Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 12

“There’s nothing funny at all, dry your tears. If you shed tears in a mask, everything inside will be wet and very unpleasant.”

“I know,” Marcus sobbed convulsively.

“You can't help yourself with tears.”

“They… they got me dirty, not only my face, touched me, and inside too… they got all dirty, I can't forget it!”

“Stop your hysteria,” said Lis sternly. “The importance of it is not great. You shouldn't attach such great importance to this. It's just a body, the main thing is that your brains aren’t spoiled. Everything else is fixable. Feel less sorry for yourself.”

Lis looked at Marcus very seriously.

“Don't betray me,” he said again. “Don't make me believe the Demon is right.”

And, without putting on a mask on Marcus, he went out, closing the door behind him with a key.

He went down to the courtyard, where on the square lined with slabs Nikto and Kors gathered all their soldiers and were already waiting for him. And as soon as Lis came out, both the unclean and the mercenaries of Kors, the noble black ones, cried out:

“Hurray!”

They loudly, joyfully greeting their commander. The servant let the horse down. Lis jumped straight into the saddle, without even inserting his leg into the stirrup, the horse danced under him, now and then rearing up, Lis seemed not to notice this, prancing in front of his army:

“I congratulate you on our victory!”

Chapter two

The holiday

Even without having even gathered and buried all the killed, both their own and the reds, immediately after the inspiring congratulations of the commander Atley Alis, they began to drink. There was a lot of space in the Fort, furniture, utensils and supplies too. The unclean ones couldn’t be stopped, however, no one tried to do this. The warriors of Zaf and the remaining ones of Tazh settled in the left wing, but the tables were pulled out to the square, and they immediately began playing music, took several red maids and slaves. All women found in the Fort were spontaneously divided equally between the unclean and mercenaries. There were very few women in the Fort, literally a dozen maids and the same number of slaves. But the unclean were still satisfied with this, although the maids were frankly so-so. The mercenaries of Kors were located in the central part and annexes to the right. They remained about two-thirds of the original strength, and thus, Vitor Kors still had the largest number of soldiers. The black and the unclean, no matter how they fenced them off from each other, nevertheless, willy-nilly intersected, and in the limited space of the Fort it was simply impossible to do anything about it, so this question was also allowed to flow. Now, drunk with victory and a joint assault, the people and the unclean got along. Although most of the blacks held their celebration in the right wing, many went out to the square, mixed with the unclean. In the main hall, tables were set for the elite: commanders and those who distinguished themselves during the assault. Here were all the surviving militias of the prince, their commander Shrad, and between him and Seamus sat satisfied Anya, a gold chain glittered on her neck, a beautiful pendant lay between her lush breasts. There sat also a noseless boy, the one who, during the storming of their first Fort, far from the border, was frightened by the “shooting sticks” of the reds and fled from the battlefield, for which he was severely punished by the lynching of the militia. This time he fought desperately, was not afraid for his life and, under a hail of arrows, made a fire in time, giving a sign to the warriors of Tazh and Tarl. Now, sitting at the table, he was already pretty drunk, and his face, tied with a wide strip of black cloth covering the severed nose, was joyful. There was also a chef from the transporters, who was dressed up in the clothes of a warrior and put to Tazh’s detachment for “extras”, but this no longer young man entered his role so much that he fought on a par with others and even managed to kill several reds. Marmer, who had been wounded, and several of his remaining soldiers were also there. Everyone ate and drank and enjoyed themselves.

Holding a bowl filled with food from the holiday table, Lis came to Marcus. Seeing him, Marcus jumped up from his chair, his face was still the same bewildered and frightened:

“Forgive me for what I was talking then, I was not myself…” He began to say.

“Have you done anything?” Lis asked, and it was clear that he was only worried about this.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Marcus poured powder on the tip of a knife into a wide stone mortar, very little, literally a few grains, and set it on fire with a thin wick, dropping it into the bowl. The powder flared brightly, a loud bang was heard, and the room was clouded with smoke. Lis looked at Marcus, as if he could not understand how such a small amount of powder made such a fire:

“You did better than the reds,” he said, dumbfounded.

“Thank you,” Marcus shyly dropped his eyes.

Lis seemed to come to his senses and, grabbing a bowl of food, quickly shoved it to Marcus:

“Here, eat!”

“Thank you. Do you have a holiday? Congratulations on your victory,” Marcus said sadly. He turned to the window, located almost under the very ceiling of the low room, from there music, shouts and loud laughter could be heard. Lis also glanced at the window: the silhouettes of the celebrating warriors flashed through the dusty glass.

“Reds suck! The unclean ones decide!” Zaf's warriors shouted loudly.

“Yes. A holiday,” said Lis, suddenly clearly seeing Karina outside the window, her new white sheepskin coat couldn’t be confused with anything, and Nija, and the way their silhouettes approached each other. Lis froze, and then, as if coming to his senses, rushed out of the room, without even closing it, leaving Marcus in complete bewilderment.

