“No, sir,” Adrian replied.
“Really? Why can’t I hear it?”
“It has gotten weaker, sir, but it continues to drizzle.”
Well, then Kors can take his time. Until the rain stops and the weather improves, they won’t set off on the road, and Nik at such an early time is unlikely to call him. Kors didn’t even want to check how he was. He was probably sleeping, as usual. Has he at least taken the medicine? Has he changed his bandages? Fuck, to hell! In the end, he is not alone there, his favorites Prince Arel and Verniy are with him, so let them take care of him! Ungrateful bitch!
“It's all ready, sir,” said Adrian. He couldn’t leave until Kors let him, but signaling that his work was done, he backed away, making a clear movement towards the exit. Kors looked skeptically at his hair set in the form of a Mohawk, but said nothing about it.
“Adrian, you’re very thin,” he remarked, “go to the supply wagon, tell Parky that I ordered, have him open it for you. Take milk there, there are cheeses in the box below, take them and have a meal.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But when you take milk, take it from the jug that stands on the shelf behind the other jug, and between the jugs to the right. There is also a jug with a strip, and a bowl covered with a lid. Don’t drop anything. There is fatter milk in one of the jars, don’t touch it, take it from the jug from which I told you. And take the cheese that lies in the box, you can cut off a piece of it for yourself. It is wrapped in wax paper, next to it is similar one, but more greasy, don’t touch it, but take the one that I told you about.”
“Thank you sir, I’m not hungry,” Adrian replied quickly. He stood in front of Kors in his clothes, which hung like a bag on his thin body, and, as always, stared at the floor, as if carefully examining something very important to himself. The oval blue piece of glass protruded unsightly on his lower lip, and Kors liked it.
“Damn, what’s the matter?! I myself offer you! I say: “Take it!”. Did I explain something incomprehensibly?” Kors raised his voice, clearly starting to get irritated.
“Sorry sir, I’m just not hungry at all. May I go, sir?”
“Go!” Kors threw with displeasure. “Why am I trying for you! I want to do the best for you, but you turn up your nose! Well, go to hell! Ungrateful creatures!”
Tyutya brought him breakfast. She did everything exactly the same as in the Ore Town: she brought a tray of food, put a cup of coffee on the table. Kors lay in warm water, enjoying the bath.
“Give me coffee,” he ordered, and the girl brought a saucer to him with a cup on it.
Here’s another ungrateful creature. She shows off her ring that a stupid wolf gave her, just as Nik showed off Kors’ gift. And Kors is no better than a foolish wolf, he gave Nik so many expensive jewelry, clothes, but what did he get in return? Instead, he was kicked in the head. Gods, how tired he was thinking about Nik every minute!
Yesterday he wasted all day, and today is the same! How tired he is! What to do – wait for him to call, and then what? Will he be humiliated again?
And Kors wanted Nik to ask for forgiveness and say that he was wrong, to kneel down and kiss Kors’ boots… And Kors would unbandage his face and see what’s with the scar, and then pick up the right treatment. And he would give him a slap in the face, so that Nik, as usual, would bend down, shrink. And then he would put him next to him and say that Nik must remember once and for all that the younger belongs to the older. And for Nik to agree with this… and snuggle up to him … and then Kors would pet him for the right behavior. Fuuuck…
Kors ordered Tyutya to leave and got out of the “bath” in annoyance. He looked at himself for a long time in a small mirror and carefully rubbed his body with emollient oils and anti-hair growth agents.
“Against the background of recent events, I completely neglected my appearance,” he scolded himself, “the last thing I need is to be covered with hair in a human form, as if the animal one wasn’t enough for me!”
Finally, satisfied with his well-groomed body, Kors calmed down a bit. Unlike Prince Arel, Kors liked his swarthy skin, he liked Nik’s white face, but he also loved and accepted his own swarthy skin, considering it beautiful. And he didn’t at all want to paint over his face with gray dye, highlighting it the way Prince Arel did. Kors was not annoyed by the tattoo that Nik made him, it seemed to introduce him to the world of the unclean ones, but at the same time, in his opinion, it was quite moderate. Kors dressed in the clothes that Verniy had brought him. The dog really carefully dried it and put it in order, didn’t spoil the expensive leather. Finally, feeling obvious hunger, Kors was able to eat. He was in no hurry and did everything slowly and carefully, but the minutes still dragged on endlessly. Kors mentally called Parky to report to him about the situation in their camp. His captain, as usual, with calm indifference, reported that everything was in order, and again didn’t give Kors a reason to use his iron rod and occupy his time with this. It seemed to Kors that Parky understood perfectly well that the commander had nothing to do, and he understood that Kors would demand him to his tent today and try to find fault with something. But the unclean one treated this with a kind of philosophical humility.
