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To top it all off, as if responding to Kors’ gloomy mood, the weather turned bad and it began to rain. At first small and barely drizzling, very quickly it turned into a deafening downpour, and the unclean ones decided to finally stop for a full-fledged halt. They began to put up tents for the night, but while this was happening, Kors managed to get wet through. He froze and no longer understood why he was shaking, from the cold or from fear. Wrapping himself as tightly as possible in a long cloak, he stood near his horse and waited impatiently for the unclean ones under Parky’s command to set up a tent. Kors had already forgotten the last time his tent was set up. During all the campaigns, he always lived with “his boys”, but this time he didn’t know what to do. Nik and Arel had gone far ahead and were lost in the rain and bustle of preparing for a halt. Where did he have to go? After all, he also had his own place to sleep. As always while waiting, Kors lit a cigarette nervously. Trying not to get his cigarette wet, he bowed his head hard, pulling his hood up as far as he could. And at that moment, in his mind, the order sounded very clearly: “Come here!” Kors flinched in surprise and immediately threw the half-smoked cigarette aside. Where was he supposed to go? He looked around nervously. Where in this confusion did he have to look for Nik? Kors nevertheless decided to go a little forward, in the direction where they had left earlier. He couldn’t ignore the order, he simply was not able to do it, to disobey. Even physically. His legs themselves carried him to no one knows where in the depths of the camp being set up. He barely had time to grab his horse by the bridle, leading him along. Not having made even a couple of dozen steps, Kors saw a dark figure, clearly heading towards him. Despite the fact that the walker was wrapped in a cloak, and his face was hidden by a low-pulled hood, Kors didn’t doubt who was in front of him. Such a proud posture of a born master could only belong to the prince. Arel approached. In the evening twilight and the veil of rain, his gray face looked absolutely inhuman. It was a dead mask. Beautiful and equally repulsive in its icy indifference.
“Follow me, you’re going to spend the night with us,” Arel told him without any intonation.
“But…” Kors glanced back at his nearly pitched tent in confusion, “but after what happened? Why?”
Arel shrugged his shoulders lazily.
“It doesn’t concern me, so said Nik,” and, turning away, he headed in the direction from which he came.
Kors waved his hand to Parky.
“As you were!”
Parky froze, poured with rain, then, it seemed, he understood the order and shouted to his soldiers:
“Stop it! Disassemble it back!”
And Kors hurried after Arel. “So, Nik sent the prince for me. Prince Arel ru
Kors obediently walked behind, thinking that Arel was no longer human. “Is this awaiting me too? The demon said: ‘I will develop and teach you.’ Develop and teach me to turn into this? In a creature without feelings and emotions, indifferent to all living things?”
They approached the already pitched tent. Arel let Kors go ahead and followed him himself. Kors heard the prince mentally briefly report: “I brought him.”
Nik was sitting at the table. He took off his cloak, but his face was still masked. Kors saw that Nik’s hair was tangled and uncombed, he didn’t do it without his father, and it was killing Kors, but he couldn’t tell him anymore.
“Take off your cloak,” Nik said, obviously addressing Kors, “water flows from you in a stream.”
Kors immediately took off his cloak and tried to carefully hang it at the entrance so as not to wet everything around.
“On your knees,” Nik ordered.
“Gods, what was I hoping for?!” flashed through Kors’ head. He silently knelt down. He ALREADY wanted to call Zaf.
Nik came over and handed Kors a towel.
“Wipe your face, it’s wet from the rain.”
Kors glanced at him quickly, trying to determine the mood, but what was the point? The mask reliably hid facial expressions, and black glass hid the expression of the eyes. Kors looked down, took the offered towel and dried himself with it.
“Raise your head,” Nik ordered again, “raise, throw back your face and close your eyes.”
Kors obeyed, suddenly feeling something sticky touch his eyes, pressed against his eyelids and skin. It was plaster!
“Aaah!”
“Don’t yell! It’s just plaster.”
“But why?” Kors shouted, clutching at his plastered eyes.
"I’m going to take off my mask,” Nik explained calmly, “you won’t see my human face again.”
“What?!”
“Now remember my black scaly face. Both me and Arel are no longer people for you.”
“A snake and a bat?” Kors chuckled, but his grin was unconvincing. Inside, he was frightened and disoriented by being blinded.
“Not a snake and not a bat, but okay, so be it,” Nik agreed, “you are approximately right.”
“But I’m the same as you!” Kors exclaimed desperately. “You said I had horns.”
“Yes.”
“So, it turns out, I’m a goat?!”
