The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

And Kors kisses his hands and whispers: 

“I will do everything for you! What do you want?!”

“Just be who you are.”

“But I lecture you all the time and generally talk a lot.”

“Talk,” and Nik pulls him to him to kiss…

They loved each other that night, the first time they loved each other as a threesome.

It was then that Kors felt some unreal unity of the three of them, ecstasy, and the Power that this merger gave them. And in this trinity he achieved bliss.

“I’m happy, I’m happy now. Will you take me with you to your world?”

“Do you want it?!”

“Yes! More than anything! I didn’t want it before, but now I do. Let me not become a Demon like Arel, let me just remain your slave, but please take me with you, I beg you!”

“You will become it.”

“What?! What have you said?”

“You will become a Demon. Or rather, it’s not like that, you don’t need to become one, you always have been one .”

“O-o-oh!” And Kors covered his face with his hands in despair. What for? Why did he remember it now?

Chapter 5

After recovering a little from the vivid feelings and memories that flooded over him, Kors finally opened the cigarette case. It was practically empty, only a couple of cigarettes remained in it.

“I need to call Adrian, let him bring me cigarettes,” thought Kors and mentally called his slave.

Putting a box on the table, Adrian stood in front of the owner, his head down and looking at the floor. Kors involuntarily noted to himself that Adrian was very thin. His once-fitting warrior clothes now literally hung on him, and he had to tie his pants around his waist with an extra belt or they would just fall off. When Adrian was in the saddle, it was not so noticeable, but now Kors was struck by how emaciated his slave was. For a fraction of a second, he even felt sorry for him.

“How does it feel to be punished by the White Lord?” Kors said aloud, turning the cigarette case in his hands in confusion and thinking about his own thoughts.

But Adrian took it as a question put to him:

“I put a punishment on me myself, master,” he replied, still not raising his head and continuing to stare stubbornly at the floor.

Kors put down his cigarette case and grinned skeptically.

“Yourself?”

“The motto of the White Lord is ‘FEAR NOTHING’, but I was afraid. I got scared and began to fall down. He wanted the best, I myself didn’t listen to him, didn’t believe him and gave up. I didn’t hear what was being told me. As a result, I started to fall lower and lower,” for a split second, Adrian looked up at Kors, looking into his face somehow very seriously and attentively, but then lowered his head again.

Kors froze, “Does Nik have a motto? But he didn’t tell me! All the unclean ones know it, but me! I decided that Nik’s motto was “Never ask for anything.” And Nik agreed with me. As always, he agreed and didn’t object. He didn’t say, “No. I have a different motto.” Right, why saying so? Let everyone around know his motto, except for his father! Who cares?! Deceiver! But now everything will be different!”

“Okay, enough of this nonsense, go to hell, Adry! Kors said irritably, and his slave backed quickly towards the exit.

Kors suddenly thought that he had never once asked Adrian what his wrongdoing was. He was not interested in this and other unclean one. “That’s a coward” – so roughly he was told, and Kors didn’t elaborate. So what was your cowardice, Adrian? And yet, what’s the difference?

Kors was toiling the rest of the day. He either lay down on the bed, then got up and smoked, and so every twenty minutes. He was bored, dreary, unbearably lonely and scared. Nothing happened the way he wanted, and he did not know what to do, knowing full well that Nik was sleeping and would not call him. It was necessary to wait. Unable to stand it, Kors nevertheless “looked” at him.

Their tent was still in disarray, Verniy and Valentine hadn’t cleaned anything, and Nik’s boot was still lying at the entrance, where he had thrown it. Kors saw Nik and Arel. They slept together on a narrow couch, carelessly covered with a brocade blanket and huddling close to each other. Nik lay in place of Kors. His face remained wrapped in black strips of cloth. He had kicked Kors out, but he didn’t take them off, he didn’t unbandage his face. “Probably, there really is something serious,” Kors thought sadly, “he won’t cope with the treatment, he will ruin everything, he will ruin everything completely! What a stubborn idiot!”

Nik was lying pressed against Arel. Kors saw his tattooed and therefore seemingly black shoulder, completely painted and, because of that, the same black arm lying on top of the “golden” blanket. He hugged Arel, and he slept peacefully, his mouth slightly open and snoring softly. The prince’s hair, like a waterfall of dark chocolate, flowed down from the edge of the trestle bed to the floor. “But why does Nik love Arel so much?!” Kors didn’t understand. “They are always together. Did they ever really fight? Why? Why does he love him so much?!”

