Читать книгу The Mist and the Lightning. Part 16 - Ви Корс - Страница 1

Part 16

Dedicated to Y. E. Zhigulsky

1

News

Nikto, Prince Arel, Vitor Kors, Lis, Karina and habir Verniy returned to the Fort from the Limit. They entered the main chamber of the tower, and Tol, who was sitting at the table with Dick Nedwill, jumped up joyfully, knocking over the jug, which, fortunately, was already empty.

“How glad I am to see you!” He shouted. “Finally! I already miss you!”

He ran up to them heavily, raking Lis into an armful:

“Al! Has Nik cured you?”

“Yes,” said Lis somehow not very cheerfully, gently pushing tall and powerful Tol away from him.

“Great!” Tol didn’t catch the tension and joyless mood of his friend, froze for a moment:

“Al, what’s with your head?! What's with your hair?”

“I made it darker,” Nikto answered for Lis, seeing that he was not at all inclined to chat with Tol. Nikto removed the mask to reveal his painted face, and Tol froze, staring at him. Kors saw that at first blatant surprise flashed in Tol’s eyes, but very quickly it was again replaced by joyful delight:

“Nik, bugger me! What the war paint! Ten out of ten! I barely recognized you!”

Nikto laughed, showing black teeth and a shiny ring resting on them.

“Nik! How did you hook the ring to your teeth?!” Tol roared with delight. “I want such one too!”

“I'll show you later, okay? There under the upper lip there is a place where to hook it,” Nikto smiled.

Kors also took off his mask, in the end, he shouldn't have been embarrassed by Tol and his commoner assistant, who had the nickname Coal. Tol immediately glanced at his jewelry and the hook that wrapped around his chin. Kors clearly understood that Tol liked it very much, but he was ashamed to voice it and turn to Kors. He still considered Kors a stranger, not one of them, and was wary of him.

“Let's drink to your return!” Tol began to pour wine into mismatched and not very clean goblets and glasses piled on the table. The first goblet, apparently out of old habit, he handed to Prince Arel, who silently, without changing his haughty expression, took it. Then, according to the rules of etiquette, Tol handed the cup to the lady, Karina.

“You can open your face and have a drink,” Lis told her. Karina has already, in general, learned how to drink and eat, only slightly raising the upper part of the cape and slipping a mug or piece of food under a hard front apron, but if Lis allowed, why bother. She immediately lifted the cloth and took the glass from Tol. Everyone drank, and Lis, lifting the bottom of the mask, too. Having drunk, Tol happily and involuntarily raised his hand to his lips, intending to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, pulling it up a little, but at the last moment something stopped him, he froze, and, lowering his hand, took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his lips with it. Kors chuckled.

“Al, why don't you take off your mask?” Tol asked, pouring wine over the second round without a pause.

“I can't yet, Nik is still treating me,” said Lis, shaking his head, and turning, looked with his yellow eyes with black edges, glistening in the slits of the mask, at Nikto. He looked, as it seemed to Kors, with some resentment.

“Yeah,” Tol drawled in some confusion, but immediately cheered up, overshadowed by another thought:

“And I have a new tattoo!”

And he began to unbutton his jacket and shirt under it with passion, showing them his next tattoo. On Tol’s chest was now a naked and very curvy woman who was lying on her back with her raised legs wide apart. On top of it, instead of a lover, a large black panther perched on its mouth in a fierce grin.

Seeing the beauty’s breasts, huge and round, like balls, Vitor Kors quickly turned away to cover his mouth with his hand and not laugh out loud. Nikto seemed to have said absolutely sincerely:

“Tol, how cool! Who was inking you? Unclean Shukul?”

“Yes!”

“Very cool! I want such one too!”

“Tol, how many days have passed in the Fort since we left?” Lis interrupted their enthusiasm sharply.

“What day is it?”

“How should I know!” Obvious notes of anger and irritation appeared in Lis’ voice.

Tol looked at him in confusion.

“You have been gone for three days, sir Atley Alis,” Dick Nedwill intervened quickly and defused the situation.

And Lis, turning to Nikto, looked at him SO…

“No need to burn me with a glance,” Nikto immediately reacted. “Desmod and Marbas have not come yet, and without them there is no point to hit the road.”

“When will they come?!”

“Soon! And let the wounded recover, we will have more people.”

“While we wait here for your unclean and heal the wounded, Kudmer will call for help from other cities!”

“And if not? Let's wait for word from Samer from the Marmer squad. He will scout out what is happening in Ore town and its environs.”

“While he scouts, Kudmer will have ten thousand help! Speed and surprise were our trump cards, we had to not let them come to their senses! Now, no. Now everything has gone to shit!”

“Lis, go fuck yourself!”

“Fuck, I do it more often than go out in the fresh air!”

“This… this Kudmer has time to gather anyone, you panic again!”

“No, well, of course, Kudmer is a fat, self-confident fool, but not to such degree!”

“It is an additional concern for him, to wait for you and to feed the foreign army of many thousands. He will only send for help when he sees us!”

“Well, okay, suppose he is confident in the inviolability of his walls, and this is so. We will storm them, and the army that has come to his aid will grab us by the ass!”

“Don't run ahead of the horses, Lis!”

And Nikto, as if looking for support, looked at Kors. He was taken aback, he clearly didn’t expect that Nikto would turn to him for help in a conversation. Because, according to Kors, Nik himself did a good job of “ransoming”, all the more, doing it in the style of those with whom he argued. But it seemed that he wanted some clever arguments in his support. Kors froze, and Lis, as luck would have it, also looked at him:

“Well, speak! Don’t stand in my throat, fall further!”

“Alis, slow and steady wins the race,” Kors hardly uttered, “and haste makes waste.”

Kors was terribly ashamed of what nonsense he had just said. But, having felt the emotions of Nikto, he realized that he was quite pleased with him, and diligently memorized the expressions, while correctly putting them on the shelf to the phrase: “business before pleasure”.

“We will capture this Ore town just like that edge Fort across the river, remember?” Nikto told Lis.

