“Tol, are you going to hang every red in glasses?” Said Lis as if nothing had happened. “There are plenty of them, and this is not witchcraft.”
“Really?” Tol was surprised. “Well, okay.”
“What’s this?” Lis took a couple of steps and stopped at the corpse of a naked red maid. Her face was blue and swollen, but her fair white body, smooth, with large breasts and a fluffy bright red triangle of soft hair on a slightly convex elastic pubis, was beautiful.
Tol smiled.
“Such a funny red girl, let them admire her. In general, it's not me. These are the mercenaries of Zagpeace, they say, she began to talk with the prisoners and said something bad about us.”
“We have no prisoners,” said Lis.
“Well, yes… well, those that have just come over to our side. Zagpeace said she talked a lot, said, said… maybe she was a spy! Here it is!”
And now Lis looked skeptically at Kors:
“It’s the same song. Will your mercenaries hang every woman who has flown in?”
“They’re not mine anymore,” Kors replied quickly, but he was hurt and unpleasant. No, the black warriors couldn’t repeat this cruel trick again, and so he tried to justify them:
“I don’t think Zagpeace ordered a private case to be put on public display. He is usually very scrupulous about such matters. Surely she was really talking too much.”
Lis turned away and walked on. There were a few more hanged soldiers, the former theater artist also provided them with intelligible drawings, which reflected their faults.
“What? Fell asleep at the post? Jumped up not fast enough at the sight of the commander?! Tol, if everyone is hung up, we will run out of soldiers! I don’t have such a large army to spend like that!”
“They won’t end,” Tol muttered, and Lis looked at the scaffold being put together, where a few more nooses were being prepared.
“I'm not an executioner! I’m a warlord! Yes, I send people to their death, this is my profession, and I have been given this right. But then death itself decides who to pick up and who not! Tol, all executions have to be only with my approval. A pillory and a whip, this is enough for punishment!”
“They are disciplinarians,” Tol said, but not too confidently.
“Alis doesn’t care too much about discipline in the ranks,” remarked Kors, “for him it is of paramount importance that the soldier fights bravely, and in peacetime he can do whatever comes into his head.”