The Mist and the Lightning. Part 19

Fort Crimson Rock. Kors and Nik feast with the unclean one. Matin lies on a low bench covered with skins. His long black hair, tied into a ponytail, hangs down almost to the floor, and Zaf inserts round black stones into his nostrils. At that moment, Kors became an unwitting witness to the barbaric action, but still didn’t know the reason why Zaf did this to his warrior.

“Why do they do it?” Kors asks.

“I don’t know. For beauty,” Nik replies indifferently, he is used to the rituals of the unclean ones, and he is not interested.

“For beauty? It’s disgusting!”

“This is Zaf’s warrior, Matin.”

“He was normal, he didn’t even have brands on his cheeks! Why is he doing this?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he wants to be like his commander, or maybe Zaf ordered him.”

“I can’t watch this,” Kors says, and turns away.

Now the black round plugs in Matin’s nostrils were several times larger than the first ones, flattening his nose completely. And Matin irretrievably lost his rather neat by nature features, turning into a freak.

Saluting Kors, Zaf got up from his seat, and many other commanders also stood up after him. Such a show of courtesy and respect cheered up Kors and shed at least some balm on his wounded heart. “Yes, the Hangman has come to you,” he chuckled bitterly in his thoughts. Matin stood up with Zaf and immediately moved aside, freeing up space, going to the warriors of the skull clan.

“Vitor! Be the guest of honor and sit next to me,” Zaf said.

And Kors went up to him and sat down beside him:

“Good afternoon, Zaf,” he said politely.

Zaf put him in the seat that Matin had just occupied, and before Matin, on that distant evening when Kors came here for the very first time, Nikto had been sitting in this place. Nikto played cards with the unclean ones, and Prince Arel knelt at his feet. Now for Kors it was like in another life. How things have changed since then…

“You came just in time for dinner, Vitor!” Zaf noticed. “Will you share a meal with us?”

“Yes,” Kors answered shortly, and the attending slave immediately set a silver dish and a goblet in front of him.

“Bring another fork and knife,” Kors ordered the slave, knowing that many unclean ones eat with their hands, not using a fork or spoon, sometimes using a knife. Butnot everyone does this. Therefore, if you order to bring cutlery, the slaves will immediately fulfill it, you just need to clarify what exactly you need.

Kors was greeted by Tazh, who sat at Zaf’s right hand, and a young unclean one of the skull clan.

“Kylie? Is it you?!” Kors was genuinely surprised.

Nothing remained of the boy, who used to remind Kors of a cheerful puppy. In a short time, Kylie grew up very much, matured, his face, decorated with a “skull mask”, lost all childishness and acquired the tough features of a warrior. He became an adult.

“Yes, it’s me!” Kylie smiled at him, and in his smile there was still something barely perceptible from the former him, something perky, but no longer childish. And he sat at the table with his father and older brothers, now no different from them.

To the left of Zaf, and a little farther on the side of Kors, sat the commanders Desmod and Marbas, and Marbas’ twin brother, whose name was Marbuel. And next to Marbas sat Nija. And Kors bitterly noticed that Nija had lost a lot of weight. His sunken eyes were lined with black paint in a haggard face. Kors had never seen Nija paint his eyes before, draw wings for himself, generally wear some kind of makeup. His face always remained clean, like a human’s, and he was ready to risk his life for this, cutting off the brands on his cheeks. Before… now no more. Kors saw that his long dreadlocks were woven with orange threads, the same as Marbas’ braids.

“What’s with Nija?!” Kors asked, unable to restrain himself, he was so struck by the pitiful appearance of the once so smiling Nija.

“Nija has gambled away, he made ill-conceived bets one after another, his debt only accumulated,” Zaf explained. “Marbas offered to help him and took him under his wing. The weak need a patron.”

And Kors, without objecting, just shook his head in frustration.

“Shall we have a drink?” Zaf held out his goblet to him, and Kors raised his.

“To the meeting!”

“To the meeting!”