“What?!”

“Only you and I will change places.”

“Are you nuts? We got fucked up in that Fort!”

“Under Ore town all the land is dug for many kilometers. I and my unclean ones will go to their very heart through holes through which no man can crawl. We will take over the city from the inside. And you will be outside!”

Lis fell silent, considering the words of Nikto:

“Nik, this is too risky.”

“When was it different with us?”

Lis, seeming to calm down a little, turned to Tol.

“Well, have you done anything?”

“You bet!” Tol was delighted, seeing that the tension had subsided. “Come on, I'll show you how I put things in order here. You know, Lis, I have an ideal here!”

Lis just shook his head in annoyance.

They went out into the yard. Kors and Nikto put on masks again, and Karina covered her face with a cape.

Kors with disgust, since the mask hid the expression on his face, looked at the naked, torn corpse of Tishka. On the body, the softest and, apparently, the tastiest parts were eaten off by the wolf. The face was eaten, there were no eyes, lips, cheeks. The genitals were eaten away, the soft tissues on the forearms and thighs had bite marks from powerful jaws. The abdomen and chest were opened, but the entrails were not touched, the predator ate only tender liver and the boy’s heart. The mutilated corpse of Tishka, exposed for all to see, looked reproachfully at the living with empty eye sockets. On a board nailed above his head, it was written: “Went AWOL to the lake” and was painted a lake with blue paint and a huge figure of a grinning wolf with black paint. It was drawn very well. It could be said, intelligibly.

“There's a wolf walking by the lake,” Tol explained. “Here, they found a boy from the militia on the same day as you left. I don’t let anyone go there anymore.”

“How well it is drawn,” Kors couldn’t resist.

And Tol was delighted:

“Some freak used to work with Lila in the theater, he sculpted all sorts of decorations, and when the theater closed, he stayed on the street. So he came to us.”

“Yes,” agreed Kors, “it is a very correct decision. There are many illiterate among your soldiers, and the pictures explain everything clearly. That you can't go to the lake with wolves,” he looked at Nikto, because of the mask it was completely incomprehensible whether he was angry with Verniy or he didn’t care. Moreover, Verniy was standing nearby in his dog’s helmet, looking at the drawing on the board and did not look tense at all, his posture was still calmly relaxed. “Nothing will happen to him,” Kors suddenly thought with some inner confidence. Nikto didn’t even turn his head to Verniy, didn’t even look at him. He stood, looked at the body of unfortunate Tishka, torn apart by his beloved pet, and said nothing. And did he look at all? Did he see what the dog has done? Due to the black inserts covering his eyes, it is impossible to say with confidence. Or was it really a wolf and not Verniy at all?

“What's this? Why is this red here?” Lis said.

And everyone was distracted from the corpse of Tishka and looked at the red one, hanging next to on a rope tied around his neck.

“This is red Almer, he said a lot of unnecessary things about you, intimidated newcomers and was also constantly stoned. This is not how things should be.”

“Clear. Well, why did you hang this one?” Lis looked at the next corpse.

“Is he not a sorcerer?” Tol asked in surprise. “You see, Al, he has the same thing on his face, uh-uh… glasses, like the blind man you killed and whom we found buried along the road. You killed him? I decided not to risk and also got rid of the four-eyed!”

Kors froze. Tarmer! That’s where he disappeared! He looked at Lis, damn, he killed Tarmer to spite Kors! For some reason Kors was sure of this, but he was looking for this red. And everyone was silent. He asked Karina, and she said that she knew nothing, although she probably knew everything perfectly well. She deceived Kors! Her father! Everyone around knew where Tarmer had gone, except him. And they were silent. He looked at his daughter, but her face was covered with a cape. They were all closed, all the people of the Demon had masks: Nikto, Verniy, Lis, Karina, and Kors himself because of his jewelry and painted face. All were fenced off from the world of people by a barrier that made them faceless, and it was not clear now what Karina and Lis felt, because Tol, unwillingly, unwittingly revealed his act to Kors.

“Tol, are you going to hang every red in glasses?” Said Lis as if nothing had happened. “There are plenty of them, and this is not witchcraft.”

“Really?” Tol was surprised. “Well, okay.”

“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.”

“Or died in battle. Kors, what's the difference, only my mother tried to kill me three times and couldn’t, and also Karina. And the red ones. And the blacks wanted to hang me not so long ago. I've been walking on the edge all my life.”

“You really have nine lives!”

“Yeah, and each is crappy.”

“I don’t argue, you have experienced a lot of humiliation and suffering, and they didn’t make you better, but only embittered you. I'm sorry. But you had your father's respect. You had the power and you were the winner.”

“Yes, I had no less than you, Kors.”

“Again you are measuring against others. What a habit – to constantly compare yourself with others! To each his own. You know, Nik and Arel also despise people, they don’t care how great a person is, for them he is still a leather bag of shit. And for you, all people are better than you. Maybe you should learn from the Demon and stop considering others so glorious, stop trying to prove to people that you are no worse than them?”

“When will you stop teaching? Read your lectures on how who should behave? You teach all the time. Is this your support?”

“I will ask for you! Even if I get punished for it. I'm already painted and decorated as well as you.”

“Yes,” said Lis, “the game was equal, two pieces of shit played it.”

“Stop it! Lis!”

“Why did you stop calling me Alis?”

“I don’t want. This is your mother’s name, it is… as you say… ignominy.”

Lis chuckled.

“Your mother… she began to engage in this activity, falling into difficult life circumstances, and where was your red father?”

“Kors, he just played with the black girl and forgot about her.”

“She went back to blacks, and they punished her?”

“Yes.”

“Was she in jail?”

“Yes.”

“Where were you at that time?”

“I was with her, women are often imprisoned with their young children, you know. Then we were released.”

“But she was shamefully marked as a whore and made indelible arrows on her eyes, right?”

“What do you think?” said Lis.

“I can't imagine how it feels…”

“Really? You have them drawn on you too.”

