Brian Herbert - Paul of Dune

TOR
A TOM DOHERTY ASSOCIATES BOOK
NEW YORK

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and
events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors
imaginations or are used fictitiously.

PAUL OF DUNE

Copyright 2008 by Herbert Properties LLC

All rights reserved.

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ISBN-13: 978-0-7653-1294-5
ISBN-10: 0-7653-1294-8

First Edition: September 2008

Printed in the United States of America

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To JANET HERBERT and REBECCA MOESTA ANDERSON

Thank you for your patience, your wisdom, and your love, and for so much more than we can possibly list here. If we were to describe everything youve contributed, it would require a book much longer than this novel.

While we are busy writing new novels in the incredible Dune universe, many other people contribute to what the reader sees on the printed page, and are important to the series. We would like to thank Tor Books, Hodder & Stoughton, WordFire Inc., the Frank Herbert family, Trident Media Group, New Amsterdam Entertainment, and Misher Films for their contributions and support. As always, we are especially grateful to Frank Herbert, who left the most remarkable literary legacy in all of science fiction, and to Beverly Herbert, who devoted so much of her own talents and energy to the success of the series.

Emperor MuadDib

A serene ocean of sane stretched as far as the eye could see, silent and still, carrying the potential for terrible storms. Arrakis the sacred world Dune was becoming the eye of a galactic hurricane, a bloody Jihad that would rage across the planets of the crumbling Imperium. Paul Atreides had foreseen this, and now he had set it in motion.

Since the overthrow of Shaddam IV a year ago, millions of converts had joined Pauls armies in addition to his own Fremen warriors, all of whom had pledged their lives to him. Led by his fanatical Fedaykin and other trusted officers, his holy warriors had already begun to fan out from staging areas, bound for specific star systems and targets. Just that morning, Paul had sent Stilgar and his legion off with a rousing speech that included the words, I bestow strength on you, my warriors. Go now and perform my holy bidding. It was one of his favorite passages from the Orange Catholic Bible.

Afterward, in the heat of the afternoon, he had taken himself far from the bedlam of the city of Arrakeen, from the agitated troops and the fawning clamor of worshippers. Here in the isolated mountains, Paul required no Fremen guide. The high desert was silent and pure, giving him an illusion of peace. His beloved Chani accompanied him, along with his mother, Jessica, and his little sister. Not quite four years old, Alia was vastly more than a child, pre-born with all the memories and knowledge of a Reverend Mother.

As Paul and his companions ascended the stark brown mountains to Harg Pass, he tried to cling to a feeling of serene inevitability. The desert made him feel small and humble, in sharp contrast to being cheered as a messiah. He prized each quiet moment away from the devoted followers who chanted, MuadDib! MuadDib! whenever they glimpsed him. Before long, when news of the military victories started streaming in, it would get even worse. But that could not be avoided. Eventually, he would be swept along by the Jihad. He had already charted its course, like a great navigator of humanity.

War was one of the tools at his disposal. Now that he had exiled the Padishah Emperor to Salusa Secundus, Paul had to consolidate his power among the members of the Landsraad. He had sent his diplomats to negotiate with some of the noble Houses, while dispatching his most fanatical fighters against the defiant families. A number of lords would not lay down their arms and vowed to put up fierce resistance, claiming either that they would not follow a rebel or that theyd had enough of emperors altogether. Regardless, the armies of MuadDib would sweep over them and continue onward. Though Paul sought to reduce and even eliminate the violence, he suspected that the bloody reality would prove far worse than any prescient vision.

And his visions had been frightening.

Centuries of decadence and mismanagement had filled the Imperium with deadwood tinder that would allow his firestorm to spread with startling speed. In a more civilized time, problems between Houses had been settled with an old-fashioned War of Assassins, but that solution seemed quaint and gentlemanly now, no longer plausible. Faced with the tide of religious fervor approaching their worlds, some leaders would simply surrender, rather than try to stand against the invincible onslaught.

But not all of them would be that sensible.

On their trek, Paul and his three companions wore new stillsuits covered by mottled cloaks to camouflage them in the desert. Though the garments looked well worn, they were actually finer than any Paul had used when hed lived as a fugitive among the Fremen. Their makers claimed that these durable offworld imports were superior to the simpler versions that had traditionally been made in hidden sietches.

The manufacturers mean well, he thought. They do it to show their support for me, without realizing the implied criticism in their improvements.

After selecting the perfect position high on the ridge, a small natural amphitheater guarded by tall rocks, Paul set down his pack. He uncinched the straps and pulled aside the cushioning folds of velvatin cloth with a reverence comparable to what he saw in the faces of his most devout followers.

In respectful silence he removed the clean, ivory-colored skull and several broken bone fragments two ribs, an ulna, and a femur that had been brutally snapped in two, all of which the Fremen had preserved for years after the fall of Arrakeen to the Harkonnens. These were the remains of Duke Leto Atreides.