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Epilog. Part 3
The order in Ashgenrian sounded more powerful and confident that ever before. Shivers ran down my spine.
That very second a small pale shadow formed beside me, a few seconds later it acquired an outline.
“Byelndevir!” Reive exclaimed, his eyes opening wide. Such a wide smile appeared on his face that I felt truly happy.
“I’m sorry I nearly bit your head off,” the little spirit said, spreading his wings. Real ones, not bones.
The dragon was of human size and so took up an impressive amount of space. However, that was nothing in comparison to his former dimensions. I knew his size could now be changed at will – bigger or smaller.
“Fantastic!” the necromancer gasped and struggled, then succeeded to stand up from the bed. He went up to the ghost and carefully touched his wing, as if they were blood brothers. “And I didn’t take offense, my friend.”
It seemed to me that
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The smell. A subtle and heady one. Oh, it’s such a long time since I had a woman... A terribly long time... he thought. The man bent over the trembling girl and breathed in the scent of the hot air around her ear. The girl seemed to tremble even more. A sweet smell mingled with fear... Her hand is burning... I can feel her pulse throbbing beneath my fingers... Reive paused. He decided not to do what he had first intended. As he felt the fresh air, the flow of his thoughts changed direction. As if something different, along with the dust and ashes, was disappearing within him. Something old and clawed, cruel and very embittered. As soon as he inhaled the scent, felt the throbbing of her pulse, and the shivering and closeness of a woman’s body, something vehement flared up inside him. His cruelty accrued over years of torture under the heavy gravestones of the curse, began to abate. Yet it did not completely vanish. The man moved aside
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A pretty girl with long honey-brown hair. With large eyes twinkling like stars. And with a cruel smile which had overturned everything inside the necromancer. As if someone had ripped his stomach open, tearing out his bowels with a jagged knife. Her face transformed. Now there was a pale man who had grown grey before his time. He was quite young but had wrinkles under his dark green eyes. The man glared hatred and contempt at Reive, and it was this glare that moved Reive to murder. The necromancer raised his eyes, driving the delusions away and trying to return to reality. But completely unexpectedly, the nightmare became reality. The grey-headed man didn’t disappear. He was sitting on the brushwood beside Angelina with a ghastly smile. The girl didn’t notice him. “What, you didn’t expect to meet an old friend of yours?” Ulfricus said calmly, his dead green eyes burning into Reive. “I killed you,” the necromancer answered scarcely audibly, clenching h
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