Mortals & Deities by Maxwell Alexander Drake

area. It might have been his short-cropped brown hair, also common. Or, the way the man carried himself. Still, Alant did not feel impressed as he had the first and only time the two had met.
    A smile sprang to Alant’s face, and at first he did not understand. Thinking about it, he came to the realization that he did not see this man as a superior. Alant was not even sure if he saw the man as an equal. “And good morn to you, Witlan.” A momentary look of shock passed over Singe’s features when he realized he had not been addressed with any honorific. This made Alant smile all the more. “I hope you are well?”
    The Sier cleared his throat and adjusted his robes. “Aye. Aye, I am well. And you?”
    Movement past the Sier caught Alant’s eye and he noticed two Hobbswords standing a few paces away. Anger welled up in him at the thought of once again being forced into something, and he frowned at them. “I have been better. Or, mayhaps it is closer to the truth to say that I have never felt so good. I am undecided.” Returning his attention to his plate, he forked a slice of ham and shoveled it into his mouth while keeping an eye on the Hobbswords.
    Shifting his feet, Sier Singe cleared his throat once more. “Aye. Well. I…I am glad to hear that.” He placed a hand upon Alant’s shoulder. “Now, son. The Grand Master wants to see you. There are a great many questions surrounding you. Not the least of which is how you came to be here so soon after word arrived from Mocley that you had died in Hath’oolan.”
    The anger that Alant felt roared into an inferno at the man’s touch. Memories of two Gralets marching him down the hall at the behest of their master—marching him to his doom—fueled this fire. He would never again be someone’s puppet! Letting the Sight of the Essence fall upon him, he cut his eyes at Singe. “Remove. Your. Hand.” Each word was said individually through clenched teeth.
    And remove it, the Sier did. Jerked it away would be a more precise description. The man stumbled back, a look of outright terror filling him, and he nearly fell over his own robes in his haste to distance himself from Alant. A gasp escaped one of the Hobbswords—the younger of the two, Alant assumed, since the man recoiled away toward the door. The older one stepped forward, drawing his sword.
    Alant did not react, or at least he did not think of reacting. However, as he leapt to his feet, a thin, blue-white arc of lightning leapt from his hand and struck the sword of the Shaper’s Guard. The lightning did not hold a lot of energy—Alant had only a moment to pull any in—still, it was enough to cause the man to yelp out in pain, his sword clanging as it hit the wooden floor.
    There was a moment of silence before the younger Hobbsword screamed at the top of his lungs and ran out the main door. This was followed by the screams of the young girls behind Alant—though their screams seemed very similar to that of the young Hobbsword. The clatter of feet and the door to the kitchen banging open quickly followed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw girls pushing and shoving each other in their haste to vacate the room.
    He jabbed a finger at the remaining Hobbsword when the man made a move to retrieve his blade. “You will leave that where it is!” The man froze. Turning back to Singe, Alant let the Sight fall from him, though he knew his eyes would still glow for several moments. “I do not think I wish to speak with the Grand Master at this time. Or any Shaper. Now, go!”
    “What…What has happened to you?” Fear lay thick on the Sier’s tongue. “How did you—”
    “I said, GO!”
    Neither man needed anymore encouragement. The Hobbsword waited just long enough at the door to allow the Sier to catch him up. Then both men were gone. A shuddering breath escaped Alant’s lungs and his shoulders drooped.
    “That is not the manners I taught my boys.”
    His mother’s voice made Alant flinch. It held the