Mortals & Deities by Maxwell Alexander Drake Page A

might be dangerous.” Rohann cut his eyes to Timms once more. “Still, I think Master Klain here is more than enough to ensure your safety.” Reaching out, he slapped a hand upon Klain’s shoulder.
    Though he had been free and in the service of the Human for some time now, Klain still had to repress the urge to strike out at the man for the overt gesture. He fought to maintain his calm and hoped the other man did not notice.
    At least, Master Vimith no longer cringes when I growl.
    Klain tried hard not to repeat the incident with his new Master that had happened on the first day they met. Fitting in with Humans—with how small and fragile they were, not to mention their beliefs that they were neither of those things—had been the hardest task Klain faced since his release from the gladiator pits. Still, his time at the Vimith Villa had been enjoyable. His charge, Charver Vimith, had fallen in line and rarely gave him any bother.
    Well, nothing more than a shallow growl cannot fix.
    Losing his smile, Rohann turned back to Satner Timms. “And as for you. You signed on to serve as the head of my bodyguard. Both here at my villa and when I travel.”
    “Travel to other cities for business, aye! Not traipsing through foul jungles a hundred leagues from nowhere!” The scorn in Timms’ voice sounded a hair less than offensive. Only a hair.
    Anger burned hot in Master Vimith’s eyes. “If you feel you should seek employment elsewhere, you have my leave.” Brushing past the man, Rohann stalked from the sitting room.
    A deafening silence fell upon the room. After a long moment’s pause, Timms looked back at Klain. If the man was about to say anything, he kept it to himself. Turning, Satner left the room, closing the door behind him.
    “What was that all about?” Charver’s squeak ripped Klain from his somber glare at the door.
    “Of that, I am not sure. I have not found Timms to be a coward. There is more to it, I would gather.” Waving a hand over the checkered board, Klain grunted. “Let us play your Barca, shall we?”
    The boy-cub’s grin smothered his worried expression, and Klain bent himself to the task of playing the game.
    Though, I need to have words with Timms. Not knowing the more to this situation would be unwise.

Striding through the pristine white corridors of the Temple, Elith felt as if something nestled in the back of her skull. A lump? Reaching a hand to the base of her ponytail, she rubbed her neck. Her fingers found nothing, of course. Whatever the Revered Father had done to her, the feel of a bulge was no more than her imagination. Still, she could not shake the sensation that something nestled there.
    She passed two slaves as she walked the Back Hall, their white robes pristine in the sunlight of the early morn radiating in through the large, arched windows that ran down the left side of the hall. Each bowed low, bending at the waist so their upper bodies came parallel with the marble floor, as was proper. She spared them little notice. Instead, she let her gaze wander out the windows as she continued to the High Priest’s private chambers.
    For the first time in a long while, she took in the beauty they offered. A grassy expanse ran down to a rocky shoreline. White waves crashed over boulders, throwing a spray of mist high into the air. The endless waters of the Great Ocean raced the vast blueness of the sky off into the distant horizon. Seabirds, white as her own hair, danced on the wind and dove into the water in search of a meal. With the windows thrown open, the salty breeze wafted through the hall, invigorating her. The islands of Komar, and more precisely the Temple of the Priests of Fatint, had been her home her entire life. The sadness of leaving threatened to overwhelm the excitement of her quest. This struck her as odd. Why should she care whether she stayed or left?
    A shovel does not take notice if it is used on one side of the road or the other.
    She remembered when these