The Mist and the Lightning

Chapter 8                        Kors himself didn’t understand how his feet brought him to the center of the camp to the tall and elegant tent of Zaf, which Kors still called “Circus”. Around, as always, servants and slaves fussed, tied horses stood. Kors, without stopping and paying no attention to them, entered... It was noisy inside the tent, and many unclean warriors and commanders were sitting at a richly laid table. Butwhat can I say, far from being a small tent of hospitable Zaf was simply packed. The stuffy stench that overwhelmed him made Kors involuntarily catch his breath. The bitter smell of strong tobacco hit his nose, mixed in the most disgusting combination with the smelly meat aromas from smoking plates and the sour stench of spilled wine. In the center of the table was a dish with a black pig’s head, it was huge, and its empty eye sockets stared curiously at Kors. He tried to cope with uncontrollable nausea, a lump approaching his throat. Trying to breathe through his mouth and not step on the gnawed bones, Kors froze at the threshold, standing on the sawdust-strewn, dirty and spat-stained floor. “Vitor! I’m glad to see you!” He heard the satisfied roar of Zaf, who tried to shout over the noisy commanders. Zaf was sitting far from the entrance, at the head of the table, next to his warrior named Matin. Kors knew Matin and had long been accustomed to him, but in spite of everything, the very first recollection of this warrior was forever imprinted in his memory: ( 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!” “Vitor, what are you going to eat?” Zaf asked. “The boar’s head stuffed with nuts is very good! Calf saddle? Pigeon pate?” “I would take meat grilled on coals and pate.” “Excellent!” Zaf immediately gave the order to the slave, and in less than a minute, Kors’ plate was filledto the brim with treats. Kors was eating, looking around at the table. The unclean ones were devouring the prepared dishes with incredible speed, munching and loudly demanding more. “More meat!” “More bread!” Slaves rushed around the table, barely managing to fulfill everyone’s wishes. Blades and fangs flashed. At a table closer to the exit, lower-ranking commanders were tearing apart a mess of entrails and offal piled high on a huge platter. They dug in it with their hands and paws, snatching up greasy bits and dipping them into bowls of red sauce. Opening theirmouths wide, they shoved intestines stuffed with liver into them. The commanders sitting closer to Zaf had a more elegant meal that consisted of all kinds of meat dishes. Here Desmod like a wolf swallows huge pieces of meat, it seems, without even chewing. As he drinks, he sips the wine quickly and greedily, so that it flows down his chin. He is the true commander of Parky. Butwhat can Kors tell him? Nothing. The unclean commander Alhas, whose name, Kors once misheard, purring with pleasure, crunches his pig’s ear. He spat juicy cartilage under his feet, poured a whole goblet of wine into his throat at once, gurgling with satisfaction. Kylie’s ex-pup is rushing like he’s about to have his plate ripped out of his hands, almost choking on a large and too hot piece, poor thing. He tries to clear his throat, but at the same time, without stopping for a minute, he continues to chew. And his older brother, sitting next to him, hits Kylie hard on the back and laughs so that unswallowed remains fall out of his mouth. Kors cut off a small square of white bread with a knife and spread some pigeon pate on top of it with a knife. Taking a two-pronged fork, he pierced this semblance of a canape with it and carefully put it in his mouth. Tattoo artist Shukul pulled the bone out of his mouth and threw it back into his plate – couldn’t cope with it,what a disappointment! But no, he didn’t give up! After thinking for a while, he grabbed it again, trying to gnaw it, tilting his head strongly to the side. What a difference between the twin brother of Marbas! That’s who is not afraid of the bones! Actively working with powerful jaws with a double row of teeth, Marbuel crushed a huge bone with a loud crunch and began to suck the marrow out of it with obvious pleasure. And his brother Marbas was already satisfied. Having burped enough, he casually pushed the plate with the half-eaten pieces away from him, moving it towards Nija, and he, humiliated and hunched over, began to greedily and hastily gnaw at the bones, grabbing them with both hands. “Nija is hungry,” Kors remarked sadly. “Only Marbas can slow his decay,” Zaf explained.  “But what about Nija’s friend, Zanmar? Where is he? Why did he leave his commander?!” “He didn’t abandon him, and what can Zanmar do? He is lower in rank. There is nothing he can do to help him. Even I have no right to give Nija food. If his patron so wished, Nija would be hungry. He is a debtor, and he works off his debt.” “But this is wrong, Zaf, don’t you feel sorry for him?” Zaf shrugged his shoulders. “Nija now has a patron, and he is not alone. And here I am alone...” And Kors almost choked on a sip of wine, which he was just at that moment taking from a goblet: “What about Matin?” He tried to somehow turn the situation around. “What? Matin?! Zaf laughed. “Yes, I’ll give him to you if you want. I will give him to you and won’t even remember about it!” “Zaf, this is very generous, thanks for the offer, but I think I will refuse. I hope you don’t take this as disrespect.” “No, as you wish.” The animals seemed to have finally had their fill. Only the skull remained of the pig's head. Kylie