"Mercedes Lackey - Owl Mage 1 - Owlflight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

But now Darian was in no mood to comply. This little incident only confirmed what he had been
thinking. The people of Errold’s Grove didn’t need some fool who could suspend apples in the air, they
needed a Healer, sometimes a Finder, sometimes a Weather-watcher, but not a wizard, and they never
had needed a wizard in all the time Darian had been here. Most especially, they didn’t need him. It
would make more sense for one of the girls to learn everything Justyn could teach about herbs and
simples, distilling and potions, setting bones and stitching skin. So Darian just stood there, ignoring
Justyn’s order, radiating rebellion and waiting for their reaction.
One of the farmers glanced at him with censure written clearly on his face. “Justyn,” he said in an
overly loud voice, “is there any help you need?”
Justyn, who had been muttering to himself as he mixed herbs in the mortar, got flustered and
distracted at the interruption. He had to dump the lot of what he was grinding out into the tiny fire, and
start again. The fire flared up with a roar and a shower of multicolored sparks, and both farmers
exclaimed in startled surprise, taking everyone’s attention off Darian.
That was all he needed. For once, Darian was not going to stand around and wait for people to
give him stupid orders. Taking advantage of the distraction, the boy edged around behind Vere and made
good his escape, sliding quickly out of the door before anyone noticed he was gone.
That’ll show him! That’ll show all of them that I’m not going to be treated like I have no mind of
my own! I’m not a slave, and I never agreed to any of the things they‘ve done to me! They don’t give me
the regard they‘d give a rooster; why should I stay and be insulted and made to do things I hate?
He didn’t want to be caught, though, so he moved around to the back of the cottage, plastering
himself against the wall and ducking under the windows until he reached the side that faced the forest. He
was just underneath the open window when he heard Justyn say in an exasperated tone of voice from
which all patience had vanished, “Will you please boil that water, Darian? Now, not two weeks from
now - “
But Darian was out of reach of further orders, and as he paused to listen to find out if either of
the farmers was inclined to volunteer to go look for him, evidently Justyn looked around and saw that for
himself, for there was a muffled curse.
“Useless brat,” the first farmer muttered. “We should have ‘prenticed him as a woodcutter to
you, Kyle.”
Vere gave a snort. “He’d be just as useless there. Lazy is what he is. You oughta beat him now
and again, Justyn. You’re too soft on him. Them parents of his spoiled him, and you ain’t helping by bein’
soft on him.” There was a clatter of metal as someone put the kettle on the hook over the fire.
Vere’s brother seconded that opinion. “Them two was useless to us and dangerous, Justyn. It’s
in his blood, an’ you oughta beat it out of him, else he’ll bring somethin’ out of the woods that none of
us’ll like.” Darian, lurking right beneath the window, heard every word too clearly to mistake any of it,
and his stomach seized up inside of him as both fists clenched in an unconscious echo of the knots in his
gut.
They were at it again. In front of him, or behind his back, they never let up, not for a minute! He
felt his anger boiling up again, felt his face getting hot and his eyes starting to burn with the misery of loss
he had vowed never, ever to show. He wanted to storm right back inside and confront both of those
miserable old beasts, but what good would it possibly do? They’d only say to his face what they’d just
said to Justyn.
With a strangled sob, he wrenched himself around and ran off - not into the village, but into the
woods beyond, where the villagers were too cowardly - unlike his Mum and Dad - to go.
His feet knew the path, so he didn’t need to be able to see to find his way to one of his many
hiding places. That was just as well, since unshed tears of anger and grief kept him from seeing very
clearly. Darian wasn’t old enough to remember a time when things had been other than hard here at
Errold’s Grove, but until last year, he had been happy enough. He hadn’t spent much time in the village
itself, and although he hadn’t had any playmates, he hadn’t felt the need of them. Solitary by nature, he
enjoyed the mostly-silent companionship of his parents.