Free The Fate of Falling Stars by Unknown Page A

to great things someday.
    The satrap, hungering for war with the north, encouraged the more militant devotees of her holy order to fits of zealotry and righteousness. I had naturally assumed Shaba one of these at first, for she held her chin high and spoke of Sarenrae’s great divinity. However, she armored herself with only her faith, a homespun robe, and a scimitar she strapped to her belt but never drew.
    Shaba ceased her prayer and fixed me with a penetrating look.
    “This is the place. Fate and our astrologer have led us true.”
    Najh laughed, the short bark of a jackal.
    “Indeed, and I suppose my efforts leading us through the desert were inconsequential?”
    Shaba inclined her head and lifted one knotted brow.
    “You and your men have my utmost thanks as well, Captain Najh.”
    The corners of Najh’s mount twitched in estimation of the value of Shaba’s gratitude. I had seen similar expressions on my own Aunt Jaffira’s face when receiving poor bids for her camels. If Shaba noticed, she made no remark, but stood and prepared to remount.
    “You think it’s fate that brought us here, Sister Shaba?” I asked. “In truth, I supposed my destiny might lead me to a less wretched spot.”
    Every scholar is a thief at heart.
    “Fate and destiny aren’t the same, astrologer. I thought you of all people might understand that.”
    “So fate is living out your days in the desert with a few crazy followers, and destiny is to be well-remembered for it?” I laughed, but Shaba found no humor in my jibe.
    “Azzah was a devoted servant of the Dawnflower,” Shaba said, “and his final words will heal the rift in my church. This is his destiny. And it’s also mine.”
    As if in mockery, a camel suddenly brayed, and the other beasts stamped in sympathetic restlessness, crunching the gravel of the narrow defile. The wind died, and in the odd stillness my heart thrashed in my chest. Something was wrong.
    Where there had been none a moment ago, a cloud moved across the sun, plunging us into shadow. One of the soldiers cried out as a rush of hot air returned, blasting down the gully counter to the previous wind. In the premature night, there was the whooshing of a great bellows. Immense pinions fretted the sky, and a carrion-stench fouler than the backside of a camel clawed at my throat. The camels groaned in terror even as the sun returned, and the soldiers struggled to control them. Only Shaba’s beast remained placid.
    A great shriek ripped open the cobalt sky, forcing our hands to our ears. One of Najh’s soldiers lost the battle with his mount, and the creature raced from the defile, bleating in terror, dragging the poor man behind. Shaba moved with phenomenal speed, hurtling into the open after the fleeing beast.
    “No!” I shouted, knowing the death that wheeled through the vault of the sky. It was the great terror of the desert, a bird of prey that dined on elephants and camels as well as unlucky travelers and foolish seekers.
    The roc.
    Fright numbed my good sense, and I raced after Shaba, though my legs didn’t carry me so fast up the scree. Najh, his eyes wide with surprise, made no move to follow even though it was his man in peril. From the corner of my eye, I witnessed a curious gleam in the captain’s eye and doubted it was from tears shed for his soldier.
    I slid down the other side of the scree to the heat-blasted stones of the plain. The bleating camel and its doomed rider had already traversed a hundred paces in the opposite direction from the tower, but was still well within view of the vast black bird that rushed from the east like a hungry cloud. The cruciform spread of its ink-black feathers cut a hole in the vault of the sky. The copper flash of its hooked beak like the prow of a merchant ship dazzled my eyes. Shaba ran ahead of me, the ragged edge of her anchorite’s robe dragged the ground and cast small dust devils in her wake.
    I cursed myself as a fool for following. What was it to me if