“Arel never helped him, did nothing for Nik. Unreliable, capricious and cruel descendant of an ancient family, he always mistreated his people, and Nik was no exception. Arel used him, not sparing, ordered to get money for him! He didn’t treat him, but on the contrary, he only beat and maimed him. Humiliated him. He put a “chastity belt” on him. He didn’t develop him in any way, didn’t explain the rules of life, didn’t give reasonable and useful advice! Didn’t take him out of jail. He did nothing for Nik! Nothing! And no matter what, Nik loves him so much! And I did everything for him! I treated him, taught him, cared about him! And what is the result? I was deceived, made fun of and driven away! Here it is, gratitude!” Kors cut off the vision angrily.

He wanted to finally stop endlessly thinking about Nik and exasperating himself with resentment, so he called Parky to report to him about the situation in their camp and somehow distract him.

Parky, with calm indifference, reported that everything was in perfect order, and, to the disappointment of Kors, didn’t give him the slightest reason to use his iron rod.

“Parky, you know that I not only hear thoughts, but I can see lives, and not only will I hear every bad word or thought about me, but I will see every offense. You know about it? Any secret act will become clear. You understand?” Kors asked him sternly.

“Yes, of course, Commander,” Parky replied, not at all frightened, “I have no bad thoughts, and I follow your orders.”

And Kors suddenly had an idea:

“Parky, can you see my demonic beast form?”

“Yes, Commander,” he replied casually.

And Kors barely concealed his surprise:

“Do you see my horns?!”

“Yes, Commander,” Parky shrugged.

“Oh! And that’s why you called me wooly in your mind at the beginning? Because I’m covered in fur?”

Parky laughed.

“No, no, Commander, not because of it. Forgive me.”

“Imagine my beast form now!”

“Yes, Commander!”

Kors tried to see his bestial image in Parky’s mind, but all he saw was a blur of darkness. It was a tall powerful silhouette with two long curved processes near the head. Even judging by those fuzzy shadows, the horns looked impressive.

Parky silently stood in front of him, waiting. Kors realized that he couldn’t really see anything and didn’t have the strength to see his daemonic form in this way.

“Enough,” he ordered, frustrated.

“Yes, Commander,” Parky couldn’t help but give a quick, barely perceptible smile. Apparently, he found it amusing to imagine his commander in a horned, furry form.

“But why are you so cheerful, you foolish wolf?” Kors managed to notice this smirk. “You always have fun!”

“IT BECOMES LIGHTER WITH A SMILE,” Parky said.

“What an idiot! That’s all, get out!”

Parky left, but Kors didn’t feel better – on the contrary, he began to feel even worse and even more insulting that his strength was so small, and he couldn’t squeeze anyone, and he saw the images of essences in fragments and indistinctly. And the Demon taught him nothing and gave him nothing! And it didn’t help! He taught Arel, but not him!

Kors had absolutely no idea what to do with the day. Previously, he always had business, important meetings, work, audiences in the palace. In the evenings he paid visits. Often he himself hosted receptions in his mansion. He didn’t have a minute of free time, he was constantly surrounded by associates, the right people and friends.

With Nik, he lost it all, involuntarily adjusting to his rhythm, and Nik most of the time injected, used various dope and slept. He didn’t do anything useful at all, and lying on the bed was his favorite pastime, he didn’t need anything. Kors, of course, at first was shocked by this lifestyle, but very soon he somehow got involved in it. He wanted to be with Nik here and now, he wasn’t drawn anywhere, didn’t need anything except to be with him. Kors recalled how earlier, attending a reception and communicating with the necessary and important people, he suddenly lost interest in what was happening and began to feel bored, realizing that at that moment, he would like something completely different – to be, for example, at one table with Varakh, sincerely drink and chat. But he stayed and spent time at this reception, because it was necessary, and Varakh was also busy with his own affairs. This has never happened when he was with Nik. If Kors was with him, he no longer wanted anything else, no other meetings and no other company. He didn’t want to go anywhere or talk to anyone. And even if he and Nik didn’t do anything, or did, in Kors’s opinion, complete nonsense, it was interesting and fun with him. And Kors always made a choice in favor of Nik, forgetting about all other things. And now Kors had no business, no friends, no Nik.

He is limited by circumstances, like the walls of a prison. There are no interesting cases, no friends, nothing happens, and he cannot influence it. It remains only to lie down, smoke, and in the end try to fall asleep, fall into a saving oblivion as soon as possible.

