Paul of Dune

crushed; a few could be heard gasping and crying out as they slowly suffocated.

Prad Vidal and his family, though, were very much alive. The Elaccan leader shouted from within his bedchamber, wrapping his hands around two of the bowed-over branches and pushing his face to a small opening. “This is an assassination attempt!”

Below, the guards ran about, trying to pinpoint the source of the attack.

Armand Ecaz had given Leto and Gurney specialty equipment used by Ecazi jungle workers. Strapping on needle-sharp claw gloves and sticky toepads, they climbed like beetles, slipping upward and unseen into the thickening mist. They had to be swift now, and bold.

Vidal spotted the two men climbing, saw their Elaccan uniforms, and thrust his hand through the opening in the clenched branches. “Free me from this! Do you have cutters?” Dangling from the trunk by their claws, Leto and Gurney halted. Without answering the rebellious leader, Leto removed a diamond-edged circular saw designed to slice through difficult branches. When Vidal saw it, he exclaimed, “Good, hurry!”

Gurney scrambled up, but Leto gave him a quick signal. “This is my responsibility.”

When Leto started the whirling branch-cutter blade, the diamond teeth were enhanced by the glow of a hot laser field. The Elaccan Duke stretched out his grasping hand. It was clear he did not recognize either Leto or Gurney in their Elaccan uniforms. “Quickly! The imposter Archduke must be behind this.”

“I know the Archduke very well,” Leto intoned.

Watching Vidal desperately extending his arm, Leto could not drive away horrific images of his wedding day. He thought of his friend Armand, crippled for life, his arm severed. And dead Rivvy Dinari, the fat Swordmaster killed as he shielded his master with his own bulk. And Ilesa, sweet, innocent Ilesa, butchered during what should have been her happiest moment. The other dozen people dead, many more injured.

Any man who could order such a thing was a monster, an animal.

“Archduke Armand Ecaz was my friend,” he shouted. “His daughter would have been my wife, but she is dead now.” Leto had not yet loved her, but he could have. And that made all the difference.

Vidal gasped as he saw the blade getting closer. Suddenly realizing who faced him, he sucked in great astonished breaths and recoiled into the cramped room.

The diamond blade swept downward through the intertwined branches. Leto barely felt any resistance at all.

Despite his fury, grief, and horror, there were barriers an Atreides would not cross. Duke Leto descended from a long line of proud noblemen. He used the cutter to slice through the fogtree branches, carving an entrance for himself and Gurney. They pushed forward side by side, Leto holding the still-spinning saw.

Trapped inside his chamber, Vidal was unable to find the breath even to scream.

Leto remembered the threat to his household, to his son and heir Paul. The Grummans were behind the outrageous actions, but the Elaccan Duke had plotted the actual event and planted the hexagonal cutter discs in the terra-cotta pots. The wedding bloodbath had been this man’s responsibility. He had thrust himself into this War of Assassins.

But Leto refused to follow his enemy over this particular moral precipice. Out of revenge, he could have cut off Vidal’s arm, could have tortured him. But that was not the course of honor. Abiding by the rules of civilization was not a weakness. The forms must be obeyed. There were necessities, wars to end, lives to save.

“By the laws of the Great Convention, the established rules of conflict among the Landsraad,” Leto intoned, “I hereby execute you in the name of peace.” Vidal writhed, tried to fight back, but Leto continued, “Thus, I end this feud on Ecaz.”

He did what had to be done, without joy, without satisfaction. He pressed the blade release, and the flying cutter shot forward. With a meaty smack, the blade sliced through Vidal’s neck, decapitating him cleanly.

Gurney said, “Let’s hope those soldiers below will follow the rules of kanly, even if their master did not.”

Now the two men stripped off their Elaccan uniforms to proudly display the red hawk crest of House Atreides. Leto also wore an armband given him by Archduke Armand himself.

In the turmoil below, the guards rushed about, still expecting a frontal attack. Some climbed the fogtrees, using crude knives to slash their way into the barred rooms where victims screamed the loudest.

Gurney wrestled with the headless body of Vidal and shoved it through the wall opening. As soon as it fell to the ground, several guards screamed in high-pitched, fearful voices.

“I am Duke Leto Atreides!” The mist seemed to make his shout from inside the chamber even louder. He lifted up Vidal’s head by the hair like a trophy. “By the rules of the Great Convention, I have eliminated an enemy to Ecaz, a man declared a rebel and a traitor by your rightful Archduke. We have targeted only the man responsible — by the rules!

“If you throw down your arms and cease fighting, none of you will be held accountable. None of you will face trial. If you attempt to resist the commands of your lawful Archduke, we will annihilate you with the full military might of House Ecaz and House Atreides.” As he spoke, the mist began to clear.

Leto thrust the severed head forward for all to see in the dawn light. Down below, the pale, upturned faces of the Elaccan guards were wide-eyed, their mouths agape in astonishment. With a muttered epithet, Leto hurled Vidal’s head down among them. It tumbled in the air, then struck the ground with a sickening sound. The guards jumped away.

“Duke Prad Vidal conspired against your Archduke and against House Atreides, aiding the true enemy of Ecaz — Viscount Hundro Moritani. They murdered Ilesa Ecaz at the bridal altar. Vidal was responsible.”

The soldiers seemed uncertain, muttering. Gurney finally bellowed, “Are you fools? You know who your enemy is. The Archduke needs you and your sword arms to fight House Moritani. Whom would you rather kill — your brothers, or Grummans?”

13

Once we decide to fight, we face another question: Do we fight and retreat, or fight and press forward?

—THUFIR HAWAT, Weapons Master of House Atreides

By late afternoon, the celebrations of the Caladan primitives had died down. The smoky fire had burned low, and the roasted animal carcass was picked to the bone.

Paul could not relax, though. Hyperaware of his surroundings, he attuned his senses to the hum of normal existence in the jungle, the familiar sounds, the movement of leaves and insects. Now, as he and Duncan sat planning what to do next, Paul detected a subtle change around him, a faint alteration in the forest’s rhythm. His brow furrowed.

The primitives sensed the same thing and instantly reacted. The headwoman grabbed her polished club and shouted a high-pitched command.

Duncan rose into an armed defensive position. “Paul, activate your body shield. Now!”

As the faint hum of the protective barrier dulled the subtle jungle sounds, Paul drew his own dagger. He summoned to mind the numerous close-in knife-fighting techniques in which Thufir, Gurney, and Duncan had mercilessly drilled him. He had never killed a man, but he had always known it was only a matter of time, unless someone killed him first. He prepared to fight.

He knew that more of the assassin-trackers had found them.

A projectile launched into the trees around the clearing made an unimpressive, hollow thump, followed by the gasp of outrushing gases and a distinct snick. Paul heard the two stages, separated by only a fraction of a second, and knew exactly what sort of weapon it was: The first was a kinetic dispersal unit, pushing out a thick fuel-air vapor to fill the largest possible volume; the second was a charge to ignite an incendiary cloud.