The Mist and the Lightning. Part I. Ви Корс

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Yes, this guy claws for his life," Lis agreed looking at Nikto's strong muscular body.

      "But he doesn't look like a terribly lucky warrior to me," Enriki shook his head.

      "No. Too lucky, to my mind," Orel said. "That arrow hit his heart, didn't it?" He pointed at the oval scar on Nikto's chest.

      "A lethal wound," Lis said.

      "And this one, on his side. The scar is quite recent."

      "He has nine lives," Tol snorted.

      "And a bunch of problems as well," Orel added. "I'm quitting."

      "Are you crazy?" Enriki stared at him. "What are you thinking of?"

      "I'm not breaking him any more," Orel said firmly. "I've had enough."

      "Do you know what it means for us? What if he really is a conspirator?"

      Nikto shifted, rising somewhat, tossed his hair away from his face and looked over himself: waist-naked, his pants pulled down.

      "Did you want to fuck me?" he asked in surprise.

      It was like a signal for everyone. Tol bent over cackling, and all the others looked at Nikto and laughed.

      "Come here, have a drink," Tol said to Nikto quite friendly.

      "Yes, Nik or whatever, really, have a drink with us," Orel agreed.

      Nikto got up, clasped his heavy belt, walked up to the table and made a few gulps from a glass.

      "May I dress?" he asked.

      "Yes, we let you go," Orel said.

      Walking back to the pole, Nikto started gathering his scattered possessions.

      "Fuck, why did you cut the bandages?"

      "Wanted to give you a shot quicker," Orel explained. "Should've told us your veins are shit dead."

      He called for a servant and told him to bring new bandages.

      "You are skillful," Enriki said watching Nikto wrap his arms in a few seconds.

      "Who stuck the needle?" Nikto asked gloomily.

      "I did," Lis smiled.

      "Thanks," Nikto thought for a moment, "Lis."

      Lis laughed. "Aren't you happy? I did my best."

      "Oh yes. There was no other place, was there?"

      "Well, you'll just have to stay away from your Unclean bitch for a couple weeks," Lis shrugged, "big deal."

      Nikto gave him a glance but kept quiet. He was picking up his bracelets from the floor and habitually locking them on his arms with a soft click. When he reached for one of the bracelets behind the post, his long blonde hair fell on the side, baring his back that was completely covered in lash scars.

      Friends looked at each other.

      "One cool back you have," Lis said.

      "Ah, so that's what you wanted to see," Nikto said. "Stripped me, looked at my scars? And now do you let me go because you see I'm a warrior like you?"

      "Sit down," Orel said.

      Nikto sat down at the table and finished his wine. Tol gave him a cigarette. Nikto glanced at him.

      "Thank you." He smoked, leaning against the tall back of the chair. His hand with a missing finger pushed away his hair, revealing the scar crossing his forehead. He examined Tol, Lis, Orel and Enriki with sharp eyes.

      "It is not long till the morning," Orel said. "The gates will be open soon, and you will be able to leave the Upper City."

      "And what about your job?" Nikto smiled wryly. The disfigured side of his face didn't move.

      "Not the first problem of ours. And not the last one," Orel answered. "Not your concern, too."

      "You're not so stupid as you seemed at first," Nikto said.

      "All right, don't try to play smart," Lis interfered. "We're letting you go – be happy."

      Nikto shook his head.

      "I am." He walked up to his bag on the floor, picked up his cloak.

      "You've ruined my cloak." He looked around. "And what about my mask?"

      "Mask?"

      "Yes, mask. Black, made of that hard… mm…" he stumbled trying to find the right word, "stuff. I don't know how it's called in your language."

      "Who took off his mask? Tol, you did! Where is it?"

      "Arel, I… I tossed it to the chimney," Tol said somewhat guiltily. "I was so pissed off!"

      "Shi-i-it!" Nikto squeezed his temples with his palms. "Cloak is torn. Mask is burnt! Any patrol will stop me when I look like that!"

      "All right, I'll give you my cloak and my mask," Orel tried to settle it. "And you'll walk out of the Upper City without a problem."

      "Without a problem! I don't have the right to be in the Upper City at all!"

      "I know," Orel smiled.

      "See ya," Nikto walked to the door.

      "Wait," Orel reached for him. "I'll see you off to the door and give you your weapon. It's upstairs."

      His friends exchanged glances but didn't say anything.

      "As you wish," Nikto muttered.

      In the dim light of the dungeon his face crossed with a scar looked frightening. Half-paralyzed, it seemed lifeless, more fitting for a dead man than a living being able to bitch about ruined things.

      They walked up from the dungeon to the ground floor.

      "Here is your sword," Orel lowered his eyes avoiding Nikto's gaze. The servant brought a cloak and a mask.

      "My slave will bring them back," Nikto said.

      "Never mind, they are yours."

      "Fine," Nikto wrapped the cloak around himself. A moment before pulling up the hood he stopped and looked at Orel. Nikto's eyes were grey and cold. "Something else?"

      "Yes."

      "What?"

      "Nik was never your name, was it?"

      Nikto's lips curved in a resemblance of smile.

      "Never before."

      "And you've never lived in the local outpost."

      "Just for a short while."

      "And you're not the slave of the Unclean and you don't follow their orders."

      Nikto was smiling. "You're very persistent, prince Arel. Farewell."

      He СКАЧАТЬ