my chance eventually."
"You will," Blade promised, but she made no move to rise to her feet. "I'm going to have to break
the news to my parents, assuming that they don't already know, which is more than likely. Tad, you'd
better figure out how to tell yours."
"They'll know," Tadrith replied with resignation. "Father is probably already telling everyone he