The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

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: