Paul of Dune

that in your book?”

“I wrote the story you told me. As I interpreted it, of course.”

He gestured toward the crowd. “And here is more of the tale.”

As a special honor, Paul had already given instructions to Kaleff and Orlop, and at his signal they trotted up the stairs, streaming the long banners of his fighting forces: green-and-white, green-and-black. Paul stared out at the sea of faces as the shouts rose to a deafening tumult, then diminished to an anticipatory silence.

“This is Kaitain, and I am the Emperor.” He clasped Irulan’s hand, and she stared stonily ahead. They both knew the reason she had to be there. “But I am much more than the successor to the Padishah Emperor, Shaddam Corrino IV. I am Muad’Dib, and I am unlike any force the galaxy has ever seen.”

Behind them, fire began to catch hold inside the Imperial Palace. Pursuant to his orders, loyal fighters had set blazes at dozens of flashpoints inside the great structure. He had seen this in his visions, and had fought against it, but he had also seen the obligation, the powerful tool of the symbolism here. These fires, at least, would burn out quickly.

Most of the noble Houses had no love for Shaddam and his excesses. Now they would be terrified of Paul- Muad’Dib. The sacking of Kaitain should be enough to shock the rest of the Landsraad into submission, to stop the need for the Jihad before it spread further. He sighed, because his terrifying visions had told him that nothing could stop the full multi-planet iteration of the fanatical war that he had set in motion. He could only make a limited number of choices that would prove most beneficial in the long, long run.

Oh, the immensity of the burden on his shoulders! Only he could see through the curtains of bloodshed, pain, and sorrow. How humanity would hate him… but at least they would survive to hate him.

The crowds watched in awe as flames began to consume the giant Palace. The conflagration grew in force and brilliance, so that Paul stood looking on from the edge of an inferno.

Beside him, Irulan trembled. “I shall never forgive you for this, Paul Atreides. The Corrinos will never forgive you.” She said more, but her words were drowned out by the background roar of the crowd and the crackling of the growing fire.

He leaned close and said with great sorrow, “I did not ask for anyone’s forgiveness.” Then Muad’Dib turned to the crowd again and shouted as the fire grew more intense. “This Palace was a symbol of the old regime. Like everything else about the decadent old Imperium, it must be swept aside. Kaitain is no longer the capital. Dune is our capital now. And in Arrakeen I command that a new Palace be built, one to dwarf the grandest works of all previous rulers.”

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the legacy of Shaddam IV going up in fire and smoke. The construction of his own new palace would require great sacrifices, an unparalleled workforce, and unimaginable wealth.

Even so, he had no doubt whatsoever that his grand vision would be accomplished.

7

There are rules, but people invariably find ways of getting around them. So it is with laws. A true leader must understand such things and be prepared to take advantage of each situation.

—EMPEROR ELROOD IX, Ruminations on Success

Shaddam Corrino glared at the face that looked back at him from the gold-framed mirror, noting the clear signs of age beyond his actual years. His father, the vulturish Elrood IX, had been 157 years old when Shaddam and Fenring had finally poisoned him. I am less than half that old!

Age implied weakness. Only a few years ago, there might have been some gray hairs mixed with the red, though not enough for him to notice. But since his exile to this dismal world, the gray had become much more prominent. Perhaps it was caused by some taint in the air or water. He had considered coloring his hair, but could not decide whether that would make him appear stronger, or merely vain.

Back when he was the Padishah Emperor, Shaddam had prided himself on his youthful appearance and energy; he’d had many court concubines and several disappointing wives since the death of Anirul. But, sadly, all of that was gone, and he felt as if most of the life had been sucked out of him. Now, simply seeing the lines on his face made him feel tired. Even melange could not prolong his life forever, perhaps not even long enough for him to regain the Lion Throne. Nevertheless, four of his daughters had accompanied him into exile, and they would bear grandchildren for him, even if Irulan did not. One way or another, the Corrino line would endure.

An Atreides upstart dares to call himself Emperor!

He feared that Irulan had become one of them, though he could not be certain of her role. Was she an insider who could help him, or a willing participant who had betrayed her father? Was she a hostage? Why would she not improve the lot of her own family? And that damnable book she had written, glorifying the “heroic” life of Paul-Muad’Dib Atreides! Even the witches were in an uproar over that.

No matter. He could not imagine that the usurper’s government would endure, based as it was on religious nonsense and primitive fanaticism. The Landsraad wouldn’t stand for it, and though many noblemen already cowered, the rest would stand together. Soon enough, they would call him back to the throne to restore order. More than ten thousand years of history and eighty-one Corrino emperors since the end of the Butlerian Jihad, a galactic Imperium spanning uncounted star systems… now being overrun by unsophisticated desert people who still called themselves tribes! It sickened him. From Golden Age to Dark Age in a single reign.

And here am I, ruling a world nobody wants.

Shaddam left the mirror and its disappointing image, going instead to a large faux window, with a view transmitted from external imagers. The Salusan sky was sickly orange, dotted with the dark shapes of carrion birds that were constantly on the alert for scant prey.

Weather-control satellites should have improved the conditions in this particular region of the planet, but weather control was not consistent. At the beginning of the brief growing season, when plants and trees started to offer a splash of greenery, the satellites had gone offline. By the time they were repaired, horrible storms had wiped out the plantings and made ongoing construction work nearly impossible.

During his former reign, Shaddam had kept this planet harsh for his own reasons. Salusa Secundus had been the Corrino prison world, a desolate place where malcontents and convicts were sorted by the rigors of survival. In those days, more than 60 percent of them had died, while the stronger ones had become candidates for his elite terror troops, the supposedly invincible Sardaukar. Unlike the unprepared prisoners dumped here, though, Shaddam had amenities, supplies, servants, family, and even a contingent of loyal soldiers. But Salusa was still his prison.

Far from expediting the reclamation of this world, as he had promised, Paul Atreides seemed to be shutting down the systems. Did he hope to leave Shaddam with a dwindling pool of potential soldiers from the hard-bitten survivors of the prison population… or did he only want the shamed Emperor to suffer for a few years?

Shaddam had just learned that his long-devoted chamberlain Beely Ridondo had been executed at Muad’Dib’s court simply for asking that the fanatical new Emperor keep his word. Shaddam had not expected the gambit to succeed, since he no longer believed the usurper had any honor. Even when the Fremen rabble had stormed his hutment on the Arrakeen plain, forcing the Padishah Emperor to entertain terms of surrender, the upstart had asserted that “Muad’Dib” was not bound by the same promises made by “Paul Atreides” — as if they were two different men!

How convenient.

And now his reports also said that Fremen fanatics had conquered Kaitain. Barbarians were sacking his beautiful capital world!

Am I really expected to be content here while the whole galaxy goes mad?

Worse, edicts constantly arrived, words couched in terms from the mockery of a religion that had formed around Muad’Dib, all signed by a self-important functionary named Korba.

A Fremen commander gives me orders!

It was an outrage. After a taste of Muad’Dib’s appalling bloodshed, the people would welcome Shaddam’s