"Simon Hawke - Wizards 08 - Wizard of Lovecraft Cafe" - читать интересную книгу автора (Hawke Simon)

A blue aura formed around Billy as he sat there, concentrating intently. It pulsated, expanding and
contracting, strobing slightly, then wide beams of thaumaturgic force streamed out

from Billy's palms, bathing Wyrdrune's chest and enveloping him in a blue aura as well. As Billy's aura
dimmed, the aura around Wyrdrune grew brighter, a visible manifestation of the healing exchange of life
energy. Then the blue glow suddenly faded and Billy collapsed.

"Billy!"

Kira caught him before he fell and eased him to the floor, leaning back with him against the front of the
sofa.

"I'm ... all right," he murmured, resting his head on her shoulder. "Just . . . weak." His eyelids fluttered.
"Did it . . . work?"

Kira glanced at Wyrdrune's bare chest, from which the burns were already disappearing. The skin of his
upper torso was red and fading even as she watched.

"Yes, Billy, it worked. You did it."

"Good." He sighed and closed his eyes, utterly exhausted by the effort. "I wasn't sure ... I could . . . ." His
voice trailed off and seconds later his chest was rising and falling rhythmically as he slept.

"I wasn't sure you could, either," Kira said softly.

There was still a great deal about Billy that she didn't know. Not even Billy knew. Not anymore. A great
deal had happened to him in a relatively short time. He had gone through more changes than most people
could be expected to survive, much less understand. From a troubled, young, multiethnic street urchin
living by his wits in London's East End, he had gone to being an avatar of a legendary archmage,
possessed by the spirit of his ancestor, Merlin Ambrosius, who had involved him in a struggle dating back
to the very dawn of time.

It had not been an entirely benevolent possession. The two personalities, Billy and Merlin, had often been
at odds with one another, a situation that was further complicated when Billy came into possession of an
enchanted ring that held the spirit of a sorcerer knight named Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall, the last
surviving member of the Council of the White—and Merlin's father.

Gorlois had been one of the Old Ones, an immortal race of magic users who had been the dominant race
on earth when humans were still walking on all fours. It was from them that human legends of gods and
supernatural beings came, for they had regarded primitive humans as nothing more than animals, sources
of life energy to empower their thaumaturgic spells. In time, however, as humans started to evolve, many
of the Old Ones came to feel that it was wrong to use them in this manner and so the ruling Council of the
White decreed that humans could no longer be ritually sacrificed for their life force, as they were
developing into intelligent creatures. This was the beginning of white magic, thaumaturgy that called upon
the life force of the spellcaster or else employed life energy from other living creatures only in a way that
would allow that energy to be naturally replenished.

However, not all the Old Ones had obeyed the dictate of the Council. There were those who had
rebelled and refused to give up necromancy—the sorcery of death. These were the Dark Ones, and the
conflict between them and the Council led to war. It was a devastating struggle recalled in Norse legends