Kors swallowed the mockery:

“I seem to be getting used to your unrestrained language. And you know, the name Atley really doesn’t suit you. And the name Sigmer – it is too alien, unusual, this is the name of the reds. Your nickname really suits you best, and even Karina calls you that,” Kors smiled.

And Lis smiled back at him. Seeing his triangular teeth, Kors couldn’t restrain himself and shook his head.

“I now understand that I acted biased. That I was tactless and rude. But you never crushed me in full force, endured. You only hurt me through my daughter.”

“I love her. You began to understand something, but you still didn’t understand about Karina and me. I endure in this relationship! She is my weakness. She will die and I will die!”

“But why, then, are you dragging her everywhere you go and pushing her to the front line?!”

“Yes, because I can’t live without her for a minute!”

“That’s what gives you the strength not to love the Demon, you have Karina! But she also loves you, don’t doubt, I know,” Kors said confidently and remembered about Nija. And about Prince Arel, and Nikto, and Zaf, yeah…

And Lis took a cigarette and silently lit it.

Kors entered the room with the bear on the wall.

Nikto was lying on the bed without moving.

But Kors was determined to ask for Lis with a firm intention to stop this chaos at last.

“Nik?”

Nikto didn’t answer or move.

“Nik, is everything all right?” Kors asked cautiously, something was wrong, and he felt it.

Nikto rose heavily, his face was covered by a mask, black empty eyes “looked” at Kors from the cracks. He just sat with his head turned towards Kors and was silent.

“Where are Arel, Verniy?”

“I sent them to the stable, and what?” nevertheless, to the relief of Kors, Nikto answered.

“Why don’t you ride your horse too?”

“I don’t want.”

“Why? You love him so much.”

“I don’t want anything,” Nikto said, and fell back on the bed.

“Every day you don’t take off your mask and sleep in it.”

“I glued it to my face.”

“But why?!”

“Why?! In order not to do anything else with this face! Not to spoil it even more.”

“Gods, no,” Kors whispered, “you can’t make it worse, everything is already ruined there!”

“I know that no, so I glued this fucking mask to my face,” Nikto shouted, and suddenly, quite unexpectedly and very quickly, grabbed his knife and stuck it into the thigh of his lame leg with all his strength.

Blood splattered in different directions.

Kors’ face changed:

“A-ah! Stop it! Stop it! Leave this body alone! Stop mutilating this body!”

“Damn, I’m going to cut off this fucking leg! Stay away, Kors! Better don’t come!”

Kors rushed out of the room, he ran after Lis, it seemed to him that Lis knew Nikto better, and knew better how to handle him and extinguish his seizures:

“Lis! Lis!”

Lis ran into the room, Nikto was sitting on the floor, fortunately, he didn’t have time to cut anything of his body. And Lis, to Kors’ amazement, quickly approached and kicked Nikto with a foot, right to say, kicked him in the gut, and then with a fist in the temple, and Nikto seemed to lose consciousness from a blow to the head.

Lis turned to dumbfounded Kors:

“This is how these seizures are removed. He needs to be hit and distracted. It is better to blow him down immediately. He blown down, then comes to his senses more or less normal. He will not punish you for this, don’t be afraid. And if you don’t do that, you don’t extinguish him, he will disperse, and it will only get worse, then you will not calm it down at all.”

“Are you crazy?! You hit him too hard!”

“Crazy? Are you fucked up?! Who is normal here? Who?! You spend so much time with them, have you seen your normal Nik well?” Lis eloquently looked at the leg of Nikto, blood continued to flow from the deep cut.

“Did you see him stoned? When he is stoned and having fun? His favorite pastime is to get hold of Arel’s cock or ass or of his own, and drive everything that comes to hand into it. Or fuck Arel for several hours without a break. You have a bad idea, Kors, about the whole degree of douchebaggage of him and Arel, and what they are doing. When Nikto collapses into insanity, he mutilates Arel and himself, and he doesn’t give a damn that scars remain. This is his only favorite pastime. Have you seen his body, his face?”

Kors covered his ears:

“Gods, why can’t you do without such an abundance of obscene words!”

“Because what they are doing can’t be named in another way!”

Nikto stirred with a soft groan:

“Li-i-is, where are your handcuffs?” Nikto held out his hands. “Close me.”

“Maybe you should be attached to the pipe?”

“I'll rip it out, probably,” Nikto raised his impersonal face to Lis, “Lis, I allow you to erase the jester’s mask and pull out the bell. Your soldiers need you. Be what I made you in the Limit.”

“Silver fox?” Lis grinned, he took out his handcuffs, with which he never parted, but was in no hurry to close Nikto’s hands.

“Silver fox is more expensive than an ordinary fox…”

“Are your unclean ones coming soon?”

“They have about one day left to get to Riverside.”

“Maybe you should go to meet them? You will wind down, do something and take your mind off your madness?”

“Yes,” Nikto agreed.

And Lis looked at Kors and said:

“Thanks,” and left.

“But I haven't had time to ask for you yet, oh devil!”

3

The trip

Black water chomped loudly over the side of the ferry raft. Nikto was sitting with his back against the side, his legs bent at the knees and his straightened arms resting on them, his head was lowered. He wasn’t moving.

Kors looked at him closely.

“Nik, are you high?”

Nikto raised his face covered with a mask:

“Yeah,” he drawled.

“And strong? Completely stoned? Yes, Nik?”

“Uh-uh… yes,” Nikto answered a little more clearly, but in unclean, “Nik, you're high,” he repeated and laughed softly.

“Gods, you’re finished! You are really finished, and you will catch an overdose again!”

Nikto answered, dropped his head between his hands again. And Kors saw now only his white top and long bangs with a black strand.

“It’s really difficult with you! Nik… I don’t understand. Do you feel so bad in a human body? In our world? Is it so unbearable?”

“Leave me alone, how tired I am of you all!”

“Nik, speak to me in black, please.”

Nikto raised his head again, and straightened his hair, slightly removing it from the mask:

“I'm fine,” he said in black, still responding to Kors’ request.

