The Gods of Men

by Barbara Kloss

  Good, that made this easier.

  Jeric worked fast, wrapping the belt around the shade’s ankle. Water pulled him under, but he fought on, kicking his head above water as he worked, and once the belt was secured, he swam back toward Jorvysk, dragging the dead shade after him.

  Jorvysk knelt on the rock’s edge and stretched out his hand. Jeric kicked hard, reached up and clasped Jorvysk’s wrist, then handed him the end of the belt. Jorvysk looked incredulous.

  “Take it,” Jeric demanded.

  Jorvysk hesitated.

  “It’s dead.”

  Jorvysk looked from Jeric to the shade’s bobbing form, then reluctantly took the belt. Jeric climbed on top of the rock and took the belt from Jorvysk.

  “What do you plan to do with it?” Jorvysk asked as Jeric moved, dragging the shade’s form around the rock, out of the brunt of the current.

  “They need to see what we’re up against.” Without it, he could never prove Rasmin’s guilt, either.

  “No way in hells we can carry that thing home, let alone haul it out of the gorge.”

  “We’re not hauling the whole thing.” Jeric pulled on the belt, dragging the shade up, feet first. “Grab its legs, but watch out for the claws. They’re poisoned.”

  Jorvysk didn’t move.

  Jeric gave him a withering look. “It’s not going to attack you. It’s dead.”

  Jorvysk still didn’t move.

  Jeric grunted. “Here.” He handed Jorvysk the end of his belt, which Jorvysk took, but the weight caught him off guard. He lurched forward, caught himself, and adjusted his grip. Once Jeric was confident Jorvysk wouldn’t slip or let go, he grabbed the shade by the ankles and pulled.

  And pulled.

  He gritted his teeth, straining—even with Jorvysk’s help—and with a final heave and a curse, Jeric dragged the rest of it onto their rock.

  Jorvysk sighed and dropped the belt. “Gods… thing’s heavy as a godsdamned house.”

  Jeric stood there a moment, catching his breath, marveling at the creature: its athletic build, the oversized bones and striated muscle, as if it’d been created for speed and power. Its inky black skin was hard as armor, and excepting the few wiry tuffs at its feet, it was hairless.

  Jeric found it difficult believing this had once been a man—that this monster had once smiled and spoken and walked upon two legs. Now, its spine bowed unnaturally, grotesquely, and all four legs were equal in length, ending in bony pads of long, deadly claws.

  He thought of Gerald. He was glad they’d found him before he’d become this, or Jeric never would’ve known his friend.

  “You think the legion brought this here?” Jorvysk asked quietly.

  Jeric regarded the creature. Tallyn had said the first shades were created, and Jeric suspected that whatever had been in the vial had done just that. Had Rasmin created the shades? Was he working with the legion?

  Was he the leader of the legion? Had the necromancer been one of Rasmin’s prisoners? And had Rasmin helped the necromancer escape?

  Round and round these questions turned, but Jeric could not settle on an answer. Because it didn’t make sense. Rasmin held one of the most powerful positions in Corinth; why in the gods would he jeopardize that, siding with the very people he’d spent his life torturing?

  “I have no idea,” Jeric answered at last.

  He crouched and lifted one of the shade’s feet, careful not to prick himself. He squeezed the foot padding, and a black substance oozed out of a small hole at the nail’s tip.

  Jorvysk’s gaze sharpened on Jeric. “How’d you know about the poison?”

  Jeric didn’t answer. He set down the claw and moved to the creature’s skull, which was as large as a horse’s head and shaped like some gruesome cross between man and hound. Its forehead protruded, but Jeric couldn’t tell if that was natural or warped from injury. Its jaw was over-formed, jutting obstinately forward, giving it an exaggerated overbite, and the hinges swelled with knots of muscle. Its flat nose sloped sharply into its wide-set and vacant yellow eyes, and its large ears tapered into a point, the pinna opened to heighten sound. Every inch was optimized for the hunt—the kill.

  Jeric grabbed his blade, held the edge to the shade’s neck, and began sawing. It was like trying to cut through steel. After a few minutes of sawing, the leathery skin tore open; black blood bubbled. It took Jeric a good half hour of sweat and muscle, but the shade’s head eventually dislodged. Jeric grabbed it by the ears and set it upon the rock so that its dead yellow eyes stared at Jorvysk.

