Part 23 (2/2)

Orange flames rolled through the air like a Caladan hurricane, stripping towering ferns and leathery trees to the bare bones of branches in an instant. The fuel vapor was consumed swiftly, and Paul's body s.h.i.+eld protected him from the brief but devastating thermal shock wave, but the flashfire was enough to mow down most of the unprotected primitives, leaving them charred and flattened. The merest breath of the focused heat was enough to burn lungs to ash. Some survivors gasped, clutching their chests and throats, trying to inhale, but only smoke came from their mouths.

Most of the beautiful tapestries woven by the Sisters in Isolation had been crisped in the thermal bombardment, smoking as they curled. One of the primitives, her skin blackened, had wrapped herself in a tapestry to smother the fire.

Three dark-uniformed men appeared riding a suspensor platform above the canopy, hunting for their quarry. No longer stealthy killers, the a.s.sa.s.sins screeched as they fired projectiles from their platform. ”For House Moritani!” They shot at Paul and Duncan, whose s.h.i.+elds deflected the projectiles. At the moment, the a.s.sa.s.sins didn't seem to care about any specific quarry.

Those primitives not killed by the incendiary bomb had begun to tally, grabbing weapons. Uns.h.i.+elded, they ran toward the three attackers - and were gunned down, their bodies ripped apart by projectiles.

Paul was not some pampered princeling who needed to be guarded every moment. He noted a flicker of indecision on Duncan's face, which Paul easily interpreted. The Swordmaster was torn between two methods of keeping the young man safe - fight or escape. Paul made the choice for him. Only three a.s.sa.s.sins remained. ”We've got to fight, Duncan. No more running. We're safer if we stop them.”

With a bitter quirk of a smile, he said, ”As you command, young Master.”

Shouting to each other in Atreides battle-language, the pair raced forward. Then, with a sword thrust so ferocious it went through the torso and out the back, Duncan dispatched the a.s.sa.s.sin who had called out in support of his Viscount.

Paul had no time to admire the kill because a second a.s.sa.s.sin tossed aside his depleted projectile weapon and retrieved a hooked dagger reminiscent of a fisherman's gutting knife. Facing him, Paul stood in the correct stance, holding his own dagger and turning his s.h.i.+eld to meet the hooked blade.

The killer wore a baggy, flexible hooded suit that encased his entire body. When Paul slashed with the dagger, he easily cut through the oily gray cloth. This wasn't body armor, but a thermal suit. The three a.s.sa.s.sin-trackers must have expected to wade into an inferno. They probably had more incendiary bombs in their a.r.s.enal on the hovering platform.

Paul parried the barbed knife with his own, turned about, and thrust in, hoping to score a second slash, but the a.s.sa.s.sin fought with greater verve now that he had realized that this was no helpless boy.

With his entire focus on the combat at hand, Paul couldn't watch Duncan. The universe had collapsed to nothing more than himself and his opponent. He felt no reluctance about killing this enemy. The ma.s.sacre and the subsequent a.s.sa.s.sination attempts had left no room for doubt, and he would not hesitate if the opportunity presented itself. He had trained well for this.

Seeing Paul struggling, Duncan shoved his own adversary aside by using his s.h.i.+eld to inflict a blow that sent the foe staggering. He spun and hamstrung Paul's rival with a single slash of the notched sword. The man let out a brief gasp as he fell. Duncan flattened him with a kick and killed him with a thrust of the point, before turning to confront the remaining a.s.sa.s.sin.

These three hunters were ill prepared for a concerted resistance. Expecting the incendiary bomb to do their work for them, they had come here merely to recover bodies.

Seeing he was alone, the remaining killer produced a second dagger and leaped toward Duncan with a knife in each hand, yelling. In a blur of steel, Duncan thrust the Old Duke's blade through the man's abdomen. The a.s.sa.s.sin didn't even try to evade the sword.

Thinking the fight was over, Paul resheathed his own dagger.

But the Moritani a.s.sa.s.sin, whether pumped up on a stimulant or on adrenaline and bloodl.u.s.t, looked down at the long blade piercing his stomach - and kept coming, pressing himself forward as if the sword didn't exist. He raised his two daggers as if they were lead weights and worked his way in through Duncan's s.h.i.+eld.

Duncan struggled with his trapped weapon, twisting to withdraw it, but the man was too close. The sword was caught in the man's rib cage, and Duncan wrenched the hilt in a desperate gesture. The s.h.i.+eld generator flickered off.

Paul drew his dagger again, bounded toward Duncan.

The impaled a.s.sa.s.sin grimaced and lurched forward along the sword blade, bending it. Paul couldn't get there fast enough.

But like an unintelligible banshee, the silver-haired headwoman rose up behind the a.s.sa.s.sin and swung her fang-inset club. The blow against the back of the man's skull sounded like the splitting of an overripe paradan melon.

DUNCAN AND PAUL used their field medical packs to help the surviving primitives, but even so, nearly three-quarters of the tribe had been wiped out by the flaming shock wave and projectile fire.