Arel, standing nearby and holding his horse by the bridle, as usual, silently listened to their conversation. Smiling slightly, he raised the flask of the unclean to his lips, taking a good sip of it.

“Nik,” Kors continued, “I think you’re doing the wrong thing. You are going crazy from your supposedly limitedness in this body. You have too much pride and no humility. Rather, you completely misunderstand him, you confuse humility with humiliation.”

“As if you understand!”

“Yes, I understand.”

“And, of course, impeccable Vitor Kors, who knows and understands everything!”

“At least I try. I am walking this path. I made peace with Lis, and I understood him. And you continue to mock and humiliate him, yes, then you allow him to hit you on the head, but this is not humility! This is a perversion! And I realized that the half-blood is no worse than me, that he is the same! He’s a man too! And we are equal. And you – no! You, Demon, don’t want to accept the fact that you are the same as us!”

“You are mice!”

“And your wings are now black! And broken. Your wings were broken, I felt it and I was very scared. What is Bustwich?”

“World of Shit, nothing special,” Nikto answered, to Kors’ disappointment, rather indifferently, “just World of Shit, like everything else.”

“What is happening to you?!”

“Nothing,” Nikto shrugged, “nothing happens to me.”

“Do you understand that you are bad at performing tasks and your Missions?”

“So what? Oh, yes, that’s what you said to Arel for ten years. He tried and did. He tried for you, but you stopped loving him!”

“Like your Father God? He disowned you, fell out of love and severely punished you, depriving you of your voice and eyes. You don't have your own voice, you wheeze. And no eyes. They say that the eyes are the mirror of the soul, instead of eyes you have empty glass!”

“What? Oh, spare me this. It's just ridiculous,” and Nikto put his finger to the mask at the level of his mouth, turning it slightly diagonally.

“Arel was unworthy of my love,” said Kors.

“However, you fell in love with him again, but only when he chucked in!”

Kors looked at Arel, who, as before, stood at a distance and was clearly not going to take part in the conversation.

“Arel, why did I stop loving you, what do you think?” Kors asked.

“Because I became dirty,” oddly enough, but Arel answered and drank from the flask again.

“Why did I love you again?”

“Because you have become as dirty as I am,” said the prince. He smiled the indulgent smile of a sir, showing Kors the slightly chipped edge of one of his front teeth.

“Everything is simple for the prince,” Kors grinned, “give me a drink.”

Arel silently handed him his flask. Kors took a sip of the strong unclean moonshine:

“Fuck, what a shit! What the hell are you always shoving in yourself!” He lit a cigarette to interrupt the unpleasant aftertaste:

“Addict and drunkard, it will all end badly. And I want to help you, fallen Angel. Help! Only you bury yourself deeper and deeper, but you have to try and start to change your life and your attitude towards it and people! That is why you feel bad, that you are moving in the wrong direction and on the wrong path! You are doing good deeds! After all, you are doing them! You have saved so many people from slavery in the Western colonies. You destroyed the Farm. In the Black City, you helped a lot of people. Now we are fighting the red invaders. You are trying to somehow remake our world, bring it to a better place. And people aren’t mice or leather shit bags, are they?”

“Vitor, you are a leather bag full of words. You are a leather bag too full of words. Why would you care about my welfare? Tell me also that you are worried about your son.”

“And for the son, and for you!”

“Why for me? Are you afraid that if I poorly perform tasks, your Mission will fail and you will not become the king of black?”

“Is this my Mission?”

“Don't you want it?”

“I don’t even know what I want and what my Mission is. Maybe it’s about getting you out? Help you?”

“To set on the path of the true dirty Demon?”

“You need support.”

“You said yourself that I’m finished.”

“I believe that the point of no return has not yet been passed.”

“Did you get Arel out? Have you raised him?”

“I did my best! And helped him a lot!”

“Taught him to suck well? I agree that this skill is very important in this life.”

Kors grimaced.

“Unfortunately, there is no merit here, this talent was innate in him.”

Nikto just shook his head.

“I know where to start,” Kors continued, “you need to cut back on your medication, that’s for sure. You inject yourself every two hours, and then, of course, you are hard hit by the withdrawal. I tried it and I know what I'm talking about.”

“Oh, what did you try there, Vitor? Like a girl who drank a glass of wine and thinks she understood everything about alcohol. It’s funny! Do you want to try ‘black water’?”

Kors’ face changed:

“No.”

“Well, then don't give a fuck.”

“Follow the culture of your speech, this is also important. Watch your appearance. Heal! You have hepatitis! You healed Lis and removed all his scars. Do the same with your face and body! And then you will have intelligent thoughts. Not like this, when you barely open your eyes in the morning, and immediately rush for a drink and a syringe, and let the day pass as it should, but go to wash, comb your hair, eat normally. Plan everything and strictly follow the plan, don’t go to your unclean ones in the evening, but be sober at least once.”

“And read a book?” Nikto said and laughed.

“You would have achieved more if you listened to my words. Once you are in a human body, live according to the laws of people and the rules for the normal functioning of the body. Respect and love it. You seem to intentionally force your brain with substances, you want to kill yourself, and then what? They will, as Lis says, ask you. What will you tell your higher overseers: “The body died, it is not my fault that I couldn’t complete your tasks!” Yes? It is foolish to hope that they will believe you. You will go back to your world of shit!”

“I'll take you with me next time,” Nikto said.

“Yes please! I'm not afraid of anything anymore! Even there I will find a way to organize an acceptable space around me.”

“Arel, do you hear? Vitor will teach everyone there how to live properly!”

“He will be in charge there,” Arel answered.

“Why are you like that?!” Kors shouted, unable to bear it.

“What?!”

“Spoiled! I love you with all my heart! You are like my son! You are my son too! I want the best! It hurts me to see you destroy yourself. I know that you are capable of more! And you trample and trample my feelings!”

“Vitor, you liked my Limit, you were there for the first time, and you liked it immediately.”