Kors “sees” himself from the outside. This is the past, and he is still quite young, here he may be a little over thirty, but how bad he looks! Sunken, cloudy, bruised eyes, a swollen face, hunched shoulders, a bottle is on the table, and already empty ones are lying on the floor. Kors drinks. And by the number of bottles, and his appearance, it is clear that he has been drinking for a long time and a lot. O-o-oh! He forgot this period of his life, erased it from his memory, like a bad dream. In vain he scolded Nik. Judging by the way he looks, his son had someone to inherit his craving for alcohol from. Kors sits at the table and looks gloomily at Kamiel Varakh, who is standing in front of him.

“We need to leave,” Varakh says excitedly, “you are dying here. Enough of this madness. The capital is waiting for you!”

“No,” Kors shakes his head heavily.

“How many letters from our friends have you received?”

“I didn’t count them.”

“And how many letters from the Black City did you just throw away without reading them?!”

Kors doesn’t answer, turns away and reaches for the bottle.

And, seeing this, Kamiel Varakh suddenly rushes to the glazed cabinet, standing at the side wall of the room. With a hand in a leather glove, he hits it, with some desperate anger breaking the glass door with his fist. There is a deafening rattle and ringing, but Kors doesn’t even turn his head. Inside the closet, the orders and medals of Kors gleam on the shelves. They are beautifully laid out on black velvet cushions and coasters. Varakh grabs one of the orders, and, approaching Kors, literally shoves it in his face:

“Look! Was it all in vain?”

Kors indifferently looks at his order “For Courage”, received by him for the liberation of the village of Meadow. He doesn’t care.

“Your military merit gives you… us a chance to prove ourselves in the capital!” Varakh shouts at him. “And your talent to find deserters and traitors to the motherland? How many secret enemies we have neutralized thanks to your instinct! Now what? All down the drain?! You’re pouring everything into an alcohol pit!”

Kors shakes his head sadly.

“Take it away,” he points to the order, “take it away.”

Varakh obeys, and, going up to the cabinet, through the broken glass carefully returns the order to the shelf, lays it on a velvet pillow:

“You must understand, new prospects will open up for you in the city,” he says a little more calmly, “Leonardo has noted your abilities, the way we cleared the liberated territories from traitors. He has personally sent me two letters asking me to influence you and bring you to the city. The safety of the king is above all else, and you have no right to drink away your talent! You must use it for the prosperity of our world! Benefit the state and the king! You took an oath and swore to serve faithfully for the good of the motherland!”

“I don’t have any talent!”

“The king’s security is waiting for us!” And you will be able to figure out unreliable people in his environment.

“No!”

(“Ah, it seems that stupid stubbornness was also transferred to Nik from me,” Kors thinks, watching this scene from the past. “What a fool I was!” Now Kors understands that Varakh was right, but then he didn’t want to listen to him).

“I have to find my child!” Says Kors. “Until I find him, I’m not going anywhere from here.”

“Oh Gods!” Varakh seems to be barely restraining himself from exploding. “How many years have passed! We searched everything, the whole district, every child in Komra was checked a thousand times!”

“I have to find him!”

“Vitor, wake up, it is quite possible that he was not born and died along with Inness, because you can’t be sure that the child was not inside her.”

“No, I can’t,” Kors agrees and sharply raises his dark eyes burning with madness at Varakh, “did I have to cut open her stomach and see?!” He grabs the glass and drinks it in one gulp, returning it to the table with a bang.

(“Yes, you idiot, you should have done it!” Kors mentally shouts to his young self. Now he would have done it, but then… then he was too sentimental and couldn’t desecrate the dead body of his beloved.)

“Vitor, if the child had survived, we would have found him already!” Varakh continues: “All these years we have been searching! It is quite possible that he was not born, what are you looking for?”

“Her belly was smaller…”

“Vitor! Stop it! You just want to believe that your child was born and survived! But think of your daughter, here is your real and living child! She had lost her mother, and now she will lose her father! She needs you!”

Kors is silent.

“Let’s get out of here, let’s go to the city. Vitor, don’t kill yourself with fruitless searches, think about Karina! Do you really want her to live her whole life behind seven locks in the basement?

“I care about her safety!”

“It’s time for her to get some education… after all, she will become a noble lady in the future.”

“I’m teaching her!”

“Martial arts?”

