Blood Tempered: Book 1 of the Sword Monk Saga

Blood Tempered: Part 3

Dawn the next day found him riding the steep, scree-littered trail that would lead him over the rough, ancient Timor Hills, out of the Empire and down near the edge of Roumney proper. Beyond was Wyeth, his home, the land of his birth. Beyond was death and waste, and a woman who was most likely suffering will-crushing indignities. If she was still alive.

It was a two day journey on foot across the hills, and half that mounted. The last time he had traveled it was when he'd first come to the monastery eight years before, sick in body and spirit, propped up only by hate and the desire for revenge. Olvera rode with him, nattering on in his deep, booming voice about inconsequentials. Caida listened with half an ear as he tried to plot a course of action.

The previous night Olvera, Caida and the abbot had poured over maps of the region, Olvera pointing out the spot where the ambush had taken place and reciting the few slender facts that had been gleaned by scouts. The trap had been laid not three miles from the site of Caida's vanished home. Could it be the same band of brigands? How likely was that, after eight years? Caida yearned to find out, and feared to.

"They attacked at night and on horse, perhaps three hundred of them," Olvera had explained. "Burned the encampment to the ground. They left no survivors except, the Axumite willing, the Lady Anya. Tracks spread out in all directions, so we assume they had a predetermined rendezvous. We simply didn't have enough men or time to determine just where they went. Scouts are still in the area, though; once we rendezvous with them we might have a better idea of what we face.

"We assume they kept the lady Anya alive since her body was not found among the others, and a personal effect of hers, a ring, was found in the troop commander's mouth. We assume it was a message."

"What message?" asked Caida.

"Something to the effect of 'we've got your noblewoman,' I should think."

"Caida," said the abbot, "warlord after warlord has claimed that region in the absence of true rule. There's no telling what band took her, and events will not let us wait for ransom to be demanded. Find her and bring her out. Do it with stealth if it can be done so. The tenets teach us the power of one. They do not say we must slaughter armies to reach our goals."

"I understand, Lord Abbot."

"I hope you do."

"Well," said Olvera, stretching, "I could do with a glass of wine and a soft bed. Morning will be here sooner than I would like."

Caida glanced at the abbot, who smiled almost imperceptibly.

"Forgive me, Sier Olvera, but alcohol dulls the senses, and even if there were anything better than a straw-filled pallet to be found in the monastery, we would not see it tonight."

"You don't mean to set out this night?" Olvera wore a horrified expression.

"Andos teaches that hesitation is fatal once a course of action has been determined."

"I'm not talking about hesitation, I'm talking about sleep!"

"Time is of the essence," said Caida. "The lady Anya does not sleep comfortably, I'm certain. Nor should we."

"Yes, well. I suppose I should saddle my horse, then." With that Olvera had left the room, muttering about religious fanaticism under his breath. Caida stood and bowed to the abbot, but before he could turn to leave the older man had placed a hand on Caida's shoulder.

"I have taken great pride in what you've accomplished here, Caida. I do not speak solely of your swordsmanship."

"Thank you, Lord Abbot."