Kors yawned boredly.
“Call Tyutya, maybe, let her take away the dishes, do the cleaning here,” and now Kors, to his surprise, finally caught a short emotional outburst from Parky.
Parky wasn’t afraid for himself, but he was worried about his fox!
Kors laughed contentedly.
“What are you up to? Are you jealous? I won’t do anything to her. And as a woman, she is absolutely not interesting to me!”
Like any other woman, Parky thought quickly, but Kors heard him and froze.
For a while they were silent.
“You are free,” Kors finally said with some effort, “and call Tyutya.”
She appeared almost immediately, clearly was somewhere near her wolf, and collected dishes on a tray. Kors lay on the bed, bored, smoking, looking up at the ceiling. “So that’s how my captain dares to think of me…” Kors turned his gaze to the girl modestly covered by a cape. Leaning slightly, she carefully swept the floor. “What does this bitch think of me? What if to look not at her fucking childhood, but at what happened in Ore Town, when she also served me, look at myself from the outside?!” This thought seemed interesting to him, and Kors tried to penetrate the thoughts and memories of the slave, and… saw nothing. The surrounding world and all objects were covered with a gray veil, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t understand anything and see through this dense veil. There were only vague shadows around. In addition to this, Kors began to suffocate, he didn’t have enough air and there was absolutely nothing to breathe. For a moment, he even got scared. “No-o-o, that’s not going to work, stupid slave!” It dawned on Kors that he was looking through Tyutya, but with his own eyes, and the cape that covered her face interfered with him, preventing him from seeing or breathing properly. He tried to penetrate her head harder and look around through her eyes. The guess turned out to be correct. Accustomed all her life to walking with her face covered with cloth, the girl oriented herself in space much better and didn’t suffocate from lack of air. Kors was even amazed at how well she saw everything, although, as he understood, the fabric on her face was quite dense.
And according to the laws of the Reds, she always remained covered from head to toe, for life without the right to open her face, eyes and body, because she was not a person, but a thing. Kors saw another covered woman in front of him, and it seemed that she was the head of the slaves, because she could speak. The main slave turns to Tyutya with obvious excitement:
“If these black gentlemen are dissatisfied with something, do you understand what it threatens us all with?”
Tyutya only bows low and nods frightened. The mistress gives her a colorful album with pictures and names of dishes. Oh! Kors remembers it well, it always lay in their dining room. This is a menu, and a very good one, by the way. In general, he liked the cuisine in Kudmer’s palace, how the cooks cook, he really liked the wine. Kors several times a day ordered something from this list for himself, his boys, for Nik… Da-a-amn … He circled the picture or wrote the serial number of the dish on paper, without going into the details of the verbose and magnificent names in red. He put a number, marking how many servings he wants to order. Most often it was a variety of meat dishes and bottles of alcohol. Tyutya understood everything, and, taking the menu with his order, she ran to the kitchen. Very soon, she already learned all his preferences. “Yes, but they interacted well and understood each other!” Kors felt funny, so that’s what she remembers about him! What food did he order! It’s funny. And what else?
Chapter 7
Now Tyutya is placing on the table the already brought dishes. And Kors feels that on her face, there, under the cape, she is wearing a muzzle, it completely obscures the lower part of her face, the leather flap digs into her cheeks. Hmm… a wise decision. The Reds know a lot about raising slaves, and a slave who brings food will never be able to taste it herself or spit on the masters’ plate. She won’t be able to do this even through a small gap in the cape, sensibly. Art honed over the centuries. But for Kors, feeling the muzzle on his face is very unpleasant, it prevents him from concentrating. Through the eyes of a slave, Kors sees himself as he enters the room, so tall, all in black, he hears how loud his voice is. Kors says something, but for a red slave, it’s just an inarticulate set of sounds in a foreign language. She is very scared, and Kors is interested in understanding what he was saying at that moment. Today he is disgustingly able to see the events! He doesn’t have power. Does his nervous state affect it? How to finally fit into this alien red of the opposite sex, so that the fabric doesn’t interfere with the eyes, the muzzle doesn’t squeeze the face, so that he can breathe normally, understand speech in black and everything that happens? With an effort, Kors separated from her and tried to stand next to her, just like in his last dream about little Nik, damn it… It worked! And now he sees Tyutya and everything that happens a little from the side.
