Ви Корс - The Mist and the Lightning. Part 12

Holding a bowl filled with food from the holiday table, Lis came to Marcus. Seeing him, Marcus jumped up from his chair, his face was still the same bewildered and frightened:

“Forgive me for what I was talking then, I was not myself…” He began to say.

“Have you done anything?” Lis asked, and it was clear that he was only worried about this.

“Yes.”

“Show me.”

Marcus poured powder on the tip of a knife into a wide stone mortar, very little, literally a few grains, and set it on fire with a thin wick, dropping it into the bowl. The powder flared brightly, a loud bang was heard, and the room was clouded with smoke. Lis looked at Marcus, as if he could not understand how such a small amount of powder made such a fire:

“You did better than the reds,” he said, dumbfounded.

“Thank you,” Marcus shyly dropped his eyes.

Lis seemed to come to his senses and, grabbing a bowl of food, quickly shoved it to Marcus:

“Here, eat!”

“Thank you. Do you have a holiday? Congratulations on your victory,” Marcus said sadly. He turned to the window, located almost under the very ceiling of the low room, from there music, shouts and loud laughter could be heard. Lis also glanced at the window: the silhouettes of the celebrating warriors flashed through the dusty glass.

“Reds suck! The unclean ones decide!” Zaf's warriors shouted loudly.

“Yes. A holiday,” said Lis, suddenly clearly seeing Karina outside the window, her new white sheepskin coat couldn’t be confused with anything, and Nija, and the way their silhouettes approached each other. Lis froze, and then, as if coming to his senses, rushed out of the room, without even closing it, leaving Marcus in complete bewilderment.

Quite mellow Daniel Crassus, so in a simple, familiar way, slapped Nikto on the shoulder. Apparently, Nikto, in his understanding and according to the teaching habit, remained a commoner boy, whom he, like Lis, chased in school all his life, and this patronizing attitude had already become a feature of his character.

“Son of the Devil,” he smiled, looking at Nikto in a fatherly manner, like a wise mentor at a good student. “When you fight, this nickname suits you. You fight very well. How you and I smashed that fucking back gate of theirs!”

Nikto smiled too:

“Yeah…”

Crassus looked at Arel sitting next to Nikto:

“To give credit, Prince Arel fights better than anyone! You a little miss the speed, and he is very fast and powerful. His technique at an incredible level, I've never seen anything like this!”

“He was taught by the finest teachers of the Royal Academy, and then he fought for many years, every day. He's been at war without a break for more than ten years, do you think this will be noticeable?”

“Yeah,” Crassus looked at Arel with delight. He remained completely indifferent to these flattering words and praise, his handsome face didn’t express anything, as if Crassus was not talking about him at all, and Arel didn’t answer Crassus. And Crassus looked at the prince’s face, slightly arrogant in his indifference, only slightly shaking his head:

“After I saw him in battle, I consider the cruel punishment that our King applied to him to be unfair. To make such a good warrior an outcast!” And Crassus thought for a while, but quickly cheered up again, turning to Nikto:

“Well, what about you?! Tell me why do you look so girlish?!”

“Crassus!” Vitor Kors, who was sitting next to him, threw a glance at him of not eyes, but lightning.

Nikto, having heard such a comparison, at first was a little taken aback, but didn’t get angry at all, and then laughed sincerely:

“Because I am a white half-blood.”

Crassus laughed contentedly too:

“Was your mother white?”

“Yes. Mother is white, father is black,” Nikto answered, he looked at Kors, barely holding back a laugh. Kors suffered with the last bit of strength.

“Was she a slave?” Crassus asked. “All whites are slaves. Are you the son of a white slave and a black master?”

“I don't know for sure, I'm an orphan.”

“Why are you called the Son of the Devil? What is devilish about you?”

“My adoptive mother was a witch.”

“Come on! What was her name? When I was young, I had an affair with a young witch, oh… I still can't forget her!”

“Crassus!” Kors couldn’t restrain himself.

“What's wrong, Vitor? It's just a friendly conversation! Son of the Devil, you are like a girl, but do you have a girl?”

“I have a wife.”

“Come on! What about children?”

“I’ve got everything,” Nikto smiled.

And Vitor Kors looked at him, widening his eyes in surprise:

“I beg your pardon,” he said hastily, “I need to go out for a while…” And Kors got up and headed towards the stairs to the second floor, while in his thoughts he very clearly repeated the request that Nikto should come to him. Kors climbed the stairs to the gallery and looked down at the celebration. After a while, Nikto got up and left the hall, but it was clear that he heard Kors and would now approach him.

When Nikto left the table, Arel turned after him, following him with a gaze, Nikto saw that Daniel Crassus asked his prince about something, although according to the rules of the noble blacks, he couldn’t do this under any circumstances. But he did it in front of everyone, Kamiel Varah was sitting next to him, he didn’t interfere in anything, but watched everyone with obvious disapproval. Arel answered Crassus, giving the name of his teacher from the Academy. It was clear that Daniel Crassus, as a mentor, was interested in who taught Arel so well. But this was a violation of the rules and decency, and Crassus, in front of other true noble blacks, did not care about their laws.

Having made a circle around the gallery, Nikto approached Kors:

“And will you often give me mental orders now? It's hard for me to climb the stairs.”

“It was not an order.”

“Really? It sounded very similar.”

“Why didn't you tell me that you have a wife?”

“You didn't ask.”

“So is it true?”

“Yes.”

“And who is she? Well, tell me?”

“Unclean Amba.”

And Kors swore very softly and briefly.

“Ko-o-rs, don’t say such words, you’re not allowed to do it!”

“Hearing this, I can do anything. I won't even ask about children! I see you and Crassus have made friends?”

“Well, you yourself put him to me to hammer the gate. Cripples and old men below. Have you forgotten?”

“I didn’t call you a cripple, it’s he who put it that way, and after that you communicate with him as if nothing had happened! And he continues to humiliate you, saying that you look like a girl!”

“He doesn’t humiliate me. He is quite simple to communicate, not as pretentious as the others. And he really talks to commoners.”

“He says you are crippled and look like a girl! Is this not enough?”

“He's just kind, he just jokes a little mocks at me without any second thought, in a fatherly way.”

“Fatherly?!”

“A-ha-ha, you should have seen your face! Are you jealous? I really like Crassus.”

“And his stupid jokes?!”

“Yes.”

“I think Alis correctly called him an asshole!”

“Ko-o-ors, Daniel Crassus is your old friend!”

“Not anymore! After he called my son a cripple!”

“He talks with Arel in front of other black sirs, and this is ignominy for him. Your friend Kamiel Varah doesn’t speak to us and looks very disapprovingly. And now he understood our maneuver with you. You, Kors, would not have communicated better with me in front of them, because I am also ignominious.”