“I liked it. And I don't mind relaxing, resting and playing. I am not saying that I am perfect. But business before pleasure.”

“Exactly,” Nikto said. “We have sailed up.”

He fell off his back from the side, and, so inhumanly resting his palm on the wooden flooring under his feet, pushed off with force, rising. He walked over to his Unclean Power, inserting his foot into the stirrup, jumped into the saddle. The horse danced under him, and the raft under his hooves too.

“Hey!” Kors shouted, grabbing the railing to stay on his feet.

Unclean Power, having made an incredible jump, almost without a running start, jumped the distance to the coast in one fell swoop, shaking the ferry even more.

“You motherfucker! You will knock us over! Insane!”

Turning to the hail, Nikto, for a moment, turned Power around, putting it on the hind legs, and then, without answering, hitting his steep sides with his feet, he directed the horse at a gallop along the hillside up to the abandoned village. After him, Arel also immediately jumped into the saddle, and, without waiting for the ferry to finally land on the shore, he forced the horse to jump, whipping up his lash and loudly shouting a command. And only Kors, swearing and wiping the drops of spray from his clothes, waited until the raft moored to a small pier, and neatly brought his horse back, holding onto the reins. He secured the ferry, tied it up, and, getting into the saddle, headed for Riverside, having long lost sight of both Nikto and Arel.

4

The house

Kors drove slowly along the main street of an abandoned, dead village. There was deathly silence here and there was not a single living soul. Tol’s soldiers transported people to Crimson Rock. Some peasants of Prince Arel, who had recovered from typhus, refused to cross the river and left Riverside, returning to the Estate. In the evening twilight, ruined houses looked longingly at Kors with empty eye sockets of broken windows, and Kors felt the heavy atmosphere of hunger and suffering that had reigned here quite recently. He seemed to hear the drawn-out groans of people dying in agony from everywhere, and he was haunted by an unconscious feeling of despair and hopelessness. Or were they the sounds of the wind rushing in hysterical gusts through empty lanes? This place was cursed, Kors thought. He approached one of the houses he recognized. Here he used to play “the fool” with his son and prince Arel. Then he had fun. It seemed that it was in another life, and Kors was different, also from another life. He was free, cheerful and confident. He was himself and was not defiled or touched. How dignified, proud and calm he was then! Absolutely confident that he was in complete control of the situation and nothing bad could happen to him. He was the commander of the true blacks, an unquestionable authority. He was their faithful companion and friend. He looked good and looked boldly into the future. He fearlessly approached the Demon, studying him with curiosity and not even knowing how it would all turn out. He was amused by the way the Demon scared over Arel, then Kors couldn’t even imagine, did not even admit the thought that something similar could happen to him. Not a single doubt or premonition of danger crept into his soul. He was so presumptuous! Just a fool, confident in his righteousness and infallibility.

Kors dismounted near one of the houses and climbed the porch. Here he once stood and smoked before the beginning of a meeting of commanders. And Nikto that evening first opened his face in front of people, having arrived without a mask. He was so handsome. “Kors, don't smoke. Everything will be fine,” Nikto told him. “Yes. Sly Demon, you got me through. You winded round my little finger like I was a naive child”. Kors went into the room, there was still a table, and on it lay a crumpled dusty tablecloth. He sat down in his place, just as he sat then, during the meeting. He just sat blankly, as if hearing the voices of his officers. Nothing could be returned. He couldn’t go back to that moment and do everything differently, replay, stay free. How good it was for him then, but he realized that only now. He didn’t value it then. He didn’t appreciate freedom, because it was a natural state for him, a familiar sensation, like the air you breathe and you don’t notice it until your throat is squeezed. And how thoughtlessly he gave the most valuable thing, only later realizing what it was like to breathe with permission, breathe because you were graciously allowed to do so, and to be not a person, but a thing. “Arrogant fool!” Blinded by his pride and sense of power, which turned out to be only an illusion! His whole life collapsed overnight. He understood that the beginning of this fall began long before Riverside, but here, as it seemed to him, it took final shape. At what point did he make this fatal turn in the wrong direction?

“I don’t understand why you are protecting this boy like that? Son of the Devil, here's your time! I must confess that I didn’t think he looked so much like a girl!”

“What?!”

“The Son of the Devil is a pretty blonde with blue eyes. I have never seen white male half-bloods live, only female slaves. But it turns out that they are all the same! And guys are like girls, they are the same.”

“Crassus, I will kill you!”

“Vitor, stop it! I need to tell you something urgently. Very important, confidently. Let's go freshen up… I need fresh air, it's stuffy here. Vitor! Calm down, what are you doing?! Don’t be silly! What's the matter with you?!”

“What's happening? You are crazy?! What are you doing?!”

“Nothing! Everything is fine!”

“You started smoking again! You don't come to sit with us in the evening. I saw his unclean horse at your camping tent, he stood there until morning. Kors, I have known you for a long time, I know your preferences. This white half-blood is very similar to Iness, I paid attention to this today. Do you see familiar features in him? Yes? Are you crushing on him?”

“What?!”

“And judging by the looks he throws at you, he also reciprocates you, however, it just doesn’t surprise me, but you?! Vitor, what are you doing?”

“What looks does he throw at me? What are you making up, Varah?”

“Don’t show your relationship so clearly. Don’t stand up for him so openly! Do you have love with him?”

“I don’t blame you,” Kamiel tried to cheer him up somehow. “The boy is really cute, nice features, though not tall and march.”

“What?! Gods!”

“Do what you want with him, but in secret. Please, not so openly! Don’t embarrass yourself! Vitor, you ruined your reputation in the city. I don’t believe in all these stories of naive commoners from Lower. The Son of the Devil, who opened a portal to the catacombs of the prison dungeon. This is all bullshit! You helped him escape! You lost his position because of him, came to him here! You help him! Vitor, what are you doing, are you crazy?”

“Yes. I just went crazy and derailed my life.”

“For a young boy?”

“He is already twenty-five years old.”

“So what? He could be your son, Vitor!”