Valentine lies in the toilet room. He is undressed. His naked body is covered in blood stains and bruises. Only his head is still pulled into a leather helmet, tightly laced at the back of his head. There is an iron collar on Valentine’s throat, gloves are on his hands, and thin wrists are closed in wide iron bracelets. Valentine lies motionless on the bare floor. Here, near the golden toilet bowl, he belongs and he sleeps here, but he is not supposed to have a mattress or bedding. So he crouched awkwardly on the cold and hard floor tiles. Dried blood and traces of shit are visible on the inside of his thighs. Damn it! Kors remembered! He was the one who raped and beat the poor fellow that night. Valentine lies motionless, dirty, in his own shit, beaten, torn. He doesn’t move, apparently in a semi-conscious state. The slave comes up to him, tries to lift him up, give him water. She brings Valentine a mug, slips a metal tube under the bottom shield of his helmet so that he can drink. Valentine groans softly. Kors sees that a black strip of cloth is wrapped around his head over the top of his helmet, just where the eye holes were. Kors blindfolded him, he can no longer remember why, because he was too drunk. Maybe Valentine dared to look at him somehow the wrong way, no, it’s impossible, Valentine never raises his eyes at all, Arel trained him well. Kors remembered that he had never liked Valentine’s cloudy eye covered with a white film, and Kors told Arel to close this slot in his helmet. So that he sealed it from the inside with a plaster or ordered Verniy to sew it up. But Arel didn’t want this, it seemed that it was a pleasure for him to see the work of his own hands. Therefore, despite the displeasure of Kors, he didn’t close the boy’s ugly blind eye. And against the background of the black leather of the helmet, the white eye stood out brightly, clearly visible even from a rather narrow slit. Nik often wrapped black strips of cloth around his sore, ulcerated hands, and Kors apparently borrowed a bandage from him to blindfold Valentine’s eyes and not see this disgusting thorn. Or maybe he just wanted to blind him, make the victim even more helpless. Valentine doesn’t touch the bandage, and the slave doesn’t do this either, they don’t dare to arbitrarily take off what they have been put on, change what the master has done to them. The girl brings a basin, pours water into it. Nearby is the door to the bathroom, and near the golden toilet is the same golden bidet, but the slaves do not have the right to use the things of the masters. Valentine does everything by touch, but quite confidently, he is used to blindness. And the girl diligently helps him.
In the next memory of the slave, Valentine is already dressed in his own clothes, he barely steps, holding on to the wall, trying to take a few steps. His movements are so careful, as if he is made of glass.
Valentine stands. Apparently, he still cannot sit on his ass, and standing up he eats the food brought by the slave. He slips the small pieces into the narrow slit of his helmet under his chin. He drinks water through a tube. There is still a bandage over his eyes. Kors pulled it tight around the back of his head. The owners forgot about him, and Valentine, at the behest of Kors, remains blind. Kors doesn’t remember it at all. But this bitch Tyutya was so busy with Valentine, fed, watered, helped him!
