Placing a hand over the crysknife at his waist, the Fremen growled, “Be careful what you say, man, or —”
“If you pull that blade, prepare to die,” Bludd said. He pointed a long sleeve at him, which revealed bristling needle points below the wrist, ready to launch.
With a hard smile, the Fremen relaxed his hand, and looked away, out the window. “It seems we each have a stake in Muad’Dib,” he said.
12
Your point is valid, that many of my “allies” are using the holy war as an excuse to attack rival families and resolve or inflame old feuds. You say this extravagant bloodshed has nothing to do with my rule or my decisions, but I take full responsibility nonetheless. I am accountable for each and every death.
After he returned from Sietch Tabr, Paul announced he would receive visitors in the extravagant Celestial Audience Chamber, which was still not entirely completed.
Over the past few years, the temporary throne room in Shaddam’s former hutment had lost its luster for him, so Paul decided to hold audiences in the new space instead, despite the fact that Bludd was still not satisfied with all the finishing touches — moldings, fine filigree, stonework, intricate sculptures, elaborately painted ceilings and walls. The Swordmaster insisted on finishing some of the perfectionistic interior work himself, permitting no one to help him.
Countless alcoves were only partially filled with statuary, usually renditions of Paul or of his Atreides ancestors. Fremen tapestries above the throne depicted colorful scenes from battles of the Jihad. Bludd had announced that some of these scenes would be replicated as ceiling frescoes, encircling the base of the high dome, when it was complete.
The previous day, Paul had walked the scaffolds that were in place high above the throne, where the finest artists in the realm continued to work feverishly on their commissions. Even as he held court now, they were up there painting, voices and movements hushed reverently in the presence of Muad’Dib.
He had been shaken by the blind and suicidal devotion that those workers from Omwara had demonstrated, facing a sandstorm to show their faith. For generations, House Atreides had inspired tremendous loyalty as embodied in Gurney Halleck, Duncan Idaho, Thufir Hawat, and many others. But that loyalty had been supportive, not reckless. What had those workers
Although the ever-growing religion around him was an engine that drove the necessary force of his Jihad, it might easily slip beyond his control. Religions could be extraordinarily effective, but they could also be irresponsible… and he was at the heart of both possibilities. The people saw only him, and not the corona of consequences around his every action.
Now, dressed in a flowing brown-and-gold robe instead of the comfortable, dusty stillsuit he had worn in Sietch Tabr, Paul took his seat on the large temporary throne placed there during the construction. Eventually, he would bring in the oversized Hagal quartz seat, the legendary Lion Throne from the Corrino dynasty. For the time being, even though the throne would serve as a reminder of what he had taken from his enemies, Paul preferred not to inspire thoughts of Shaddam IV. He looked around the huge chamber as the audience took standing positions according to their rank and connections.
Wearing a loose green gown adorned with a gold-braided collar, Chani entered through a side door, followed by three Fremen women in pale gray robes designed to conceal weapons. Six-year-old Alia entered briskly in her black robe and came to a stop beside Paul’s throne, as if she were herself a bodyguard.
Given the violence Thorvald’s rebels often inspired, and the ridiculously low price on the heads of Muad’Dib and his family, Paul had assigned powerful female guards to follow and protect Chani, Alia, and even Irulan. His mother was also due to arrive soon for a brief visit, and he would grant her the same protection. He intended to take no chances.
He thought again of the group of fanatic workers standing on the dune top, facing the deadly winds to show their devotion, proving… what? And those men were his
Hearing a commotion of shouts near the massive entrance doors, Paul saw his Fremen guards scuffling with green-robed prisoners, captive priests from a splinter sect. The guards soon gained control of the situation, though they were forced to use stun goads. Paul watched without commenting on the rough treatment. Knowing what these priests had done, he found it difficult to restrain himself from ordering their immediate execution. That would come in time, he was sure. Some things were unforgivable.
Korba marched toward the throne along a rusty-red spice-fiber carpet that had been laid down only that morning. He had chosen to wear a clean white robe emblazoned with scarlet symbols, pointedly more extravagant than the green robes of the prisoners that the guards nudged along behind him. He no longer looked like a Fedaykin.
The five prisoners had cuts and bruises, and sunken red eyes that looked more dead than alive. Only one of the priests, tall and patrician, appeared defiant. With undisguised contempt, the guards flung the priests to the hard floor. All but one of them had the good sense to remain prostrate; a guard knocked the most rebellious one back down, using a boot kick.
With an elaborate bow, Korba stopped at the foot of the throne. “Exalted Muad’Dib, pillar of the universe, I bring you these disloyal priests of the ancient sect of Dur. They were captured trying to defile the sacred shrine of your father and steal his skull!” Eyes closed as if in prayer (a performance for the rapt audience), he formally pulled his crysknife from its sheath and stood ready with it, poised like an executioner.
Paul could barely control his fury. “Priests of Dur were once well-respected in the Imperium, presiding over ceremonies to marry and crown emperors. And now you attempt to desecrate the shrine of
Korba waited for a signal from him, but Paul hesitated, uncertain how to deal with this. The priests’ actions were another example of the reckless irresponsibility of uncontrolled religion. But how to control a religion, whether his own or this ancient sect? Would tolerance and mercy help? Or was a stronger grip required? What would his father have advised?
One of the cowed priests, with a paunch that gave him the shape of a pear, struggled to his knees and looked beseechingly at Paul. Sweat ran down his brow into his eyes. “Sire, the charges against me are false and unfair. I do not even know these men — I serve in a different order! They forced me to wear these robes! I was on religious sabbatical.”
“He lies,” Korba said. “His so-called sabbatical was a conspiracy meeting, at which he and these others plotted your overthrow. Any oath of fealty he utters now would not be worth the wind it is written upon.”
Paul glowered at the kneeling man. “I have been tolerant of religions other than my own, but I shall not tolerate the spreading of lies or conspiracies that threaten me — and I tolerate no desecration of my father, the honorable Duke Leto Atreides.” He felt a great weariness settle upon him. “You and your companions must die for this.”
When the guards tried to haul the paunchy man back to rejoin the others, he suddenly sagged in their arms, as if he had fainted. Korba touched the man’s neck, sniffed his breath. “This one is dead.” With a wolfish grin, he cast a scornful look at the other green-robed priests, then faced the crowds gathered inside the Celestial Audience Chamber. “Muad’Dib struck him dead with a glance! No one escapes the gaze of our Emperor.” In the chamber, Paul heard a low chanting of his name.
The defiant, patrician-looking priest got to his feet. “An autopsy would prove that a poison-tipped weapon or dart killed that poor man. Parlor tricks!” He pushed himself two steps forward, even though the guards struggled to hold him back. “There is nothing holy about you. The Priests of Dur call you Paul Atreides the Demon!”
The chamber erupted in wild howling from the insult. “Gouge out their eyes!” a woman screamed, her voice shrill. One of the other priests whimpered, but his companions silenced him immediately.
