Free Dune: The Machine Crusade by Brian Herbert, Kevin J. Anderson Page A

woman could see. “A wormrider carries a dagger like this, fashioned from the sacred tooth of Shai-Hulud.”
    Marha stared in amazement, her eyes sparkling. “Ah, what I could accomplish with a fine weapon like that!”
    Jafar laughed. “Many people would like to have one of these, but you must earn it.”
    “Tell me what to do.”
    Hearing a steady drumbeat from the expansive desert outside, Selim turned to the cave window. “Before you make such an impetuous decision, girl, watch and see what lies in store for you here.”
    “My name is Marha. I am no longer a girl.”
    To young villagers across Arrakis, Selim was a glamorous figure, a daredevil hero. Many tried to imitate him and become wormriders themselves, though he attempted to discourage them, warning them of the danger of a renegade’s life. Having received a true vision from Buddallah, Selim had no choice in the matter for himself. But they did.
    Regardless of his advice, starry-eyed candidates rarely listened. They set out with big dreams and overconfidence, which usually proved to be their downfall. But those who survived learned the greatest lesson of their lives.
    Out on the dunes, the drumbeats echoed. Almost all of the observers had left the sand, returning to the shelter of the rocky cliffs. A solitary man, Biondi, sat at the crest of a dune, the place he had selected for his testing. He should have had everything he needed: The young man would be wearing one of the new distilling suits that Selim and his followers had developed for protection and survival during times when they must be abroad in the open desert. With Biondi were staffs and hooks, and a rope between his knees. He pounded on a single drum, sending a loud, insistent summons.
    Marha stepped forward to stand next to Selim, as if unable to believe she now found herself beside the man who was the basis of so many desert myths. “Will a worm come? Will he ride it?”
    “We shall see if he succeeds,” Selim said. “But Shai-Hulud will come. He always does.”
    Selim saw the wormsign first and pointed it out to the young woman. After more than a quarter century, he no longer counted how many times he had summoned a sandworm and climbed its rough rings in order to guide the creature wherever he wished to go.
    Biondi had ridden just twice before, each time accompanied by a master rider who did all the work for him. The youngster had performed adequately, but still had a great deal to learn. Another month of training would have benefited him immensely.
    Selim hoped he would not lose another follower… but either way, Biondi’s fate was in his own hands.
    The novice pounded his drum much longer than necessary. He did not become aware of the approach of the worm until he looked to the east and saw shimmering waves trembling through the sands. Then he grabbed his equipment and scrambled to his feet, accidentally kicking over the drum so that it rolled and bounced down the face of the dune.
    At the base of the sand formation, the drum struck a rock and sent out another reverberating sound. The oncoming worm deviated slightly, and Biondi reeled to adjust his position at the last moment. The sandworm came up unexpectedly, showering dust, flattening dunes.
    Selim marveled at the majestic sight of it. “Shai-Hulud,” he whispered reverently.
    A puny figure in the face of the onrushing behemoth, Biondi held his hooks and staff, muscles coiled.
    In instinctive fear Marha flinched, but Selim clasped her shoulder, forcing her to watch.
    At the last moment, Biondi lost his nerve. Instead of standing his ground, holding the spreading staff and the hook, he turned to flee. But no man could outrun Shai-Hulud in the desert.
    The worm scooped up its victim along with a mouthful of sand and powdery dust. Selim could hardly see the tiny human form as it vanished down the endless gullet.
    Transfixed, Marha stared. Jafar shook his head, lowering his chin in sad disappointment.
    Selim nodded like a wise man much