His office. Kors sees Tyutya carefully wiping the table. There is a knock on the door, Valentine comes up and timidly asks: “Who is there?” He gropes the door open, accepting another message for Kors from the courier, blindly holding out a gloved hand. This doesn’t surprise the unclean one who has come, and he gives him the envelope. Valentine carefully approaches the table, the slave girl helps him put the letter exactly in the center of the tabletop. How many days did the poor man go like this? And who ended up removing the bandage, finally noticing it? Arel did it? Or did the bandage eventually slip off on its own? Kors doesn’t remember, doesn’t know, he forgot about the boy then, he had many other things to do and worries. And he doesn’t want to look at it anymore. Because he wants to watch… Fuuuck… And of course, just thinking about it, he immediately saw Nik and heard Tyutya’s thoughts about him. Damn, that stupid bitch thought Nik was really cute too! She liked him too! Nik walks into the dining room, where she is cleaning up the table after another night of partying. Nik doesn’t pay any attention to the slave, and how badly he limps! He drags his leg, leaning forward sharply with each step, as if about to lose his balance. So sad, kind of pensive, all withdrawn into himself. He looks very unhappy and at the same time just as handsome. Unrealistically beautiful, like a fallen crippled angel. He flops awkwardly into a chair, his face contorted in pain. Slouching heavily, with a low hiss, Nik begins to rub his sore knee. His wrists, just below the gold bracelets at the very hands, are tightly wrapped with black bandages and glued over with a band-aid. And Kors knows why. There, under the strips of black fabric on Nik’s wrists, there are thin, but deep wounds from a steel wire. Kors always liked to use such handcuffs more than ordinary ones. Sticking into the skin, the wire delivers excruciating debilitating pain. Ideal for punishment. And Nik experienced it for himself, standing in the corner with his wrists tied for several hours. Now Kors regrets that he punished him like that, but nothing can be returned back. How brightly the letter stands out on his cheek! Kors himself doesn’t understand now why he did this to his son, and at that moment the letter didn’t at all seem to him so bright and big. Tyutya correctly matched it with the same letters on Adrian’s cheeks, and without a doubt considers both Nik and Adrian slaves of Kors. She thinks that black Kors and Prince Arel are lovers and free masters. And also Kors has slaves with whom he also has fun, these are Nik, Adrian and Parky. And the prince’s slave is Valentine. Moreover, she herself is a disenfranchised slave, she sincerely pities them. “What an idiot! But in general, she judged well.”
And then Kors himself enters the room. Kors likes to look at himself, admire his confident look, but the slave immediately lowers her eyes, although no one will ever see this through the cape, she does it instinctively. She froze, stopped collecting dishes on a tray. And Nik, too, instantly crept up, abruptly sat up straight, stopped slouching. This fast movement is now very noticeable to Kors, but at that moment he didn’t see it.
Kors imposingly approaches his boy, takes him by the chin, lifting and turning his face towards him:
“Now is not the time to sit down at the table,” he says imperiously and looking down at Nik, “first you need to go wash, brush your teeth, put yourself in order.”
Nik silently gets up.
“My vicious Angel, with whom anyone wants to sin,” Kors whispers hoarsely, leaning in to his ear, then puts a hand on his ass, runs his hand over it. He squeezes, strokes it, running his fingertips over the ornately twisted monograms of black patterns, and, slightly licking his lips, swallows hard. How smuttily and vulgar he looks from the outside! However, Nik, who stands with his head down and not moving like a ram, and allows Kors to stroke and squeeze his tattooed ass, doesn’t look any better himself. “And it’s not just that he decorated it? How did he even come up with the idea of getting tattoos on his ass? Whore!” Kors lowers his hand down and slips it between Nik’s legs from behind, thus reaching for his testicles, squeezing them. Nik gasps for air, but only spreads his legs a little wider to make Kors feel more comfortable.
“Let's go to the bathroom,” Kors says, finally releasing him, and Nik immediately heads towards the door. Now Kors can see how tense he is, not only does he keep his back straight, he tries not to limp as much as before, when Kors didn’t see him. His face stiffened, he clenched his teeth. He hurts! But Kors at that moment doesn’t notice this at all.
“Move faster!” he hurries, and, laughing briefly, loudly slaps Nik on his ass with his open palm. Clap!
Kors doesn’t remember it at all. This is the morning of one of the days of their stay in Ore Town. Both Nik and Kors hide behind the door to the bathroom, and the slave takes the half-eaten piece of bread from the plate and goes with it to Kors’ office. There, she approaches Adrian, who is locked in a cage, and thrusts bread to him through the bars. He reaches out his hand, takes the bread and eats it. “What a bitch is this Tyutya!” They are clearly not doing this for the first time, so calmly they move, not even in a hurry. Adrian eats carefully and slowly. And Tyutya stands nearby and looks at him with pity. They both know that if the masters have gone to the bathroom or the bedroom, they will not return soon. Kors hears his loud moans from behind the door, and the slave shrinks, for the umpteenth time she thinks: “poor Nik.” She knows and remembers their names, she generally understands and thinks everything, just turned into a bag with the help of a cape and deprived of the ability to speak, she is not perceived by others as a person and an individual. She herself is not free, she is horrified by their fate, and, as she can, she tries to help them. “I learned a lot of secrets about you, red fox! It turns out that you are so kind!”
Oh, this Ore Town, these wonderful, magnificent rooms in the palace! Their huge bed and golden brocade blanket, under which the three of them slept so sweetly, embracing and cuddling up to each other, he and his boys. Kors’ boys – light and dark, brunette and blond. It was the best time, Kors was happy there, in this really alien city, which, oddly enough, became his home and gave him unforgettable moments of happiness. And how they loved each other! And then Kors worked with such pleasure and created decrees, enthusiastically compiled lists of those sentenced to flogging and execution. He was the king of this city! Not Lis, but he, Kors!
