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

And that's the next thing; go through Hadanelith's records and find his client list. Where there
is one like this, there will be more.
You knew it could be this bad, Drake. Just think how much worse it would be for her if you
weren't here.

Hadanelith would not run, no matter how grim and threatening his captors looked. He walked away
from them at a leisurely pace, as if he was out for an afternoon stroll, keeping his posture jaunty and his
muscles relaxed.
It wasn't easy. The back of his neck crawled, and despite that officious bitch Judeth's assertions that
they were not going to physically harm himтАФthemselvesтАФhe half expected an arrow in the back at any
moment.
But no arrows came, and he completed his stroll down the furrow of planted ground without
incident, carefully stepping on each tiny seedling before him as he walked, and grinding it into powder
beneath his feet. A petty bit of revenge, but it was all that he was likely to get for some time.
At the end of the furrow was the land that had not been claimed from the forestтАФforest that held so
many dangers that sending him out here might just as well have been a death sentence. Even the field
workers came out under guards of beaters to drive the beasts away, and Kaled'a'in whose specialty was
in handling the minds of wild beasts in case the beaters couldn't frighten predators off.
And archers in case both fail. Thank you so much for your compassion, you hypocrites.
He did not pause as he reached the trees and the tangle of growth beneath them. He pushed right on
in and continued to shove his way grimly through the bushes and entwined vines, ignoring scratches and
biting insects until he finally struck a game path.
Then he stopped, a little out of breath, to take inventory of his hurts. He wanted to know every
scratch, every bruise, for he would eventually extract payment for all of them.
There was the kick to his jaw, the other to his hand; the one had practically broken the jawbone, the
other had left his hand numb. His guards hadn't been any too gentle on the trip up here, either; they'd just
about dislocated his arms, wrenching him around, and they'd gotten in a few surreptitious kicks and
punches that left more bruises and aching spots under his clothing.
Nevertheless, Hadanelith smiled. They'd been so smug, so certain of themselvesтАФthey'd said he
was to be sent into this exile as he was, and then were bound by that word from searching him!
Fools. They assumed that a kestra'chern at work would be completely unarmedтАФbut Hadanelith
was not exactly a kestra'chern.
And Hadanelith was never unarmed.
He began to divest himself of all his hidden secrets, starting with the stiletto blades in the seams of his
boots.
Shortly, he would resume his journey to the boundary markers, and he would be very careful to
remain outside them for the few days it took to convince these idiots that some beast or other had
disposed of him.
Then he would return.
And then the repayments would begin.




Two
Skan cupped his wings and settled onto the ledge of the lair he and Zhaneel had chosen when White
Gryphon was first laid out, this time only stubbing two talons upon landing. That wasn't unusual; he was
often less careful when he thought no one was watching him, and the pain was negligible. This was his
home. He could blunt his talons on the stone if he felt like it.
Together with a small army of hertasi, they had carved it from the rock of the cliff, used the resulting