Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 16

“What’s this?” Lis took a couple of steps and stopped at the corpse of a naked red maid. Her face was blue and swollen, but her fair white body, smooth, with large breasts and a fluffy bright red triangle of soft hair on a slightly convex elastic pubis, was beautiful.

Tol smiled.

“Such a funny red girl, let them admire her. In general, it's not me. These are the mercenaries of Zagpeace, they say, she began to talk with the prisoners and said something bad about us.”

“We have no prisoners,” said Lis.

“Well, yes… well, those that have just come over to our side. Zagpeace said she talked a lot, said, said… maybe she was a spy! Here it is!”

And now Lis looked skeptically at Kors:

“It’s the same song. Will your mercenaries hang every woman who has flown in?”

“They’re not mine anymore,” Kors replied quickly, but he was hurt and unpleasant. No, the black warriors couldn’t repeat this cruel trick again, and so he tried to justify them:

“I don’t think Zagpeace ordered a private case to be put on public display. He is usually very scrupulous about such matters. Surely she was really talking too much.”

Lis turned away and walked on. There were a few more hanged soldiers, the former theater artist also provided them with intelligible drawings, which reflected their faults.

“What? Fell asleep at the post? Jumped up not fast enough at the sight of the commander?! Tol, if everyone is hung up, we will run out of soldiers! I don’t have such a large army to spend like that!”

“They won’t end,” Tol muttered, and Lis looked at the scaffold being put together, where a few more nooses were being prepared.

“I'm not an executioner! I’m a warlord! Yes, I send people to their death, this is my profession, and I have been given this right. But then death itself decides who to pick up and who not! Tol, all executions have to be only with my approval. A pillory and a whip, this is enough for punishment!”

“They are disciplinarians,” Tol said, but not too confidently.

“Alis doesn’t care too much about discipline in the ranks,” remarked Kors, “for him it is of paramount importance that the soldier fights bravely, and in peacetime he can do whatever comes into his head.”

“I’m fine with discipline!” Lis raised his voice. “And you don’t consider these measures inappropriate in a situation where we have every military unit on the account?”

Kors shrugged.

“The warriors of Ram Murh are an illiterate rabble from Lower, I don't know how best. You say that you are not an executioner, and about the waste of people, but I heard how you executed every fifth after the capture of the Fort across the river.”

“They chickened out and fled in battle, that's different! They failed the offensive!”

“Sometimes it is smart to back down. You were not ready to storm the Edge Fort. I will not argue, you are just the only one who saved the situation at that moment, with your extraordinary and courageous act.”

“No! I will not back down under any circumstances! And those who do this will face the death penalty. Retreat is your tactic, Kors, and I know perfectly well how you surrendered Vlas by retreating.”

“I led people out of the imminent cauldron!”

Kors didn't think Lis knew about his past military achievements or failures, and he was hurt. Yes, Kors didn’t have high-profile victories behind his back, but he was not considered a coward, a bad commander who was only capable of retreating. He made the right decision then under this small town, and now Alis poked his nose at this retreat near Vlas, as if he screwed it up.

“You'd think you wouldn't have backed down then. There was a desperate situation there,” he said displeased.

“Me not!” Lis immediately answered, and Kors believed him, he would not back down. He would have sent all the soldiers to death in this cauldron, but he would not have retreated, and maybe he would have won. You never know. And Kors didn’t take risks and a thoughtless waste of human resources then, and no one reproached him for that, but here…”

“Do you think I'm a weakling? A cabinet warrior?”

“I didn't say that. Moreover, I consider you a good commander. A stable average. And those towns that you managed to recapture: Nira, Ples, Meadow village, remained yours. You did everything reliably. You don’t have the talent of a commander-in-chief, but as a performer of specific combat missions without initiative, you are not bad. No great shakes, economical and prudent in resources.”

“Have you studied my entire combat biography, damn it?”

“Of course! Crassus hammered us in his studies with the heroic history of the black people and the endless war with the red. And your careful multi-moves as an example of a brilliant strategy. Then I realized that I would never do that when I became a commander.”

“And you were sure that you would become him?”

“Yes. Either everything or nothing. As if I was born with this, you cannot understand. I'm the chosen one.”

“I am also the chosen one!”

“Well then, all the more so why are you upset?” Lis turned to Tol. “Tol, better gather everyone in the square. We will reward those who have distinguished themselves and set them up for the trip, and take this shit off!”

Tol frowned, but nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said, saluting Lis.

“There are still a lot of things to do with packing up,” said Lis, “so nobody must sleep!”

“You are the commander-in-chief, you don’t have to delve into loading supplies and check every soldier,” Kors said.

“No, Kors, you don't understand. I am the source of this fire, and I am setting this whole thing on fire. From my attention and participation, it will flare up. It will go out without me.”

“Okay, Alis, can I help you with something, although I don't have any more subordinates?”

“You can.”

“Tell me what to do?”