“A goat, a snake, and a bat,” Nik summed up, and Kors heard him and Arel laugh softly, “take off your wet clothes,” Nik ordered, and his voice became serious again, “it needs to be hung out to dry.”
“How can I hang my clothes to dry if I can’t see anything!” Kors was outraged.
“Ver will take care of your clothes.”
“Well, of course! He doesn’t understand anything! He will hang it too close to the fire. He will ruin expensive leather. My clothes require special care!”
Kors received a blow to the head, unexpected and so strong that he flew against the wall and fell on his side. He didn’t even understand who hit him, Nik or Arel, but it was very painful. There was ringing in his ears, and he just by some miracle didn’t lose consciousness.
“Please, don’t do it!” He shouted humiliated. Kors was afraid of them and knew that they felt his fear. “I’m worse than Adrian, I’m just as much of a coward!”
“Take off your wet clothes, Ver will take care of them,” Nick repeated without much intonation.
Kors wanted to think that Prince Arel had hit him after all, but he couldn’t know for sure, and their thoughts were hidden from him. He began to undress, afraid of getting another blow. Maybe you should have taken your clothes off faster?
Having completely undressed, he remained on his knees. They didn’t hurry him, didn’t hit him, and didn’t tell him anything. Kors heard Verniy approach him. He recognized him by his breath, by the way Ver sniffed like a dog, and now by the disgusting smell of a wet dog. Kors was cold, his skin was covered with goosebumps, he was shivering slightly, the air in the tent had not yet warmed up at all. “Gods, if only they didn’t leave me to sleep like this at the entrance, or at least give me some kind of skin, or rather a blanket.” He felt a chain being fastened to his golden collar. Nik did it, Kors was not mistaken, because Nik told him:
“Get on all fours and crawl after me,” and he pulled on the chain.
Kors slowly moved forward, afraid to hit the trestle bed or the table. Now he understood Nik very well with his poor eyesight and involuntarily thought: “Gods, how did he endure all this throughout his life?”
Stretching out his hand a little, Kors helplessly explored the space in front of him and stumbled upon a wooden leg.
“Lie down on the bed,” Nik said, “cover yourself, get warm, I don’t wish you harm.” There will be di
“Thank you,” Kors barely whispered. Feeling the surface of the trestle bed with his hand, he got up from his knees and carefully lay down on it, wrapping himself in a blanket, feeling how big and soft it was. “It’s their duvet covered in gold satin and brocade! They slept under him in the palace of Ore Town. So, Nik ordered to pull an expensive thing out of the wagon, like this, right on the march, in the middle of the road? He ordered to cover a camp bed with a luxurious blanket? However, what was the difference now? The main thing was that it was warm. Kors covered even his head and lay there, trying to stop trembling and not think about anything, not analyze anything. Someday Nik will change his anger for mercy, Kors believed in it. In the end, Kors himself is to blame. He dimly heard their movements around the tent, but they said nothing.
“Vitor. Get up! Hold it, put it on.”
Nik pushed him in the chest with something soft, Kors realized that it was his white cambric shirt with layered lace on the collar and cuffs and a velvet camisole with gold embroidery on the lapels, his suede pants. All these things didn’t fit together, and moreover, wearing them now, in a camping tent, was absurd, but Kors didn’t object. Without saying a word, he put on what he was offered. He imagined how stupid he looked with plastered eyes, disheveled wet ponytail, chain hanging down from the collar, and at the same time in expensive lace. Nik gave him his most beautiful clothes, well, in Nik’s opinion, of course, but it was respectful, maybe… or vice versa, it was a mockery, Kors didn’t understand.
“Let’s go to the table,” Nik said and pulled the chain.
“Should I crawl on all fours again?” Kors said.
“No, just follow me carefully.”
On a chain, like a dog, making very small steps, Kors obediently followed Nik. Nik led him slowly, not hurrying, only guiding him with the tension of the chain.
Finally, touching the edge of the table with his slightly outstretched hand, Kors asked:
“Can I sit down?”
“Yes, of course,” Nik replied, “daddy, I’m not punishing you, understand it.”
And Kors heard him pull a chair close to him.
Kors sat down neatly, and Nik placed his hand on the wooden table top. Kors immediately stumbled upon the fork, felt the edge of the di
It was better that way. He immediately took it, and, forgetting to ask Nik’s permission, took several large sips, almost draining it to the bottom.
“You need to eat,” Nik said.
“I can’t… a piece won’t go down my throat,” Kors justified himself, and he didn’t lie.
“No, that’s not good,” Nik disagreed, “you need to eat, daddy, I’ll feed you myself.”
“Nik…”
“From my hand, from my fingers, will you take food?”
“Nik…”