“It’s terrible, right?”

“No. Just don’t advertise it so clearly! Just as you didn’t advertise your relationship with the prince.”

“Damn! Have you all already guessed?”

“No, but after you began to protect him so much… and you should have seen your face at the meeting when Crassus called him a cripple. You started to shake. You were ready to kill Crassus, I know you and I know what your face is when you want to kill. Of course, everyone was surprised and began to think too much. By the way, unlike you, he made no sign. It's good, he doesn't give you up.”

“He doesn’t give me away.”

“What?”

“So they say.”

“Vitor, stop it!””

“Varah, I'm lost. I'm lost…”

It got completely dark, and the sky was clouded with low black clouds. The wind intensified, already clearly howling in the cracks. Kors left the empty house, listening to his feelings, so that, like a beast, like a faithful dog, he could smell where his Master was. They were further away, at the edge of the village, near the forest. Exactly where the camp of the uncleans used to be. Kors spurred his horse, trying to drive as quickly as possible through the houses where his officers and himself had once lived. He no longer wanted to remember anything, because it was unbearable and only agitated and depressed him. Silently he entered a low rickety house, where a candle barely glowed on the table and an open bottle stood. Everything as usual.

“Here he is. Finally!” Said, displeased, Prince Arel, seeing him. “Well? Have you walked enough?”

Kors silently looked up at him, and Arel opened the door to the adjacent room for him:

“Come here.”

Kors doomedly walked deep into the house, where he was shown. They went into a room that apparently had previously served as the master's bedroom. There was devastation here, and there was a large, rickety bed without legs, with broken vertical poles at the edges, which were once intended to support the canopy. Now there was nothing: no canopy, no pillows, no blanket – only a dirty mattress, from which a fat rat, the true mistress of this room, slowly jumped off.

Nikto was sitting in the corner right on the dirty floor in the same position as on the ferry, his mask was lying nearby. He slowly raised his head, and his gray face and black eyes looked creepy in the gloom.

Kors was suddenly seized by an inexplicable sticky and all-consuming fear. All this atmosphere of decay of an abandoned village, longing for the past lost life and some indescribable feeling of hopelessness in this house, rotten through and through, intensified a hundredfold. Before he could say anything, Arel rudely and forcefully pushed him onto the bed, knocking him over onto his back. Kors felt his invisible hands gripping him, pressing against the musty mattress. Kors froze. Arel just stood by, and at the same time Kors couldn’t even move. The prince slowly approached, leaning, and Kors, unable to restrain himself, screamed in pain, because he had an absolutely real feeling that Arel penetrated deep into his body through his skin and strongly squeezed something inside, and again and again. Stronger and stronger. He seemed to feel and squeeze every internal organ, twisting the insides, and it was unbearable. Kors was literally paralyzed and sprawled on the bed. He lay with his arms outstretched and couldn’t move. Arel didn’t stop, continuing to twist and press on every piece of flesh, making him feel a truly hellish pain, which was impossible to get rid of. And his victim writhed in agony under invisible, tenacious fingers. Overcoming these terrible sensations of pain, unable to utter a word and really breathe in air, Kors, by some incredible effort of will in his thoughts, confused and incorrectly began to feverishly read the divine saying, and Arel loosened his grip a little.

Kors heard and caught with a peripheral vision that Nobody got up and was approaching them.

“No! No!” Kors shouted with the last bit of strength, feeling the electrified air begin to tremble and vibrate, as if before a thunderstorm. He heard a rumble in his ears and an ever-increasing discordant cacophony of sounds.

“Iness! Iness, help me!”

There was a harsh clap.

A black figure with huge wings hung over his outstretched body. But the Demon did not lift him into the air as he expected. From the depths of this black figure, first from afar, and then closer and closer, with a low rumble at great speed, something began to approach him. Something incredibly strong, alien and ruthless, and Kors knew it was about to slam into him and kill him. He screamed loudly. The blow was so strong that it was thrown up from the mattress, and the bed shook. Something coming from the Demon burst into his chest, into his very essence, pierced him and broke. Bending convulsively, Kors wheezed, and it seemed to him that his heart had stopped and exploded into thousands of small pieces.

Kors screamed, practically losing consciousness from unbearable pain and despair. In some kind of haze, fog, in the last dying dash, he fell from the bed to the floor, clutching with stiff fingers into the broken post at the foot, gasping and wheezing. With an incredible effort, he got up and literally crawled to the door. “Quicker, quicker, get out of this room, out of this house!” He was dizzy and everything was floating in front of his eyes, he saw their black silhouettes, they pulled back a little, not holding him. Staggering like drunk, Kors rushed out, hitting the corners and stumbling over the steps of the porch, tumbled into a small square. The forces finally left him, and after walking a few steps, Kors fell to his knees in the dust, screamed hoarsely, rather howled, raising his face to the black night sky covered with heavy thunderclouds:

“Gods! Gods! Help me! Supreme God, save me, I beg you!” He shouted in despair.

Nearby, lightning suddenly struck with a bright blinding flash and a deafening rumble of thunder was heard. Kors covered his ears with his hands, bending to the ground. Streams of freezing rain fell on him from above. Kneeling, he put his face to these drops and, choking on the sobs choking him, shouted, swallowing them.

“Save me! Hear me!”

In the pouring rain, he crawled on the ground, wet and dirty, continuing to call, like a madman:

“My God! Help me! Save me, I beg you!”

Nikto came up to him from the house:

“Shout louder, he doesn’t hear you! Maybe he is sleeping?” He said, and his voice was terrible.

With a death grip, he squeezed Kors by the forearm, pulling him upward, dragging him behind him. Nikto dragged exhausted, unresisting Kors into the house and threw him on the bed, and he finally lost consciousness, falling into the darkness.

5

Progress

“Get up! Desmod has arrived.”

“Am I alive? Am I not dead?” Kors saw that he was lying on the bed, on some shabby skin, undressed and covered with a tattered, but warm and heavy blanket stuffed with lumps of matted wool. He looked around, dumbfounded. Painted Nikto without a mask and still with black plates in his eyes stood over him. Nikto threw his jacket and boots at him.