carefully licked the silver dish with his tongue, so that now his satisfied tattooed face was reflected in the plate, as in a mirror. Smiling. Tazh lazily picks his teeth with a knife. Tattoo artist Shukul looks bored as he waits for the slave to clear the dirty dishes and clean the table, clearly eager to get his tools out. Alhas, still chewing, is already turning to his neighbor, who put his elbows on the table and, propping his head on his fists, stared blankly at the wall. Marbas snarled something at Desmod, who nodded in agreement. Furious absorption of food began to be replaced by table conversation. Kors also pushed the dish away from him. “Don’t think that I can have something serious with Matin,” Zaf continued the conversation. “If you don’t care about him, then why did you mutilate him like that?” “I didn’t mutilate him,” objected Zaf, “and what’s more, he himself asked me about it, because he knew that I wanted to see him like that.” “Do you enjoy it?” “Yes, it gives me pleasure, he is ready for anything for me, but I’m not ready for him. It happens.” “Yes, it is really so,” Kors agreed sadly. And Zaf seemed to understand his hint: “How is the situation with your son going?” he asked at once. Zaf asked exactly that, he called Nik the son of Kors, knowing full well that Nik was a Demon in a human body. “Nothing,” Kors replied, but still complained, “hekicked me out!” “Don’t take it so seriously, he just needs to work with you, but he can’t, he loves you,” Zaf said. “He loves me?! He threw his boot at me!” Zaf laughed. “He needs to complete a task with you, but he doesn’t want to. Don’t hold a grudge against him, but help him.” “I wonder how? He doesn’t listen to me!” “Just love him too!” “Too? He doesn’t love me! He loves Prince Arel!” “Well, with Arel he’s just been longer. I don’t know for sure how many lives they lived together in different worlds. But I know for sure that at least two of them Arel was his slave. And he spent his first life on a chain, wearing a mask and gloves, forgetting how to walk, see and talk.” “WHAT?!” Kors did his best not to look overwhelmed by this information. “I was also with him in one of the demonic worlds,” he quickly orientated himself. “I know,” Zaf laughed, and Kors realized that Zaf was there with them, but Kors didn’t remember anything. “Do you like our world?” He decided to turn the conversation in another direction. “Yeah, I love warm cozy caves,” Zaf said dreamily. “I love this world too!” “And your son?” “Oh!” Kors was confused. “I don’t know! I’mconfused! What kind of son is he? He doesn’t listen to me, doesn’t follow the laws of the hierarchy, where the youngest belongs to the oldest, he is a finished type!” Kors turned away. This conversation tormented him. He came to Zaf to distract himself, and everything again came down to discussing Nik. Kors took a few good sips from the goblet, and the attentive slave, noticing this, immediately poured him wine. Zaf sensed Kors’ mood and suggested: “If you want, stay with me for now. Do you feel good with me?” “Yes.” “Then stay with me.” Kors himself didn’t understand why, but next to Zaf he somehow became calmer. “You know, Zaf, don’t think that I ignore stressful situations, I just solve them in my own way.” “Yeah, everything is fine,” Zaf smiled. The unclean oneswere talking lazily and digesting what they had just eaten, many of them lit up again. The slaves finally cleared the table of sticky plates. Shukul, having laid out his tools, began to tattoo forone of his friends another busty beauty on his shoulder. Kors watched him making the tattoo, noting involuntarily that compared to Nik, Shukul did it much faster. Zaf gestured to his slave, who was sitting in the corner of the tent, and he crawled on all fours to the master, knelt at his chair. Both lips of this unfortunate man were pierced and greatly stretched, it was already a stretch to call them lips, since they were completely deformed and turned into long stretched loops. Round plates were inserted into them, protruding both lips strongly forward and making the impure look like some kind of terrible duck. Zaf sprinkled some powder on his upper lip plate, and, leaning slightly and holding a small pipe to his nostril, inhaled the drug. The slave stood motionless, waiting for his master to use his upper lip as a table. “Will you?” Zaf picked up the pipe, inviting Kors to join. “No, no, wine is enough for me.”. Zaf leaned back in his chair, gently rubbing the slave’s short dark hair. “Your imagination in decorating yourself, your friends and your slaves is limitless, Za,” Kors noted. “Can he speak at all?” “He can mumble,” Zaf laughed. “Yes, it’s probably hard to pronounce a word with such decorations on the lips.” “He doesn’t need to talk. He is a slave. And I replace his plates with all the larger diameters. They snap each other so funny when he moves his mouth. By the way, Vitor, it’s high time for your slave Adry to change his lip decoration too.” “I’m going to let him go,” Kors said. “What?” Zaf was surprised. “Why?! Aha-ha. I’ll pick up a bigger stone for him. You can eventually put an ashtray or a cup on it.” “Well… I’m not sure I need it.” “Go to your place,” Zaf ordered the slave, and he crawled away from him. Another slave of Zaf also appeared, with a shiny pebble on the tip of his nose and with red lips outlined in a thick black border. Today he was dressed not in a woman’s dress, as usual, but in a lace set: a bra, small panties and stockings with a garter. All this lingerie of bright scarlet color, decorated with satin ribbons, was