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among sttangers. Chun was no stranger to him. Raidon flexed his empty hands, hidden as they were in his long sleeves.
    Had he known he would one day wield the family sword, perhaps Raidon would have spent less of his life training in the Xiang monastery, achieving mastery of his mind and body. Of course, sword play was one aspect of the training he received in Xiang; no monk of the temple could leave its bounds until he or she demonstrated facility with traditional weapons. But Raidon’s best talents did not require such mundane implements as sharpened steel. His body was weapon enough.
    “Your presence upsets my bird,” said Chun in a bored voice. A dangerous voice.
    “And your presence sours tea across Thesk,” replied Raidon, his voice as calm as if he’d commented on the chance for rain.
    The two men on either side of Chun jumped to their feet. The bird screamed. So did the painted woman.
    Raidon observed the scene as if he stood apatt from it. From their sitting positions in relation to each other and the table, Chun and his thugs had only a limited number of actions they might effectively take. Raidon knew what they were, and was prepared.
    One thug knocked the table as he rose, spilling tea. The other’s hand went to his dirk. Raidon backhanded the second man with his right fist as the thug’s hand cleared his scabbard, sending the dirk whirling. Raidon followed with a hook from his left elbow, perfectly sticking the side of the thug’s head. As the thug slumped, the monk slipped around the table, taking the fallen man’s vacated position. This put Raidon out of reach of the final thug and next to Chun.
    Chun drew his sword and expertly grasped its deadly
    length. His two-handed grip on the wrapped hilt, called the tsuka, bespoke training. The blade was an unwavering diagonal line.
    “Raidon Kane,” said Chun.
    Raidon paused, nonplussed. Chun recognized him? Perhaps the murderer’s presence wasn’t the coincidence Raidon imagined.
    “You have named me.”
    “Your petition to the Nine Golden Swords is approved,” said Chun. “I’ve been dispatched to tell you.” The temaining thug to Chun’s right edged around the table so only empty space separated him from Raidon.
    Chun continued. “Your first task is a simple one.” He caught Raidon’s eyes with his own. “You are to journey to the Temple of Yarom here in Telflamm, where blasphemers claim a soul’s salvation lies beyond life, even beyond the gods we all revere. Raidon, you are to deliver them to that final day. Today. See to it these fools who deride the gods are pushed through death’s door. Since they doubt the gods’ divinity, let them pass into darkness. As they’ve lived in ignorance, so shall they die. By your hand.”
    Raidon had never heard of the Temple of Yarom before. He shook his head and said, “I will not kill strangers in cold blood in the very halls of their temple, no matter their dogma.”
    “No?” Chun still sounded bored. “I’m afraid you’ve come too far to back out now. You know us. We know you. You must be brought in all the way, ot…” Chun shrugged.
    “I must restore the honor of my family.”
    “Honor is what you seek? I give you this”—Chun swirled the tip of the daito—”and your family’s honor is restored, is that it?”
    Raidon’s earlier guess was on the mark. Chun wasn’t sipping tea in the monk’s favored tea house by chance.
    “Our honor is too besmirched for such easy mending.”
    “I don’t know about your family, but all I see before me is a baying mongrel dog,” Chun noted.
    A strand of Raidon’s carefully woven serenity slipped free, but he held his focus. Despite his control, heat flushed his cheeks.
    Chun continued. “I saw your name as a petitioner. I’ve watched you since then. I wondered if you were merely a revenge-minded idiot. Prove me wrong, and you get to live. Prove me right, and join your father. He made excellent pig fodder, and I guess you will, too.”
    Fury