“You… you… undressed me and covered me?!” Kors asked in surprise.

“You were all wet and shivering. Why are you looking like that? Should I have left you to sleep in wet clothes?”

“No… no, I don’t believe… after what you did to me, to take care of my clothes?”

Nikto instantly mentally transferred him a piece of the events of yesterday evening. Kors saw himself from the side: he listlessly resisted and continued to cry, Nikto really took off his jacket, rather patiently and gently. Kors tried to push him away like an offended child, tears running down his face.

And Nikto said:

“Vitor, you are all wet, you motherfucker! Let me take your wet clothes off!”

Then he went into the next room and hung them there on chairs around the table. He brought a skin and a blanket and covered Kors.

Yes, it was true. The demon took care of him. Only Kors for some reason was not grateful to him!

“What have you done to me? What have you turned me into? You killed me!”

“Get up!”

“I don’t want.”

“How many times should I repeat? You are my retinue. Get up and follow me!”

Those unclean ones who came to the aid of Atley Alis’ army were, in Kors’ opinion, simply disgusting. This army consisted simply of some frankly bestial creatures, and their commanders, unclean Desmod and Marbas, generally had little in common with people. Zaf, Nija and Tazh, compared to these creatures, seemed just noble sirs. They traced at least some kind of human nature, while these godless creatures were just beasts. Nikto with his changed painted face matched them. And now Kors realized that there was a point in disfiguring himself and hiding his soft appearance.

In their uterine hoarse voices, they spoke very quickly in unadapted unclean, and Kors didn’t understand them well. But it seemed that these were banal greetings and expressions of joy from the meeting, although from the outside it seemed that they would now grab each other’s throats as well as Kors’ one. Kors “heard” how Nikto, at some crazy speed, almost instantly mentally conveyed to Desmod a whole block of events that had occurred, and these were not words, but simply compressed information, in which Kors didn’t have time to make out anything concrete. Desmod, in response, also gave the Demon his vision of the situation and information about what was happening, as well as about each of his warriors. And the way they communicated amazed Kors. They communicated not with thoughts, but as if with emotions that were not clothed in words, conveying not just a word, but at once a whole spectrum: an image, sound, smell, emotion, both their own, and of everyone involved in it, and what really happened, and it was much cooler than words. Such blocks took an instant, giving a complete and multifaceted understanding of the situation, and it would take a thousand words, explanations and clarifications to describe all this concise information that was transmitted instantly. Kors understood now how poor and primitive were the communication skills of people who communicated with the help of words that didn’t convey, in essence, even a hundredth of what the Demon could convey in a split second. But Kors was so proud of his talent, he was sure that he perfectly heard the Demon and the unclean. How funny he was when he told Zaf, “I will break your defenses”. He didn’t understand their real communication, and only now was he able to grasp its essence, while he did not even have time to understand anything.

The unclean ones settled down in Riverside for the night, they kindled bonfires and made a terrible holiday with sacrifices. The soldiers hung each other on chains, piercing the skin on their backs with sharp hooks. They wounded their flesh without pity, passing hooks through the skin on their arms, legs, back, and if they did not hang themselves, then they simply hooked heavy weights to the hooks so that the wounded flesh would stretch. They pierced themselves through with thick needles, inserted sharp knives into their cheeks and lips, which protruded from their mouths. All this action was accompanied by a booming rhythmic beat of drums and howling of trumpets.

“Are you going to pierce yourself and hang yourself too?” Asked Kors looking at Nikto.

“No.”

“Why? It’s quite your style.”

“They make these sacrifices for the Demons to appease them and get help in battle. And I am the Demon,” Nikto answered, and, turning away from the raging crowd of unclean soldiers, went to the house. And Kors had no choice but to follow him.

Kors lay on his side on a dirty mattress in clothes and boots, blankly staring at the opposite wall and at the rat slowly picking something in the corner. Nikto and Arel kissed and hugged behind him, undressing each other. The sound of their kisses and the clang of taken off weapons falling to the floor drowned out the screams of the unclean and equally vile sounds of instruments outside the walls of the house. He heard and felt how Nik and Arel lay down on the bed, intertwining their bodies, the mattress trembling, and now, when they were very close, Kors heard their moans better, the hoarse hiss of Nikto, the tinkle of his trinkets and chastity belt. Arel, fucking him, screamed loudly, cumming, and Kors realized that Nikto again didn’t utter the coveted phrase either aloud or mentally, and, therefore, Arel was now free from this restriction. Kors didn’t turn to them, nor did he get out of bed. He didn't care. Even if Arel now turned him around, undressed him, ordered him to get down on all fours or suck him off, he didn’t care. It was as if they weren’t around right now, but it seems he was absent for them too, because, having fed up with the submissive body of the Demon, Arel didn’t touch Kors.

Kors stood under the canopy near the stable, getting ready to leave as they were returning to Crimson Rock. Nearby, the unclean of Desmod’s detachment were also preparing their horses for the journey and were talking loudly out loud. These unclean ones were simple soldiers and didn’t know how to communicate like their demonic commanders, and Kors couldn’t help hearing their chatter inattentively.

“For a horse to be fast and tireless, you need to smear his legs and stomach with deer fat,” said one.

“Reindeer fat is garbage,” the second objected to him, “you need to hang the tooth of a wolf, killed on the run, on a horse’s neck.”

“They say,” the third intervened in the conversation, “that the surest way to make a horse fast is to take a mole and with a knife, bought without bargaining, pierce its neck. And then put a few drops of blood on the horse’s head. And then you need to carefully remove the skin from the mole, leaving the paws, and stuff the skin with hay. And drag it three times along the face of the horse, from nose to ears!”

