Blood Tempered: Book 1 of the Sword Monk Saga

Blood Tempered: Part 2

When Caida stepped into his cell to change his sodden, sweat-stained robes for prayer, brother Kordus was waiting for him.

"Good day, brother," said Caida, slightly perturbed. Kordus was the Abbot's secretary; an ancient, shriveled man with piercing blue eyes glinting beneath bushy white brows. Caida had never spoken to him directly in all the years he'd been at the abbey. Kordus rarely ventured outside the abbot's quarters except for prayer and meals, and never, as far as Caida knew, had he visited a brother's cell. Caida began to hang his sword on the pegs above his mat, but was interrupted by Kordus.

"The abbot requests your presence, Caida. Follow me, and bring your sword."

"Certainly, brother. Have I done something wrong?" Would he be stripped of his sword, driven out of the order? Caida could think of no other reason why the abbot would want to see him while he wore steel, nor could he fathom what he might have done to deserve such punishment.

"Not that I know of, Caida. But it is not your place to question the orders of the abbot, nor is it mine. Remember your vows."

Protect. Obey. Pray. The core of Andos's teachings. Caida nodded and strapped his great-sword on his back again. Then he followed Kordus's slow progress through deserted hallways and the empty refectory to the stairs that led to the abbot's quarters. There Kordus paused.

"Which do you value more, brother Caida—the martial training you've received here, or the spiritual?"

"The spiritual, of course." Though Caida had to admit, it had not always been so.

Kordus shook his head. "We shall see, young man. We shall see. Go on ahead. The abbot waits, and I am not swift on stairs."

Caida nodded and made his way up the stone steps.

When Caida knocked on the abbot's door, he was greeted by the man himself. The abbot was a tall, slender, middle aged man whose gentle eyes were at odds with the sinister cast given to his countenance by the deep, puckered scar that ran from temple to jaw down the right side of his face, narrowly missing his eye socket. He was a battle-hardened veteran, and had served two emperors personally.

Caida dropped to one knee there in the hallway, a position made awkward by the length of his sheathed great-sword. He bowed his head and raised his hands palm up.

"Rise, brother Caida. I am sorry to call you away from namah, but there are matters to be discussed."

"I serve and obey, Lord Abbot."

"Come into the study, and take a seat." The abbot led him into a stark room lined with shelves, and sat down behind a simple, unadorned desk covered with neat stacks of parchment and papyrus scrolls. Caida took a seat on the polished wooden bench before the desk, worry and curiosity eating at him.

"Do you know who it was you sparred with today?" the abbot asked.

"An Ardesh horse warrior, Lord Abbot. He did not give his name."

"Do you not think it curious that a steppe warrior would come all this way just to test the metal of the order?"

Caida shrugged, unconsciously. "We have many who come to do just that, Lord Abbot, from many parts of the world. It has always been so. I did not question.... Should I have?"

"It is always prudent to question an adversary's motives, though such questions often go unanswered. But in this case, I must admit to a degree of slyness. The man you sparred with today was summoned here to test your skills, Caida. He is one of the most successful bandit chiefs within a hundred leagues. His name is Winst Temor."