Quite mellow Daniel Crassus, so in a simple, familiar way, slapped Nikto on the shoulder. Apparently, Nikto, in his understanding and according to the teaching habit, remained a commoner boy, whom he, like Lis, chased in school all his life, and this patronizing attitude had already become a feature of his character.

“Son of the Devil,” he smiled, looking at Nikto in a fatherly manner, like a wise mentor at a good student. “When you fight, this nickname suits you. You fight very well. How you and I smashed that fucking back gate of theirs!”

Nikto smiled too:

“Yeah…”

Crassus looked at Arel sitting next to Nikto:

“To give credit, Prince Arel fights better than anyone! You a little miss the speed, and he is very fast and powerful. His technique at an incredible level, I've never seen anything like this!”

“He was taught by the finest teachers of the Royal Academy, and then he fought for many years, every day. He's been at war without a break for more than ten years, do you think this will be noticeable?”

“Yeah,” Crassus looked at Arel with delight. He remained completely indifferent to these flattering words and praise, his handsome face didn’t express anything, as if Crassus was not talking about him at all, and Arel didn’t answer Crassus. And Crassus looked at the prince’s face, slightly arrogant in his indifference, only slightly shaking his head:

“After I saw him in battle, I consider the cruel punishment that our King applied to him to be unfair. To make such a good warrior an outcast!” And Crassus thought for a while, but quickly cheered up again, turning to Nikto:

“Well, what about you?! Tell me why do you look so girlish?!”

“Crassus!” Vitor Kors, who was sitting next to him, threw a glance at him of not eyes, but lightning.

Nikto, having heard such a comparison, at first was a little taken aback, but didn’t get angry at all, and then laughed sincerely:

“Because I am a white half-blood.”

Crassus laughed contentedly too:

“Was your mother white?”

“Yes. Mother is white, father is black,” Nikto answered, he looked at Kors, barely holding back a laugh. Kors suffered with the last bit of strength.

“Was she a slave?” Crassus asked. “All whites are slaves. Are you the son of a white slave and a black master?”

“I don't know for sure, I'm an orphan.”

“Why are you called the Son of the Devil? What is devilish about you?”

“My adoptive mother was a witch.”

“Come on! What was her name? When I was young, I had an affair with a young witch, oh… I still can't forget her!”

“Crassus!” Kors couldn’t restrain himself.

“What's wrong, Vitor? It's just a friendly conversation! Son of the Devil, you are like a girl, but do you have a girl?”

“I have a wife.”

“Come on! What about children?”

“I’ve got everything,” Nikto smiled.

And Vitor Kors looked at him, widening his eyes in surprise:

“I beg your pardon,” he said hastily, “I need to go out for a while…” And Kors got up and headed towards the stairs to the second floor, while in his thoughts he very clearly repeated the request that Nikto should come to him. Kors climbed the stairs to the gallery and looked down at the celebration. After a while, Nikto got up and left the hall, but it was clear that he heard Kors and would now approach him.

When Nikto left the table, Arel turned after him, following him with a gaze, Nikto saw that Daniel Crassus asked his prince about something, although according to the rules of the noble blacks, he couldn’t do this under any circumstances. But he did it in front of everyone, Kamiel Varah was sitting next to him, he didn’t interfere in anything, but watched everyone with obvious disapproval. Arel answered Crassus, giving the name of his teacher from the Academy. It was clear that Daniel Crassus, as a mentor, was interested in who taught Arel so well. But this was a violation of the rules and decency, and Crassus, in front of other true noble blacks, did not care about their laws.

Having made a circle around the gallery, Nikto approached Kors:

“And will you often give me mental orders now? It's hard for me to climb the stairs.”

“It was not an order.”

“Really? It sounded very similar.”

“Why didn't you tell me that you have a wife?”

“You didn't ask.”

“So is it true?”

“Yes.”

“And who is she? Well, tell me?”

“Unclean Amba.”

And Kors swore very softly and briefly.

“Ko-o-rs, don’t say such words, you’re not allowed to do it!”

“Hearing this, I can do anything. I won't even ask about children! I see you and Crassus have made friends?”

“Well, you yourself put him to me to hammer the gate. Cripples and old men below. Have you forgotten?”

“I didn’t call you a cripple, it’s he who put it that way, and after that you communicate with him as if nothing had happened! And he continues to humiliate you, saying that you look like a girl!”

“He doesn’t humiliate me. He is quite simple to communicate, not as pretentious as the others. And he really talks to commoners.”

“He says you are crippled and look like a girl! Is this not enough?”

“He's just kind, he just jokes a little mocks at me without any second thought, in a fatherly way.”

“Fatherly?!”

“A-ha-ha, you should have seen your face! Are you jealous? I really like Crassus.”

“And his stupid jokes?!”

“Yes.”

“I think Alis correctly called him an asshole!”

“Ko-o-ors, Daniel Crassus is your old friend!”

“Not anymore! After he called my son a cripple!”