  Jorvysk’s eyes narrowed. “Mind turning that away from me?”

  Jeric moved to one of the shade’s feet and began sawing it off too. He worked with extreme caution, careful not to nick himself with poison.

  “I think the head’s enough,” Jorvysk remarked with some irritation.

  “Probably.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  Jeric jerked the foot free and set it beside the head. “This is for someone else.”

  “Who?”

  Someone who understood what it was. Someone who knew how to study it. Someone he’d left in the bowels of his home with his rutting brother.

  When Jeric didn’t answer, Jorvysk said, “You think our healers can replicate it?”

  “No. Hopefully, they can use this to develop an antidote.”

  Jorvysk looked confused. “We already killed it. It won’t be terrorizing the Blackwood anymore.”

  For a fleeting moment, Jeric remembered his own ignorance, and he felt annoyed for Sable.

  “If there’s one shade, there will be more.” He knelt beside the shade’s body and gave it a good shove. It tumbled over the rock and into the water, bobbing in the froth before the current dragged it under.

  “How the hells do you know any of this?” Jorvysk demanded.

  Jeric picked up his bloodied sword and crouched at the rock’s edge to rinse it off. “Because I’ve encountered them before. In The Wilds.”

  A beat. “You were in The Wilds?” When Jeric didn’t respond, Jorvysk asked, “What in the gods’ names were you doin’ up there?”

  Jeric wiped his blade on his cloak, which lay in a soggy heap beside him.

  “You better stop ignoring my questions, Wolf.”

  At Jorvysk’s tone, Jeric glanced back.

  Jorvysk’s eyes flashed. “You aren’t my superior anymore. We’re equals. And if you don’t start acting like it, I’ll make sure you regret your oath.”

  Jeric sheathed his blade and stood, towering over Jorvysk, who scowled up at him. Jeric flashed a smile, all teeth. “I’ll try to do better.”

  Jorvysk’s scowl deepened. Jeric turned away and wrapped the evidence in his cloak, tying it up with a knot. He scanned the banks and looked for a good spot to climb out of the gorge. He found one, secured the bundle through his belt, and motioned for Jorvysk to follow.

  Thunder rumbled, and the clouds unleashed their torrents, making the climb slick, but they eventually made it out, sopping wet and freezing. It was nothing like the chill Jeric had felt in The Wilds, after almost drowning in the Kjürda. Jorvysk wanted to find shelter until the storm passed, but Jeric pressed on, intent on finding his stolik. And he did, just a few miles farther down from where they’d launched into the Dienn.

  “I’ll be damned…” Jorvysk said when he spotted the glorious mammal. “Thought the horses would be halfway to Brevera by now.”

  “Yours might be,” Jeric said, to which Jorvysk grunted. Jeric rubbed his hand over the stolik, checking for harm, and the stolik’s tail swished. It was then and only then that Jeric agreed to stop for the night.

  They found shelter amidst a huddle of trees and built a small fire, and Jorvysk killed a squirrel, which the men ate. It was mostly bone, and the meat was tough, but it did the job. When Jeric finished, he leaned back against a tree trunk, stretched his legs, and watched the flames, occupied with his thoughts, which were rudely interrupted by Jorvysk’s chewing.

&nb
sp; “You’re awful quiet,” Jorvysk said, swallowing a bite.

  Jeric picked up his flask and took a long sip of water.

  “At least we found what’s been terrorizing the wolves,” Jorvysk said, wiping his lips on his sleeve. “Hagan can put that bastard’s head on a pike outside the walls, beside the Scabs. Fitting if you ask me. Let it be a warning.”

  At the word bastard, Jeric thought of her.

  A bastard. Surviving all those years in The Wilds because of something she couldn’t help or control. And she’d become a healer. She’d spent her life helping others, when the world had scorned her. She’d helped him, when he’d scorned her too.

  “So.” Jorvysk sipped his water, then wiped his lips clean. “What made a prince decide to join the Strykers, anyway?”

  Jeric glanced over.

  Jorvysk tore a bite of squirrel from the stick. “Not like you needed glory.” He spat grease through his teeth at the fire. Flames sizzled and hissed. “You really kill that many men?”

  It hadn’t just been men.

