The Mist and the Lightning. Part 18. Ви Корс

Kors didn’t interfere; he knew these warriors, their names were Mador, Thalbus and Cazul. Despite the fact that they, like Nik, always hid their faces and didn’t take off their masks, Kors still distinguished them and, according to his professional habit, remembered their names. He understood long ago that what was considered shameful among people was exactly the opposite for the unclean. The mask, tattoos and piercings were not at all signs of “inferior”, but Kors couldn’t accept this completely, and he wanted his son to live according to human laws and among people. He also noticed that often among themselves the unclean were divided into groups of ten or twelve warriors, and these three were just from such a dozen. For an incomprehensible reason for Kors, they called each other “night dukes”, and these, in his opinion, unjustifiably pretentious titles only made the noble black laugh.

      Ten night dukes had a bad temper and obeyed their superior unclean, and that one obeyed Parky and, accordingly, Kors. Mador and the rest of his comrades were famous for their ferocity and bestial incontinence, even among their no less aggressive fellow tribesmen. They always found the slightest reason for a fight, and if they didn’t find it, they fought for no reason, since they were arrogant and angry. Kors interrupted these endless skirmishes, and unclean dukes often had the pleasure of feeling the taste of blood on their teeth after his iron bar. But in general Kors was pleased with them, since, despite their minor flaws, they were strong and fearless warriors and proved themselves to be excellent in battles; and in Ore town they carried out executions with particular pleasure, torturing peaceful citizens who did not fulfill the new law. Therefore, Kors indifferently watched as they mocked his slave: how Adrian writhed on the ground, how he tried to shrink and crawl away from the tormentors. Kors didn’t interfere with these entertainments, and one evening just like that, as a reward, he even gave them unfortunate Adrian for a couple of hours, thus encouraging the dukes for faithful service.

      Adrian was broken: he shuddered cautiously at any person or unclean, covered his tattooed face with his palms, lowering his head low. Kors saw that Adrian could not bear humiliation with dignity, he was ashamed of himself – he was pathetic. But, however, the coward never asked for mercy and did not beg for leniency, thus at least a little deserving the favor of his master.

      It was morning, and the unclean ones were packing their camp, preparing to set out on the road.

      “Fix your skirt, bitch,” one of the warriors threw in a laugh, passing by Kors’ cart and Adrian strapped to it. The latter, shrinking, tried to pull the short hem of his shirt over his bleeding knees. Nik, who had just left the tent, yawned and, looking skeptically at what was happening, said:

      “Dress him, Vitor, eh?”

      “No. Dignity returns with clothing and hair,” Kors replied.

      He looked at his Nik. Although it was still morning and Nik had just got ready (and even seemed to have done it diligently), he still looked messy: somehow untidy and sloppy. It seemed to Kors that this stupid, bad nature of his son was manifested in everything: even in appearance, no matter how Kors tried to ennoble him. Kors himself, who looked perfect during the campaign, didn’t understand how Nik manages to do this. And it annoyed him.

      Adrian, realizing that they were talking about him, immediately knelt in front of the sirs, his head lowered and huddled into a ball.

      “Adrian, tell me something nasty!” Asked Kors. “Tell me, I order you! Insult your master; I swear I won’t do anything to you, I just want to see how brave you are, you coward, a-ha-ha. Pathetic little coward, huh? Can you insult me? Are you afraid? I wait!”

      “Damn you,” Adrian said through clenched teeth.

      And Kors laughed contentedly:

      “Good! I wanted to tell you to shave your head bald, but now I won’t. May your noble father see you in all your glory.”

      “Do you think Adri is Leonardo’s son?” Nik asked.

      “Am I mistaken?”

      “And if you are mistaken?”

      Kors turned pale:

      “Who is his father?!”

      Nik shook his head.

      “I can only lead to a thought, I can’t say that, forgive me.”

      “Heck! Then he is completely useless!”

      “Besides Leonardo, there are other noble blacks…”

      “And how can I find his father?”

      Nik smiled.

      “Just as you always do it – watch through his life.”

      “His childhood. Yes!” Agreed Kors, but nevertheless he was greatly annoyed that his assumptions and the hopes and plans for revenge connected with it turned out to be incorrect and empty.

      “Are you upset?” Nik asked.

      “Hell yes! I don’t want to watch his worthless life! And why do I need another true black? I need Leonardo. Now that doesn’t make any sense!”

      “Does Leonardo have children at all?”

      “As far as I am informed, his children were weak and died in infancy, none of them survived to adulthood.”

      “Sadly…”

      “Not at all sad!”

      “And Salaf has no children, and Zagpeace and Prince Ariel – only you have children, but they are not purebred.”

      “Prince Ariel will now, thanks to the diamonds of Ore town, restore his ruined estate, happily marry some noble black woman and continue his family, I have no doubt. Varakh has a son and two daughters. However, the girls are twins, and this is also considered a sign of degeneration.”

      “Does Daniel Crassus have heirs?”

      Kors shook his head.

      “His son died in the war with the Reds, Daniel took this loss hard.”

      “It’s a pity.”

      “Yes, Nik, true blacks are degenerating, there are less and less of us. We lose ourselves and dissolve in the general mass of mudbloods and commoners.”

      “And you also contributed to this mixture.”

      “Yes.”

      “You blamed me for doing a lot of stupid things, but isn’t your connection with Iness the same madness?”

      Kors lowered his head.

      “Now I understand this and admit my mistake, but in fact I am not as noble as you think due to your inexperience. I am not as pure-blooded as Prince Arel, Prince Ariel or Salafael. There is no royal blood in my veins. Yes, I am from the race of masters, from a good decent family, but my ancestors did not observe purity so much: sometimes there was a misalliance. Of course, I am not a peasant or a commoner. But in many ways, I built my career myself. Thanks to my intelligence and hard work, I reached the top and approached the true blacks, became one of them and entered their Supreme Order.”

      Nik listened intently.

      “And more, more, Nick, I was young and madly in love!”

      Kors fell silent, lost in thought and lost in memories.

      “What would you do when you saw that your son had blond hair?” Asked Nik, tearing him out of the past. “When you saw that he was such an obvious half-blood? You would get rid of him, right? You planned to let live only dark-haired children? People like Karina? Yes?”

      “Yes,” Kors replied barely audibly. “Maybe I would leave a blonde girl…”

      “And the boy?”

      “No. No, I’m sorry. I’m telling you honestly.”

      “So this is how you were going to solve this problem. And how would you explain this to your beloved Iness?”

      “Small children often die…”

      “It turns out that your son was lucky that the Reds stole Iness: they themselves, unwillingly, saved his life.”

      “Nik…”

      “You