Kors just grinned, he had long been accustomed to the proximity of unclean beings. He had already put the saddle on the horse’s back when he saw Arel heading towards him. The prince walked slowly over and, looking at Kors with a slightly arrogant smile, stretched out his hand to the reins:

“Give me back my horse, Kors,” he said not harshly, but still in an orderly tone, and Kors, without saying a word, silently removed his saddle from the back of the most expensive horse in this world. From the horse of Prince Arel.

Together with the unclean, they crossed the river. Nikto, Prince Arel and Kors rode in front of the troops, heading for the Fort.

“Have you changed horses?” Nikto asked, looking at Kors with his black eyes, his face was open.

“Well, what was left for me,” Kors complained a little indignantly, “if he took it away from me!”

This horse of Arel, which he was riding now, was also very good, but Kors was still annoyed:

“And now I have to fuck with the next uncontrollable prince's horse!”

“So, your Beauty is with you again?” Nikto turned to Arel.

“Beauty?” Kors was surprised. “Was that not the name of the previous horse? Beauty, as far as I know, was slaughtered by Black Bey in revenge on Arel when you were ambushed in Lower during the Winter Festival. And he cut off his ears.”

“And you know everything,” Nikto shook his head, “all Arel’s horses have the same name,” he smiled.

“I took the horse away from you?!” Arel was indignant. “You were the first to take it away from me! And you tore his mouth with the bar bit!”

“Your horse was badly brought up!”

“He just didn't want to obey you! Damn, how could it be ?! Nik, he crippled my horse!”

“I don’t know, Arel, how you dealt with him, but your horse was simply uncontrollable, and only harsh training measures brought him to his senses,” Kors replied sharply.

“You just didn't have to steal my horse! There was no need to take what didn’t belong to you! You are not his master, and therefore he didn’t obey you and rebelled.”

“Wow, rebelled! Eh, he didn’t understand a single command! You didn't seem to work with him at all! Arel, I wonder how you didn’t break your neck and die in battle, your horse was wild! You should be grateful to me and say “thank you” that I kept him and raised him as it should be, and now he perfectly fulfills the commands.”

“Nik, he ruined my horse,” repeated Arel very upset, again throwing an angry glance at Kors:

“Did you put on double-bit mouthpiece for him? What have you done?!”

“I just controlled him,” Kors was also already upset by this conversation and the prince’s claims.

“Okay, Arel, what do you want from me? Should I pay you compensation? Or if he doesn't suit you anymore, bring him back. Should I pay for him? I'll buy him from you, okay?”

“Aha, here I am! No really!”

“Here, take it,” Kors took out several large gold coins from his wallet, handed them to Arel, “this is for my help in training!”

But Arel didn’t take the coins, turning away:

“Just don’t even dare to approach him anymore!”

“Your Beauty, beauty prince?”

“Yes!”

“And what is the name of this horse, which is now mine? Beauty too?” Kors could hardly hold back his laughter, and Nikto, looking at them, smiled with his now black mouth.

“You can call him what you want!” Arel was still annoyed.

“Okay, Beauty can only belong to, as far as I understand. Is this horse a mestizo?”

“Yes, he’s half unclean,” Nikto confirmed.

“And he's quite obedient,” Arel said calmly. “It will be easy for you with him, Kors.”

“Thank you, Prince Arel.”

The army of the unclean was already on the approaches to Crimson Rock when the wind blew from the Fort, pouring them into an unbearable fetid stench of rotting flesh. Lis, as usual, didn’t care about the burial of those killed in battle, saving wood and coal for forges and not burning corpses. He ordered to remove everything of value from the dead, take away armor and weapons and simply throw the bodies into the moat behind the walls, sprinkling them with earth a little.

Unclean Marbas sniffed and smiled, as it seemed to Kors, with a double row of sharp teeth:

“Nice places,” he said.

Having met their fellow tribesmen in the Fort, the unclean ones were very happy and arranged a holiday. A full-fledged feast didn’t work out, since food supplies were already scarce, but the unclean Desmod and Marbas brought enough booze and all kinds of substances to get stoned with, and that was the main thing. Throughout the night, to loud music, the unclean bawled songs, arranged friendly competitions and danced with the bear. They kept the entire Fort awake with their noise, endless drunken shouts and howls. But Lis didn’t interfere in this action, because the day before from a man sent to the east, Marmer, a carrier pigeon flew in with a report that everything was calm in Ore town. No preparations for war were visible, no walls were being fortified, and there was no movement of any allied forces. The city continued to live an idle peaceful life, and Kudmer took no action to defend himself. This news greatly encouraged Lis and calmed his nervous condition.

6

Worries

Igmer was reading the report of the agent from Crimson Rock.

The red counted how many soldiers were in Sigmer’s army, how many horses and weapons, noted the presence of a bear. He indicated that the black officers in command were Zagpeace Gezaria and Ram Murh, the unclean ones were commanded by a commander named White Lord, and the red ones by Marmer. On his own behalf, he added that iron discipline reigned and everyone carried out the direct commands of Sigmer, which he gives out personally, always in the morning and then often also during the day. He very rarely transmits orders through his adjutants. In the evening, Sigmer also personally checks the fulfillment of tasks and requires a detailed report, often in writing, even if it is some trifle. Everyone is accountable to him, both black and red and unclean. He often checks everything himself. He cares about everything. He is very strict. The slightest hitch or poorly done work is punished. The pillars for the guilty are always busy, despite the fact that everyone is already afraid of punishment and is trying their best. Warriors are whipped mercilessly, left in a punishment cell without food and water for the slightest offense. Often Sigmer personally takes part in the execution, and if he doesn't like something, he immediately hits it in the face, maybe right in the conversation. In addition, during the day he conducts training for the soldiers and teaches them how to handle the weapons of the reds. He himself and his Wild Cat, who doesn’t leave him even for a single step, perfectly shoot from muskets. The gunpowder is made to them by a black named Marcus, and he did quite well using the records of the reds. The fort was destroyed and rebuilt by them in a rough manner, only the main tower is intact. But they are clearly not going to stay in it. Sigmer collects the carts, there are few supplies, and feeding is becoming scarcer every day.