Storms of Destiny Read Online Free PDF

head back and forth, seeking its prey. As that huge, barely seen head moved toward him, Jezzil thrust hard with his sword, and the blade slid deep into the creature’s eye.
    The water exploded in a froth of blood and bubbles. Jezzil almost lost his sword as the creature thrashed violently. He pulled his arm back, felt his sword slide free.
    He clawed his way up, up, toward air and sanity, his fingers still gripping the hilt. His arm burned with the effort of keeping his fingers tight. He was barely conscious when his head finally broke water.
    He was sobbing for breath as he paddled clumsily along, and the water that washed his face tasted now of blood. Finally his questing hand encountered the edge of the moat.
    He grabbed it, hung there, trying to breathe. Even under the threat of another moat inhabitant finding him, it took Jezzil nearly five minutes to regain enough strength to hoist himself and his sword up and over the low stone wall.
    He lay on the ground for a while, hearing the roar of the fire, a few scattered shouts and screams, then rolled over and got to his feet. Falar … He allowed himself to think only of his horse. She was waiting for him. He longed for the silken feel of her coat, for her warm, living breath. Falar.
    Jezzil glanced back only once as he staggered away from the fortress. The entire place was aflame, though most of the stone walls were still standing.
    When the Chonao reached the horses, he went from animal to animal, removing their saddles and bridles and speaking the Word of Release that would free them to behave as horses once more, and not as Chonao war-mounts.
    As he spoke the Word, over and over again, each horse snorted, then ambled away toward the field in search of grass.
    Jezzil’s hands were numb as he tightened Falar’s girth. He was further disgraced to find that he hadn’t the strength to mount Chonao-style, by swinging up onto Falar in one fluid motion. He was forced to use the stirrup, like a farmer or a tradesman.
    As he rode out of the clearing, he heard the distant rumble of thunder, like an echo of the turmoil in his spirit. He had no idea where he was going or what he would do when he got there. He was Chonao, and he had left his brothers-in-arms. He was Chonao, and he had run from a battle. He was Chonao, and his honor was gone. He was Chonao, and his life was over.
    Jezzil touched Falar’s neck with the reins, and she headed south. The last of his strength flowed from him like water, like lifeblood, and he slumped over his horse’s neck and began to weep.

Thia
    Night gathered around the two stepped pyramids like the folds of demon wings, enclosing them in darkness and dank winter chill. High above the ground, deep within that ancient pile of stone, cold air gusted through a narrow window slit, abruptly extinguishing the flame of a single, guttering candle. Thia, Novice Priestess of Boq’urak, blinked and shivered in the sudden gloom. Dark already? How could it be so late? I must hurry and finish …
    She fumbled as she relit the candle; her fingers were cramped with cold. Thia spared a moment to rub and flex them as she quickly read back over the page she had been copying and illuminating.
    The sacred text told of the travels of Blessed Incarnate Balaj, recounting his sojurn among the infidels of the southern regions and of his first days in the northern reaches of Galrai, before Amaran had taken it over and re-named it Amavav. Balaj, dead for nearly a hundred-year, had been an educated man, as well as a lively and astute observer. His tales of his travels were fascinating to read— and, unlike most of the novice scriptorians, Thia could read.
    A swift glance at the water clock on the wall made her gasp sharply. Only a quarter-span till dinner? I’ll have to run or I’ll be late—and I daren’t risk another penance!
    Novice priestesses who garnered too many penances did not remain long at the twin ziggurats in the capital city of Verang … there was no