How sweet his bright boy was, and now he has lost him. Now everything is irretrievably destroyed. And in these memories of a slave, thanks to the care of Kors, Nik is so neat, clean and combed. Because Kors followed him, washed and combed, and Nik already then obeyed him. Oh yes, he listened! But then Kors didn’t notice and didn’t appreciate it, taking it for granted. After all, it was the only right thing to do. And Nik obeyed him, carried out all orders. Only he didn’t want to wear glasses, and for this he was so severely punished. He was handsome and obedient in Ore Town. And without those protruding nose rings, oh, gods, even with all those stupid piercings, if only he remained Kors’ boy! And Kors had already reconciled and got used to his decorated nose. Let him wear his rings if he likes them. All the same, no matter what he did and no matter how he tried to disfigure his appearance, he didn’t succeed, and he remained beautiful. Kors was so bitter, there was no “his boy”! There was a Demon who played with him, and the body of his son, and together there was nothing. And this hair of his, from which he went crazy, what a handsome son he was! Eyes, nose, lips, it is not surprising that Prince Arel fell in love with him at one time. The appearance of an angel with a Demon inside, what an irony, a mockery. And how did he look at Kors? Kors wanted him every minute. Endlessly. Constantly. Crazily. Nik was the best. Was…not now. Now Kors knows that Nik is a soulless Demon who is just doing his missions and using people. And he seduced and used Kors. Stupid Tyutya, you don’t understand anything! You fed Adrian and took care of Valentine, maybe you helped “poor Nik” too?
Tyutya enters their bedroom, thinking that there is no one there. Water is splashing in the bathroom, Kors is there, and Prince Arel is rattling glasses in the living room. The girl wants to collect and take out the empty bottles, but she sees that Nik is lying on the bed. He is asleep, and the slid blanket is lying on the floor beside him. Tyutya involuntarily looks at his tattoos, this is a novelty for her, but she already understood that black and unclean ones adorn bodies in such a way, they don’t burn them with fire, like red ones, but paint them with indelible pictures. Nik is wearing a dubious decoration on his head and face: a muzzle mask consisting of thin leather straps connected to each other by metal rings, a ball on the straps is inserted into his mouth. The ball closes his mouth, preventing him from closing his lips, and all the belts are properly tightened and fastened at the back. Kors remembered that they found this toy in the bedroom, in one of the drawers of the bedside table, and began to play with it. It was he who inserted the ball into Nik’s mouth, tightly tightened all these straps on his face and neck so that Nik couldn’t spit it out, and Nik, as always, meekly accepted his whim. Kors remembers the pleasure of fucking him like that. And then they passed out, and Nik slept like that. And Kors also passed out, and when he woke up, still sleepy, he went into the bathroom and forgot to free him. Later, Kors is already sitting at his desk, reading the morning reports, and a slave girl brings him coffee. Nik enters the room, naked, sleepy, oh, that hair of his! Now they are a little pressed by the belts. With a habitual movement, Nik slightly removes a few loose strands with his hand, so that Kors can see his normally shielded eyes, looks inquiringly, points to his mouth with his hand. How beautiful this red ball looks between his plump lips, these black belts digging into his cheeks! Nik could pull it out himself, Kors just fastened the toy on the back with fasteners, there is no lock. But Nik didn’t do this without the permission of Kors, he came to him so that he himself pulled this ball out of his mouth and freed him. Kors realizes that Nik is uncomfortable. But the way he looks with his mouth open and gagged, those lips tightly wrapped around the ball, excites Kors so much that he quickly grabs Nik, bending over, pressing his chest against the tabletop. The massive table doesn’t even tremble from jolts. Kors turns Nik’s head to the side so he can see his closed eyes and wide mouth. Saliva flows down Nik’s chin, because of the ball and straps, he cannot control it and stop it. How loudly Kors screams! Gods, he just howls like a madman. Then he releases Nik, and finally undoes the buckles, pulls the ball out of his mouth, tosses the toy aside. Nik wipes his wet chin and rubs his stiff jaw. There are clear marks from the belts on his face. He shakes his head and can’t speak yet. Kors understands this, he excitedly whispers some words of love to him, squeezes him again, kisses his numb mouth. They go into the bedroom to continue with Arel. And the slave wipes the wet table and takes the ball on the straps, takes it out of sight, so that “The hangmanwould no longer torment anyone.” And they really never remembered this toy again later. Stop! What did she name him? Hangman?