Paul looked around, sickened and unutterably exhausted. ”If we were the targets, Duncan, why did they need to kill so many of these people?”

”Their attack shows desperation. I would speculate that these three were the last of those hunting us, but we can't be certain of that.”

”So we just keep hiding?”

”The best alternative, I'd say.”

Like the previous group, the a.s.sa.s.sins' bodies carried no obvious identification. Paul's father, as well as Gurney and Archduke Armand, would soon be taking their military forces to Grumman for a full-scale attack - while he and Duncan were skulking about in the jungle.

When Paul spoke next, he used the powers of command that his father had taught him as Duke and his mother had shown him through Bene Gesserit exercises. ”Duncan, we will return to Castle Caladan. Hiding hasn't kept me any safer than if I'd remained with my father. I am the heir of House Atreides, and we need to be part of this. I will not turn my back in a fight... or a war.”

Duncan was alarmed. ”I cannot guarantee your safety yet, young Master, and these repeated attacks prove there is continuing danger.”

”There is danger everywhere, Duncan.” Though he was not a large or muscular boy, Paul felt like a full-grown Duke. The last week had fundamentally changed him. ”You saw it yourself - I am not protected or sheltered by staying here on Caladan. Even with our best efforts to hide in the most isolated of places, the a.s.sa.s.sins keep coming after me. And think of all those who have died because of us - these tribesmen, the Sisters in Isolation, Swain Goire. What is the point in further hiding? I would rather stand with my father.”

Paul saw Duncan wrestling with this decision. He could tell what the man wanted wanted to do; he just had to convince him it was an acceptable decision. ”Duncan, look always to the course of honor. House Atreides must fight together. Can you think of a better way to prepare me for what lies ahead?” to do; he just had to convince him it was an acceptable decision. ”Duncan, look always to the course of honor. House Atreides must fight together. Can you think of a better way to prepare me for what lies ahead?”

Finally, the Swordmaster wiped a hand through his curly black hair. ”I would rather be on the battlefield at Grumman, no doubt about it. Our armies can protect you almost as well as I can.”

Paul smiled and nodded toward the notched and bent blade that had once belonged to the Old Duke. ”Besides, Duncan, you need a new sword.”

PART V Emperor Muad'Dib 10,198 AG

Some leaders create great works in order to be remembered; others need to destroy so that they can make their mark on history. But I - I will do both.

-from Conversations with Muad'Dib Conversations with Muad'Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN by the PRINCESS IRULAN

Whitmore Bludd - architect and Swordmaster - stood admiring the detailed projection model, as if he himself couldn't believe what he had accomplished. He smiled at Paul. ”Your magnificent citadel will never be completed, my Lord, and that is by design. Your followers will see the palace as a symbol that your your work will never be finished.” With a limber movement of his arms, he cracked his knuckles. ”Nevertheless, I proudly announce that I am satisfied with the portion I call Phase One.” work will never be finished.” With a limber movement of his arms, he cracked his knuckles. ”Nevertheless, I proudly announce that I am satisfied with the portion I call Phase One.”

On the solido hologram that covered a conference-room table, the main part of the immense fortress, already as large as a small city and centered on the old Arrakeen Residency, looked solid and tangible; semitransparent extensions marked new structures that Bludd still wished to build. He had proposed additions that would be the size of districts, towers so high that they would experience their own weather patterns, and labyrinthine corridors that (some quipped) would require a Guild Navigator to explore.

Paul frowned skeptically. ”Master Bludd, the cost of constructing such a thing would bankrupt CHOAM. Do you think the financial resources of my Empire are infinite?”

The Swordmaster smiled at him again. ”Why yes, my Lord, I do. I present this model not to ask for more money or workers, but to suggest a spectacular celebration, a... grand opening of sorts.” He activated the holo-controls, and all of his proposed additions dissolved, leaving only the actual structure. ”Think of it as a gala celebration. Representatives from every world conquered in your Jihad will come here to demonstrate their obedience.”

Chani and Korba were both in the room; their brows furrowed as they tried to digest the foppish man's proposal and its implications. Alia sat at the end of the table, and the holographic image dwarfed her small body. ”I think you merely wish to show off your work, Swordmaster,” she said.

Bludd seemed embarra.s.sed. ”As always, child, you have a talent for cutting to the heart of the matter.” He spread his hands in a deprecating gesture. ”Naturally, I am proud of my work. Can you think of a better way to cement my place in history? Long after I am gone, I would like to be remembered in the company not just of my old friends Rivvy Dinari and Duncan Idaho, but also my famous ancestor, Porce Bludd, maybe even Jool Noret, the founder of the Ginaz School.”

Korba said in a low voice, ”Security will be extremely difficult with all those planetary governors and Landsraad representatives here. Many of them despise you, Usul.”

Paul wished Stilgar could have been here, but the naib was leading a force of Fremen, chasing down another group of Thorvald's persistent followers. Paul frowned at Korba. ”Do you say that protecting me is not possible in such a situation?”

Now Korba seemed offended. ”Of course not, Usul.”

Bludd asked, ”With your prescience, could you not identify and eliminate any danger?”

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