Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 17

20

The Reward

Lis walked confidently, like a master, into the main hall, where Kudmer’s throne stood, and now it became his, but… the throne was occupied. And Lis froze, and a tall elderly man rose from the throne to meet him, and his bright scarlet clothes were decorated with gold so much that it seemed that flames were running over it. The same red hair, only on the temples, like a mountain ash hit with frost, was dusted with gray. Everyone looked at this man, not understanding who he was, and why he took the throne of Kudmer, and now of Lis.

And Lis also looked at him, unable to utter a word:

“Father…”

And his father said nothing and looked at him.

Prince Arel, Nikto, Vitor Kors and Karina, Zaf, Parky and several unclean ones stood behind Lis and also looked at his father in silence.

Vitor Kors came to himself first:

“I think we’d better leave them,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Zaf agreed, he made a quick gesture with his hand away from himself, towards the unclean ones, as if waving them away, and his warriors and Parky with his three unclean ones moved back to the door.

“We will wait for you in the room next to you,” Nikto told Lis.

“Good,” answered Lis, looking at Nikto and at the same time as if looking through him. It seemed that he didn’t understand at all what was being said to him and what was happening. But when his friends headed for the exit, he stopped Karina by taking her hand and squeezing it tightly:

“Stay,” he said, and Karina froze.

“Welcome home, Sigmer,” said Lis’ father, after the three of them remained in the hall, pronouncing his name differently from how the blacks and red commoners pronounced it, and how Lis called himself, but how it should have sounded right, on the noble “supreme red” language, and it was rather: “Simer”, without such a clear and harsh “g”, and with a strong emphasis on the first syllable. “It is you?”

He carefully looked at Lis, and Lis, not letting go of Karina’s hand, sank to the floor, kneeling in front of his father, and Karina after him. Lis bowed his head, and his father said:

“You've changed a lot… what’s wrong with your hair? It is dark!”

“Yes,” Lis answered, not looking up at his father.

“But how is this possible? Did you dye it? Were you ashamed of its color? The color of your red superiority?”

“No.”

“Did the black ones inspire you to make your hair like theirs?”

“No. My hair itself darkened over time, I don’t know why, after thirty it began to darken,” Lis lied to his father so easily that Karina was involuntarily amazed.

“Really? Very strange,” Igmer said thoughtfully.

He came very close to them, and, reaching out his hand, touched the dark brown, only slightly shimmering in burgundy, Lis’ hair. “Maybe this is how your black roots appeared over time?”

“Most likely, father,” Lis finally let go of Karina, and, taking his father’s hand with both hands, kissed his fingers, Igmer allowed him.

And Lis knelt in front of him and kissed his hand, as if just a couple of hours ago he had not won an unconditional and brilliant victory over the enemy’s army, twice outnumbering his own, and had not captured the twenty thousandth Ore town, and was not fearless and a worthy commander.

“Forgive me,” he told his father.

And he, smiling, finally lifted him from his knees:

“It's all in the past,” said Igmer, peering into the face of his son with fatherly warmth, still stained with powder soot and splattered with someone else’s blood. “I have forgiven you long ago.”

He looked at Karina. She shrank, froze, lowering her eyes, since the shield of the mask hid her expression.

“But you're with her again,” Igmer said, and Karina very clearly caught disappointment and discontent in his voice.

“Karina is my wife,” said Lis, with some challenge.

“Wife?”

“Yes, father. She is my wife.”

“Not according to the red laws.”

“It doesn't matter, we are husband and wife before the Higher Forces.”

“Hmm…” Lis’ father was clearly annoyed, “well… well … Send her away now. We need to talk.”

Lis looked anxiously at Karina:

“Let me go,” she said quickly, seeing his hesitation, and without waiting for an answer, she rushed to the door herself.

Nikto, Kors and the others went out into the adjoining living room. In Kudmer’s palace, there were crystal vases with bonbons and various sweets everywhere. Zaf grinned with satisfaction and, going up to an elegant table on thin curved legs, took off the glass transparent lid from the vase and took a sugared piece of deep pink color:

“What's this?” He asked with interest.

“I think it's a succade,” remarked Kors, since none of those present was in a hurry to answer, “candied fruit.”

“I like this color,” Zaf put candied fruit in his mouth, “so sweet! What kind of fruit is it?”

“Reds have a lot of strange fruits. Maybe it is from the Upper World?” Kors looked at Parky and his two unclean ones, who were already imposingly seated on a velvet sofa and stretched their paws to sweets:

“So. Friends? What is it?! Who allowed you to sit down?!”

And everyone, except those sitting, laughed. Parky and the unclean ones jumped up and darted away from Kors. And he turned to Nikto:

“Nik, sit down!”

And he froze in some confusion. Prince Arel, without invitation, immediately sat down on the sofa, in his hands was already a gold goblet.

“Although, wait!” Kors looked around. “Parky! Bring that chair over there!”

Parky immediately obeyed the order, dragging a carved gilded chair that looked more like a throne to Kors.

“Sit down,” said Kors, and everyone looked at Nikto, and he, as always, blushed and was embarrassed by such close attention and by the fact that Kors had singled him out so.

“Vitor, stop it,” he said quietly.

“Sit down. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here! Someone disagree with me?”

And Nikto’s cheeks turned red even more, since the stripes of soot on them slightly hid it.

“Sit down!”

Nikto sat down. Zaf chuckled and ate another candied fruit.

“I know now who Lis’ father is,” said Kors as if nothing had happened, not paying any attention to the embarrassed look of Nikto, tense Parky and the slightly mocking look of Zaf.

“Did you know him?” Zaf was surprised.

“No. But I fought against him, he was in his time a very… hmmm… tough commander. To enter into confrontation with him was already tantamount to defeat.”

“And you entered?”

“Yes,” said Kors briefly, without details.

“He defeated you?”

Kors froze, and then, shaking his head, replied:

“Yes.”

“It's a pity,” said Zaf, and Kors was surprised to feel that Zaf was sincere and he was really sorry, and Kors’ honesty, the fact that he admitted his defeat, didn’t push him away. Previously, Kors would never have admitted his failure so simply and without explanation, fearing that they would not understand him and turn away from him. And now – now he boldly spoke about his failures and didn’t feel weaker from this. And he didn’t feel that the unclean ones were disappointed in him, they took it somehow absolutely calmly. Kors’ noble black associates would immediately have made bewildered faces in response to such a frank confession. Such sincerity was not accepted in their circles, everyone spoke only about their achievements. Kors felt easy and merry:

“Igmer’s army squeezed us in pincers near Vlas, I gave the order to retreat and tried to lead the people through the swamps. Knee-deep in water, we tried for several days to get out of the encirclement, but still managed to escape from the cauldron.”