  What have you become, my darling Jos?

  Jeric watched the flames dance. “Yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Jeric didn’t argue.

  “So what’s in it for you?” Jorvysk continued. “You’re a rutting Angevin. You have everything in the world.” He made a wide arc with his flask. “You can go wherever you want, take whatever you want. There’s not a woman alive who won’t lift her skirts for the pretty Wolf Prince.” He winked jealously at Jeric, then took a swig. “You get bored? Needed some new scenery? A new thrill?”

  Jeric tilted his head back against the tree with half-lidded eyes.

  “Come on,” Jorvysk urged. “What happened?”

  It was time to throw Jorvysk a bone before he turned rabid. The man had intervals of acceptable silence, and Jeric had pushed this one to its limits. “Nothing happened.”

  Jorvysk laughed and tossed the greasy stick on the flames. “All of us have a reason, Wolf. Something that led us here. Something we were running from. We join the Strykers so they can’t touch us. We join the Strykers so we can still have a purpose and hope Aryn honors us in the afterlife. So I wanna know: What is the Wolf Prince of Corinth running from?”

  Jeric closed his eyes completely. He would not answer this. But also…

  He wasn’t sure of the answer anymore.

  “Is it Sable?”

  Jeric opened his eyes to slits. “If you say that name—” He heard a sound in the trees. He bolted upright and grabbed his sword, eyes and ears trained on the forest.

  Jorvysk looked around, confused. “Hear something…” His words trailed at a sharp look from Jeric, and he drew his sword instead.

  Jeric crept out of their camp and moved deeper into the trees. The rain stopped, and the world beyond their campfire was almost too dark to see.

  But not completely.

  Jeric heard a quick breath and a rustle. “I know you’re there. Show yourself,” he commanded, taking a step.

  Silence.

  Jorvysk, who’d followed Jeric’s lead, rounded the tree from the other side.

  “Gotcha,” Jorvysk growled, surprising the eavesdropper, and the person cried out.

  It was a woman’s cry.

  Jorvysk dragged her into the light of their camp, and Jeric followed.

  “Sil vai me!” she yelled. Let me go. She kicked against Jorvysk’s pull, but he shoved her to the ground. Before she could get up, he pushed her down with his boot, holding her there.

  “There more of you?” he barked.

  “Noi—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Scab.”

  “Noi!” she cried out, straining to breathe. “Juss me,” she said in common tongue, but with a thick accent.

  Jeric believed her. He didn’t sense anyone else near.

  “I think you’re lying.” Jorvsyk crouched, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and jerked her head back, holding a dagger to her neck.

  “Jorvysk.” Jeric’s tone warned as he stepped closer.

  Jorvysk ignored him.

  “I swear to gott…” the woman said. “I’m alone. Pliss—”

  “And what’s a Scab doing all the way out here, alone?”

  She winced in pain, her jaw locked.

  It could have been her, out here all alone.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Jeric said.

  It wasn’t a request.

  Jorvysk glanced up at Jeric, eyes narrowed. “This isn’t your game anymore, Wolf. You’d better figure out which side you’re on.”

  “She’s alone,” Jeric said lowly. “She’s harmless.”

  “She’s a Scab.” Jorvysk glared at Jeric, and then looked back at the woman. “You’d better talk, before I cut up that pretty face of yours.”

  “I saw your fire… and… I was cold…”

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Davikan.”

  Davikan was a skal mine located a few hours’ ride northeast from where they were. Jarl Rodin oversaw its operation, and he managed the Scab slaves who mined the ore, but Jeric had always used the term managed loosely. Rodin’s working conditions were so poor, even Hagan sent men to improve them. They couldn’t properly mine ore if Rodin kept letting all the slaves die.

  “You escaped?” Jeric asked, wary, especially after what they’d learned about the Yllis mine.

  “Yes… with two others,” she said, “but they were caught… fava…”

  Jorvysk gave her hair a hard pull. A tear rolled down her cheek. “I swear! I only wanted out of the mine…”

  Jeric came to a stand before her.

  She looked up at him, dark eyes wide with fear. And then the face morphed into hers.

  He blinked, and the Scab’s face returned. “Where are you going?” Jeric asked.

  “Istraa.”

  “You’re not on your way to join the legion?” Jorvysk asked sharply.

