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

their care were worse than a beating.
Nobody ever asked me what I wanted, not once. Nobody gave me a choice. If IтАЩd had a choice,
I wouldnтАЩt be here now - and no one would have had to think about тАЬtaking care of me.тАЭ IтАЩd have
offered to work just enough to get a tent and some supplies, and IтАЩd have been off to try on my own.
Now IтАЩm stuck here enduring useless blathering from a senile Master and carrying firewood like a dog in
harness.
He made three more such trips - ignoring the adults at the forge each time, although it certainly it
did not escape his notice that the force and frequency of the smithтАЩs blows increased each time he
passed. If Jakem wanted to wear out his arm trying to impress upon Darian what so-called тАЬindustrious
laborтАЭ looked and sounded like, it wasnтАЩt going to bother Darian any.
Besides, if he told the smith why he was making such a production out of the simple task of
fetching wood, heтАЩd only get another tongue-lashing, and maybe a cuff on the side of the head into the
bargain. The smith had a notoriously heavy hand with his own offspring, and if provoked he might well
use it on Darian.
As Darian put his scant armload of wood down at the end of the third trip, the voice of doom
emerged from the interior of the cottage.
тАЬDarian, leave that for now and get in here. ItтАЩs time for your lesson.тАЭ
It was actually a fairly pleasant, masculine voice, a bit tired-sounding and querulous, but not too
irritated or scolding. Nevertheless, if Darian had been a dog, he would have dropped his head and ears
and tucked his tail down. тАЬBut the firewood - тАЬ he protested, knowing that the protest would do him no
good, but making it anyway.
тАЬThe wood can wait; I canтАЩt. Come in now, Darian.тАЭ
Darian drew his brows together in a sullen scowl, but obeyed the summons, leaving the sunshine
and the fresh air for the closed-in gloom of the cottage. He tried to leave the door open to admit a little
breeze, but Justyn frowned and motioned to him to shut it behind him.
He waited with resignation for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. The only light in the cottage
came from a trio of very small windows in three of the four walls; even though the shutters stood wide
open, they still didnтАЩt admit much light. Wizard Justyn waited for him at one end of the scarred and
battered table taking up most of the right side of the room, which served as kitchen, dining room,
workroom, and study, all in one. At the rear of the room was a set of rungs hammered into the stone of
the wall that served as a ladder to the loft where Darian and his Master slept. Most of the rest of the
wallspace was taken up with shelves, badly-made bookcases that leaned perilously toward each other,
like drunks propping one another up, and several appalling pictures of famous mages. DarianтАЩs father,
whoтАЩd dabbled in painting, had once said that a good engraving or print was worth twenty bad paintings,
and Darian could certainly see why. They made his eyes hurt just to look at them, but unfortunately, there
was no way that he could avoid looking at them.
Most prominent was the best of the lot, a heroic portrait of a person not even a terrible painter
could ruin entirely. His noble features and intelligent eyes made up to a small extent for the stiff daubs of
his costume. Shown seated at a table from about the waist up, the great Wizard Kyllian, a Fireflower
Mage, looked every inch the powerful sorcerer, right down to his familiar, a sleek and smug-looking
striped creature at his elbow that might have been a cat, or might not have been. It was difficult to tell if
Grimkin was something other than an ordinary feline, or if the painter had taken the same liberties with cat
anatomy that he had with human. Arranged on either side of this portrait were the pictures of
Herald-Mage Elspeth, Darkwind Hawkbrother, Quenten of White Winds and the powerful Adept
Firesong, all of whom Wizard Justyn had allegedly seen and spoken with before he arrived here to serve
ErroldтАЩs Grove. Darian was more than a little dubious about that claim. For one thing, how could a
broken-down fake like old Justyn have ever gotten near enough to the legendary Elspeth and Darkwind
to have seen them at close range, much less spoken to them? And if he had, how could he ever have
thought that the horrible daubs on his wall in any way resembled them? They hardly even resembled
portraits of human beings! The picture of Elspeth showed her atop her Companion, in an unreasonably