“She must be able to take care of herself!”

“Teaching her to fight with a sword is not exactly what is needed to raise a future woman. In the capital, she can become a friend of the princess, shine at court, find a profitable match! You don’t want a happy future for yourself, but you don’t want one for Karina either! You don’t think about her future, you break her fate! Is this what Inness wanted for your beloved girl? What would Inez say to you?

And Kors shudders.

“What will you say to Inness when you meet in the afterlife? How will you justify your selfishness? How will you explain that you broke the fate of your daughter?! You don’t really love Karina! And you don’t love Inness either! You don’t care about them!”

“I love them. And for them I am ready for anything!”

“Then let’s go to the city!”

Kors sits silently for a while and then finally quietly says:

“My life is broken, and I don’t care about any career, but you’re right, friend, I have to overcome myself, for the sake of Inness and… Karina.”

Varakh freezes in tension, never taking his eyes off his friend.

“Let’s go to the city,” Kors says.

And Varakh, in a happy gesture, folding his palms, raises his hands:

“Thank Gods!”

Dad! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me! Don’t leave me!

Having inadvertently touched and knocked over the bottle, Kors awkwardly gets up from the table, staggers him:

“Let’s get out of here! To hell!”

“I will order the preparations to begin immediately!” Varakh hurriedly adds, as if afraid that Kors will suddenly change his mind.

“Let’s go,” Kors repeats. “The Black City has been waiting for us for a long time!”

Don’t leave…

Don’t leave…

Don’t leave…

Chapter 6

Kors woke from the haze of memories and sat up abruptly on his camp bed. Yes, he left then, succumbing to Varakh’s persuasions, he left for the Black City to start a new page in his life.

He had forgotten the past, and later didn’t match either the place or the time. He hadn’t even bothered to think that the white half-blood from Komra was just about as old as his lost child would have been at the moment. Kors had completely forgotten about everything, and, without looking at the boy, by an evil irony of fate, he identified his son in the trash. He branded him as a slave, dooming him to death, or at best to a humiliating existence as a living thing. And ten years later he made him his lover. Kors put his head in his hands. Varakh knew something, he said: “I didn’t want to upset you even more, you were already crushed by the loss of Inness!” It would be better if you upset me, stupid Varakh! Do you see what your silence has led to?

Dying Kamiel Varah, lying on the bed, looks at Kors from the black wells of sunken eye sockets, he looks, as if already from the other side …

“Vitor, I didn’t tell you then, I hid it… I didn’t want to hurt you even more, you were already crushed by the loss of Inness… Vitor, I don’t believe it, because I saw…”

“What did you see? Why didn’t you tell me?! Was it that terrible?”

Varakh caught up with the rider who was carrying the child to the witch. He caught up with him and…

“Vitor, I don't believe it, because I saw…”

What did you?

Kamiel Varakh was sure that Nik was not the son of Kors, and all the arguments that his former friend gave him couldn’t convince him. Because he saw with his own eyes something that left him in no doubt – Nik was not the son of Kors.

What did you see, Varakh? WHAT?

Kors remembered the morning at the inn near Prince Arel’s Estate, when Nik, Arel, and Lis had come for him. They needed the mercenaries that Kors brought with him, the victory of Lis depended on his soldiers.

And Kors at the beginning was glad that they came for him themselves. He was pleased, he longed to amuse his vanity and planned to make them long to persuade him. But things didn’t turn out the way he had hoped. Instead of begging and persuading, and preferably begging and kneeling down, Nik habitually impudent, as if he were under interrogation. Realizing perfectly well how much they need these soldiers and how important it is for him to agree with Kors, he didn’t ask for anything and behaved defiantly. Kors demanded that Nik take off his mask while talking to him, and when Nik, habitually snarling, nevertheless did so, Kors saw a “smile” painted on his face in black paint.

And how much it then pissed him off! It was Nik’s small revenge for Prince Arel, a reminder to Kors of his past. The shameful “smile” that went far beyond the contour of the lips, so bright on the white skin, still stood before Kors’ eyes, he had only to imagine it. At that moment, he barely restrained himself from hitting, throwing Nik out of the room. By some miracle he recollected himself and politely asked to wipe off the paint. Luckily, Nik stopped sneering and wiped off the dye. Kors remembered his pale, haggard face, “decorated” with tattoos and piercings. It was noticeable that Nik was seriously ill, his inflamed scar, roughly seized with iron staples, was frankly shocking.