  “I have no interest in war—”

  “So you’ve heard about the legion.”

  “Juss rumors.” When Jorvysk pulled her hair tighter, she added, “They say… the legion will set us free.”

  “Who are they? Scabs like you? Who’s leading them?”

  “I donn know, I swear! I do not wish to fight. I juss want to live!”

  “Unfortunately, the two come hand in hand.” Jorvysk sneered. And then he whipped her onto her back and straddled her.

  Jeric went rigid. “What are you doing?”

  “Teaching you a few things, Wolf,” Jorvysk said, then ripped the woman’s shirt open.

  She cried out, writhing, trying to free herself. “Fava… Fava…”

  Please… please…

  Jeric suddenly felt tight—his body too confining.

  He shouldn’t care. Hagan took this liberty countless times—he knew that. And she was a Scab. She wasn’t human. She wasn’t natural. It had always been his reason for allowing it.

  His excuse.

  Jorvysk shoved up her skirts, and Jeric looked away.

  “Don’t worry, Wolf, I’ll save some for you,” Jorvysk jeered.

  The woman screamed, and Jeric heard a slap. The screaming turned into sobs. Jeric thought of Hagan. He thought of every Sol Velorian his brother had raped and killed.

  You steal from them too. We just steal different things.

  Suddenly, he saw her. It was her body trapped beneath Jorvysk’s, her dark hair splayed in the dirt. Those were her sobs and her pleas. Her tears and her voice.

  What have you become, my darling Jos?

  “Might as well lie back and enjoy it,” Jorvysk sneered, grunting as he adjusted himself. “It’s gonna take me a while to—”

  White-hot anger exploded through Jeric, and he tackled Jorvysk.

  Jorvysk cried out in surprise, pants around his knees, and both men tumbled to the ground. They untangled, and Jorvysk staggered upon all fours, looking furiously at Jeric. “You rutting Scablick—”

  Jeric punched him in the
jaw before he could finish the word.

  Jorvysk fell back and rolled away before Jeric could strike him, then climbed to his feet and threw a punch at Jeric. It was slow, sloppy, and he tripped on his pants. Jeric grabbed Jorvysk’s arm, pulled him in, and rammed his knee into Jorvysk’s swollen groin. Jorvysk cursed and lunged forward, barreling his head into Jeric’s chest and shoving Jeric against a tree. Jeric grunted, then grabbed two fistfuls of Jorvysk’s hair, pulled his head level, and slammed his forehead against Jorvysk’s. Jorvysk staggered back, unbalanced, and hastily pulled up his pants just as Jeric ran at him.

  Jorvysk raised his arms to ward off Jeric’s blows, but Jeric did not stop. Not even as Jorvysk fell to the ground and begged him to. Not even as Jorvysk’s arms fell away, and his body went slack.

  Finally, Jeric sagged back, staring at Jorvysk’s body. Jorvysk stared vacantly at the night, blood streamed down his nose, out of his mouth, and his jaw hung at an odd angle.

  Jeric stood up, staggered back, and swallowed. He held up his hands and looked down at them. His knuckles were swollen, cracked and bleeding, and his hands were covered in blood.

  Corinthian blood.

  He glanced up.

  The woman huddled at the fire’s edge, gaping at him and trembling as she held her shirt together.

  “Go,” Jeric said quietly. His voice cracked. “Run south. Stick to the feet of the Gray’s Teeth. Don’t stop until you reach The Spine. Do you understand?”

  She stared at him, bewildered. Terrified and also confused.

  He pulled a small pouch from his pants and tossed it at the woman. It landed at her feet with a jangle, but she didn’t move.

  “Take it,” he said.

  She stared at him, paralyzed with fear and disbelief. She took the pouch, hesitated, and glanced up at him.

  He looked steadily back. “Go.”

  She climbed to her feet, held her clothes close, and ran off into the woods.

  The rain fell.

  Suddenly, the ground tilted beneath Jeric’s feet. He stumbled forward. One step. Two. He staggered past Jorvysk’s dead body, stopped beside a tree, and pressed his palm to the bark, steadying himself. The world spun in a blur of memories—of faces and blood and horror. All of the things he had done. All of the lives he had marginalized and stolen.

  And all of the things he had done simply because he had permitted them.