The Mist and the Lightning. Part I - стр. 5

"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 pulled up the hood and walked out of the castle. Orel followed him with his eyes.

"No," he said quietly. "Not farewell."

Chapter 2

Conversation with Mark

"So, Lis was right," Orel said. "You also know Nikto."

"Yes, I do." Mark met Orel's gaze. "If you see him once, you won't forget, right?"

Orel looked away, got up and walked to the window. He looked through it not saying anything, with his arms crossed on his chest. Mark also kept silent, watching Orel as if calculating something in his mind. Then he said:

"I think it'll work for you!"

Orel looked back.

"I nearly killed him!"

Mark shrugged. "So what? Me too."

"Yes? And what?"

"Nothing. We're friends now."

Orel walked back to the table.

"A strange friendship – between a friend of the Unclean and someone who fights them," he said.

"He helped me like no one else," Mark's eyes flashed with an unhealthy sparkle, his fingers twitched nervously. "Thanks to him I created a real hell for the Unclean in the west! How we killed them! How we killed them, Orel, if only you could see it. If only any of those fat townsmen could see it! We slashed them! Hanged them! Burned them! Tore them apart. We razed their houses to the ground. We chased them to the very mountains, freed the outpost and many people…" Mark stopped suddenly.

"I see you are a real warrior. A rare thing in our times," Orel said.

"Nikto is a warrior, too."

"I know, figured that out. But he's a warrior of the Unclean."

"You can stop worrying about it. Yes, he is a warrior of the Unclean but he isn't their ally. More than that, I think he hates them."

"Why is he with them then?"

"The cities of the Unclean accept him as a warrior, hold him as an equal and even higher than many of them. And humans don't accept him."