clearly borrowed by the unclean from some red whore from the Ore Town. Kors saw that a puncture had been made in the bridge of the poor fellow’s nose, and a metal rod had been inserted to which the eye shields were attached. Resembling tablespoons, they dug into the skin, completely closing the eyes and depriving the slave of the ability to see. To the touch, the slave crawled under the table and began to gently poke at the legs of those sitting in turn, offering the guests to satisfy them with a blowjob. Desmod pushed him roughly with his boot, but Marbuel didn’t. “Why did you cover his eyes with those iron glasses?” Kors asked Zaf. “Well, he became quite boring as a dead fish. And sohe is more sensitive. Better try, hope I take them off and let him see again.” Having satisfied Marbuel, the slave moved on. When he gently touched Kors’ boot, he jerked back sharply. “Uh, no, Zaf, get that away from me!” Zaf, smiling, dragged the slave out from under the table and ordered: “Dance!” The poor fellow immediately began to make smooth movements with his hands and twist his hips. Alhaspicked up a musical instrument and played a cheerful tune on it. Hearing the music, the slave danced more cheerfully, bouncing on the spot and twirling his thin ass in red lace. It was very funny. The uncleancommanders laughed heartily, and Kors passed on this fun. It became easy for him, he finally relaxed, began to laugh along with everyone, clink glasses filled with wine with Zaf, Tazh, Kylie and others, finally forgetting about his troubles. Kors’ sad, anxious mood improved with each passing minute, either charged with the relaxed joy of the warriors around him, or from the wine he had drunk. But suddenly everyone froze, and the instrument fell silent. And the slave in red linen fell to his knees, bowing his head in fear. Kors did not even immediately understand what had happened, why everything collapsed so abruptly. Andin the ensuing deathly silence, he saw at the entrance to the tent a figure wrapped in a black cloak. The face covered with a mask, a hood pulled low over the head, the black figure stood motionless on the threshold, slightly hunched over and leaning on a crutch. The fur-wrapped upper crossbar of the crutch was lost in the folds of the cloak under the arm, and a black-gloved hand gripped the crossbar a little lower, and a golden ring with a dark green stone glittered on the finger. The newcomer did not utter a word, but the impure ones, as if waking up, hurriedly jumped up from their seats. The uninvited guest slowly walked forward, and each of his steps echoed in the silence with the dull thud of a crutch on a wooden floor. Zaf grabbed Kors by the hand, squeezing tightly, pulling him up from his chair. And Kors “heard” his tension, and also his frustration from the fact that now Zaf would be taken away from such a cute Vitor with a white strand on his forehead. And Zaf hoped to keep him at home. And Kors knew that Zaf was not sad in vain, yes, Nik was coming to him, or rather it was not Nik, now this black figure didn’t resemble his son in any way. The creature approached Kors. And he saw that around the wrist of his hand, not occupied by a crutch, a chain was wound. Kors understood. He knelt down, looking down, but without lowering his head too low to make it easier for the Demon to attach the chain to his collar. It was very humiliating, because Kors had just laughed and so in a friendly way, communicated on an equal footing with unclean commanders and was also a commander, was one of them. And now he will be taken away on a chain, like a slave. The Demon came close to him. Kors didn’t look up, he saw only the black hem of his cloak, sweeping the floor, strewn with dirty sawdust, and the iron tip of the crutch. The demon stood motionless, as if thinking, and then Kors heard the command clearly given in his head: “Get up and follow me!” Without fastening Kors with a chain, Nikto turned around, heading for the exit. Kors hastily stood up, dusting his knees, trying not to meet anyone's eyes, and slowly followed the Boss. After walking a few steps, Nikto apparently noticed a dressed-up slave huddled on the floor, and stopped, as if looking at him. With the tip of the crutch, he lifted his chin up so that he could see his face better. The blinded slave threw back his head, not moving and waiting for the master to order. But Nikto lowered the crutch, again leaning on it, and, without stopping again, left the tent. Kors obediently followed him. This hesitation of the Demon, and the way he seemed to be carefully and thoughtfully examining the mutilated slave, frightened him. “If the Demon wants to do something like this to me, I will find a way to end my life,” he thought, “and this slave – he is punished for certain offenses. Doing this to me is against the rules. Although, does Nik follow the rules?” Kors smiled bitterly. His Demon doesn’t follow the rules, and Zaf said: “I have known the White Lord for a very long time, but I know one thing about him for sure – you can expect anything from him.” Well, in this case Kors would prefer death. “Calm down, don’t shout like that,” said Nikto. They walked slowly through the night camp to Nik and Arel’s tent. “I’m not shouting.” Kors tried to keep his composure. “Why did you come after me alone and didn’t send someone? Arel, Verniy? Or simply didn’t call mental order? Why did you come? It’s hard for you to walk!” “Well, yeah,” Nik drawled, “but I need to try to walk, otherwise I won’t get up at all.” But Kors was flattered that the Demon came for him himself.