Kors instantly fell out of sweet memories and jumped out of bed. Tyutya, realizing with some inner instinct that something was wrong, shied away to the door. But Kors managed to grab her and hit her closed face several times. She didn’t cry out, didn’t move in his hands, but froze, withstanding the blows.
“Wayward little bitch! You don’t know or understand anything! I’ll teach you now!” Kors yelled, and at that moment, quite unexpectedly for Kors, Parky literally flew in.
“What did she do, Commander, why are you beating her?!”
“Parky?” Struck by such impudence of his captain, Kors even released the slave.
She curled up on the floor at his feet, no longer trying to run.
“Parky, I didn’t call you! And she needs to be punished! This red bitch has forgotten what a good stick and pain are! And you seem to be too!”
“There was a lot of pain in both my life and hers,” Parky tried to say.
“No!” Kors roared. “You don’t know what it really is! Spoiled stupid kids, I’ll teach you! I’ll make you normal! Ungrateful creatures! Protecting your fucking fox? Would you like to receive the punishment instead?”
And Parky, suddenly somehow calmly looked him straight in the face and answered:
“Yes, Commander.”
Kors hit him with all his might with an iron rod, and Parky sank to the floor next to his Tyutya.
“How dare you burst in here and discuss my actions!” Kors hit him a few more times. “Well, where is your smile? You are so cheerful, so happy! Answer!”
“We are not at all happy, we are unhappy, Commander, and we are trying to serve you!”
“That’s it! All you have to do is serve well! Do the bare minimum and nothing more! You don’t need to worry about anything, because I think for you! I take care of everything! Your owner takes care of you like a parent! And you are always under guardianship, you don’t bear any responsibility, you don’t need to think about anything! But you can’t even serve properly! It’s hard for you too! Lazy irresponsible creatures, you will know what real grief is! I’ll teach you! I’ll show you! You’ll forget what it’s like to whine over little things! Open your mouth! I’ll make you a beautiful smile! I will count with an iron stick all your iron teeth!”
Parky slowly bared his teeth, opening his mouth, and Kors raised his stick, but Tyutya, seeing this, suddenly howled loudly and distracted Kors. The blow turned out to be blurry, blood spattered from the mouth of the unclean one, but the steel jaws remained in place.
“Are you protecting each other?” Kors was breathing heavily. “The wolf is ready to accept the punishment for the fox, you fool! And the fox squeaks in fear. You know that she self-willed in the city as she wanted! Feeding Adrian! She dared to call me hangman.”
Parky covered his smashed mouth with his hand.
“It’s not her fault,” he barely said, “she called you that because everyone in Ore Town called you that!” He looked up at Kors defiantly. “And now everyone calls you that!”
“What?” Kors lowered his rod. “Who calls me that?”
Parky spat blood on the floor.
“Everyone!”
“Parky…”
“Neither I nor she is to blame for this! I faithfully serve you and Desmod!”
“Whom?” Kors stammered. “Me, and who else do you serve?”
“I am a Desmod’s warrior!”
“But why are you with me then?” Kors completely lost his fighting spirit.
“Because the White Lord ordered Desmod to assign warriors to you when you met us at Riverside, and my commander Desmod chose me.
Kors froze. He didn’t remember the details, but yes, it was. Nik gave him a regiment to command and Parky as a captain. And Kors was very flattered by this and rejoiced. Now everything has finally fallen into place. Yes, the unclean ones only pretend to serve him, but he is not the main one at all.
“Who does Desmod serve?” Kors asked quietly, already knowing the answer.
“Desmod serves the White Lord,” said Parky, “we all serve the White Lord, you know that!”
“Go away,” Kors sat on the bed, “you are pretenders. Go! Serve your White Lord, Desmod and all the unclean ones! You are not really my subordinates.”
“No, we are yours, Commander,” Parky objected, “we were given to you.”
"What if Desmod orders you to kill me?" Kors asked.
Parky was silent.
“You are silent? Goood! What if I order you to kill Desmod? Who will you kill? Me or him? Answer!”
“I can’t kill him or you,” Parky said.
“Because the White Lord didn’t order it? Yes? What if he orders?”