"Mercedes Lackey - Owl Mage 2 - Owlsight" - читать интересную книгу автора (Lackey Mercedes)

medicines was the equal of his, he stopped inspecting her results before allowing her to use them and
started teaching her how to use the knife and the needle, how to set bones and restore dislocated joints
as he did.
 Unfortunately, the one thing he canтАЩt teach me is how to use my Gift, and the books are
not very useful there either. Healer GilтАЩs Gift was not very strong, and he relied on his skill with the
knife and his truly amazing knowledge of herbalism for most of his cures. Keisha would have been
perfectly happy to do the same, but Healer Gil kept insisting that she make use of this Gift that she didnтАЩt
understand. . . .
Gradually, though, what with all Gil had to do, his visits had shortened, and the intervals between
them lengthened, until now he came to ErroldтАЩs Grove no more than once every moon and never stayed
longer than half a day. He even trusted her now to experiment with new preparations, something that
made her so proud she practically glowed every time she thought about it!
That was why Shandi wanted her to come along on this hunt for the elusive true red dye. Her
knowledge of herbs and other plants extended into dyes, and she had a knack for telling which ones
would fade, which would need too much mordant to be practical, and which would turn some other, less
desirable color with age. Some dyes could even be used as medicine, so Keisha never lost a chance to
explore their possibilities. In a village where every person had some specialty, however small, Shandi was
the one who supplied everyone else with common embroidery thread the equal of anything a trader could
bring in. Her threads, whether spun from wool, linen, or raime, were strong, hair-fine, and even; her
colors were true and fast. So even as the villagers gladly paid Keisha for tending their ills (knowing that
she had to pay for the medicines and supplies she couldnтАЩt make, grow, or find for herself), they even
more gladly told over their copper coins for a hank of ShandiтАЩs thread.
The village square was the site of the weekly market, with the square closed to all but foot traffic,
and stalls set up along all four sides. Besides the usual things found in a village market - produce and
foodstuffs - ErroldтАЩs Grove had specialties of its own to boast of. Along with the dye-hunters had come
dye-traders and dye-buyers, who purchased bundles of plants and fungus and things that defied
description, then leeched or cooked out the pigments and pressed them into little cakes for sale. The
buyers seldom left ErroldтАЩs Grove, preferring to act as middlemen and sell their dye-cakes to traders, but
they were by no means reluctant to sell a cake or two to their neighbors. The tanner also put some of his
unusual furs on offer at this weekly market, giving villagers first choice of what the hunters brought him.
In addition, now ErroldтАЩs Grove had its own potter, who was an artist in his own right, using
some of the new and strange pigments and foreign earths from the Change-Circles and a variety of
modeling and carving techniques to make ordinary clay pots into things almost too beautiful for use.
There was, alas, no glass blower as yet, though there were rumors that one might be coming soon; most
glass came from the Hawkbrothers or from traders.
The millerтАЩs son had begun experimenting with paper making a year ago, and now his efforts
were on sale roughly every other market day, alongside inks Keisha had taught him to make from oak
galls and soot, small brushes he made from badger hair, and pens he cut himself from goose quills. So
now it was possible for lovers to exchange silent vows, for thrifty wives to keep account books, for those
with artistic pretensions to inflict their work on their relatives, and for everyone to write to relatives far
and near. That last item alone, that tiny token of civilization, made ErroldтАЩs Grove seem less like the end
of the universe and more like a part of Valdemar. When it was possible to communicate, however
infrequently, with those outside the confines of Lord BreonтАЩs holdings, people didnтАЩt feel forgotten
anymore.
Then there was the Fellowship.
Keisha nodded a friendly greeting toward the Fellowship booth, and the soberly clad woman
tending it smiled and nodded back, her smile widening as ShandiтАЩs footsteps suddenly (and predictably)
lagged and her eyes went to the delicate wisps of fabric draped temptingly over a line at the back of the
booth. The Fellowship, a loose amalgamation of a dozen families related only in their religious beliefs and
a firm commitment to peace and a life with no violence or anger in it, had arrived in ErroldтАЩs Grove two