2

Help

Kors knocked and entered Lis and Karina’s room. He saw that Lis was alone, he was sitting at the table with his head in his hands. The papers on the table were scattered around, and several were scattered on the floor. Lis raised his face at the sound of the door being opened, he was still shamefully painted: vertical black stripes under his eyes, a red tip of his nose and a sloppy red mouth from ear to ear. The dye faded a little, but was still very visible. When Lis lifted his head from his folded hands, the bell in his nose tinkled out of tune, too big, it almost lay on his lips, covering them.

“Good evening, Alis.”

“Ah-ah, Kors,” drawled Lis, grimacing slightly, and in an unconscious gesture reached for his mask, which was lying next to him on the table, but at the last moment, as if having changed his mind, he didn’t bring it to his face to close it, but, annoyed, he threw the mask aside, onto the bed, only the clasps clinked loudly.

This involuntary gesture of understanding his shameful appearance, embarrassment and shame from this did not hide from Kors, he grinned.

And Lis immediately reacted to his grin:

“Kors, confess, you get a boner at the smell of shit, right?”

Kors froze:

“Alis… well, I came in an amicable way!”

Kors “heard” that Lis was literally shrinking inside, and all his insolence was now, in fact, a mask, because no matter how Lis hid behind it, in his heart he still considered Kors better than himself, higher, nobler. It was hammered into his head since childhood – to experience admiration for the black masters. Lis was tough, but at heart he remained a “fucking half-blood”, no matter what he did. He convinced others of this, and they considered him an excellent warrior and strategist, respected and loved him, regardless of appearance and origin. But Atley Alis couldn’t convince himself, and just as Kors himself internally considered himself superior to mere mortals, Lis internally considered himself shit, unworthy and wretched. But only deep inside, and this was despite the fact that Nikto, having ennobled his appearance, greatly raised his self-esteem, but still not to such an extent that Lis found comfort. To do this, Nikto needed to make him a true black, tall, long-liver. Such as Arel, such as Kors. Kors felt sorry for Lis. Consumed by his passions, he suffered, everyone else seemed better to him. On the one hand, Kors was flattered, but on the other, he understood Lis more and more, and considered the punishment too cruel both then and now. Not only did they put him down in the Limit, they continued to do so in the Fort, not allowing him to pull the shameful bell from his nose and erase the clown makeup, mocking him day after day. Kors knew that Prince Arel took Lis to the bathroom several times and beat and fucked him there. Kors was in the room with Nik when Arel did it in front of them. Arel brought Lis, tearing him away from business, and he, lowering his head and not looking at anyone, silently followed the prince. Very soon Kors heard from behind the door the muffled sounds of blows, the discordant ringing of a bell and the prince’s groans full of pleasure. And not a sound from Lis. Kors felt uncomfortable and he left, and maybe after he left, Nikto and Arel continued and together tortured their victim. But Alis was the commander of their army, and he had to do business and solve many different issues. But it seemed that this didn’t bother anyone, and Lis was forced to wear a mask and endure total humiliation from the mad prince. Kors now firmly decided that he would ask for him, ask Nikto to cancel this stupid and inappropriate punishment, in which there was no point.

Lis got up, and Kors noticed how his face involuntarily distorted. He winced as the bell tinkled with every movement he made.

“Alis,” Kors suddenly thought that the poor fellow didn’t even have a normal surname, and instead of it there was the female name of his whore mother. And Kors, calling him by his last name, called him by a female name. How did it feel to respond to a whore’s name?

“Lis… I came to make peace. And to say that I am very sorry, I sympathize you and I think that what is happening now is unfair.”

“I don’t care,” said Lis, and the bell tinkled with every word he said.

“Where is Karina?”

“Visiting Lila.”

“You let her go?!”

“She’s tired of me and she’s closed.”

“You know,” Kors hesitated, but immediately resolutely continued, “I forgot what you did with Karina. You are her husband. And I will ask Nik and Arel to stop torturing you.”

“I don’t need a protector,” Lis said sharply, “and your smirks. Get out!”

Kors handed him a neat stack of papers.

“It's called logistics. Here is the logistics for the march, it is compiled on the basis of the audit. If you strictly follow this plan, then we will not have hunger.”

And Lis took the sheets:

“Thank you,” he said.

“Eh… Lis, how old are you?”

“Thirty two.”

“How many?!”

“Thirty-two, maybe a little less or a little more. But about thirty-two.”

“Maybe more?”

Lis shook his head.

“No, I remember. Daniel Crassus asked my mother. And then, my father told me too.”

“And when is your birthday?”

“Well, I don’t know the exact number, of course. What? Doesn’t look like it?”

“Honestly, no offense, but no. You look older. And you are a little older than Karina, and you were very young when you met.”

“Yes,” said Lis, “but I fought on the side of the reds for several years then.”

“I thought you were at least thirty-five. It turns out that if not for Nik, you would not have lived to be thirty-five. I would just die of tuberculosis or ulcers.”