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Book Three: The Prophet
Gurneyturned,reluctanttotakehiseyesoffPaul.Hesawonlyafewknotsofstruggle.Hoodeddesertmenseemedtobeeverywherearound.ThefactorycrawlerlaysilentwithFremenstandingatopit.Therewerenoaircraftoverhead.
“Stopthefighting,”Gurneybellowed.Hetookadeepbreath,cuppedhishandsforamegaphone.“ThisisGurneyHalleck!Stopthefight!”
Slowly,warily,thestrugglingfiguresseparated.Eyesturnedtowardhim,questioning.
“Thesearefriends,”Gurneycalled.
“Finefriends!”someoneshoutedback.“Halfourpeoplemurdered.”
“It’samistake,”Gurneysaid.“Don’taddtoit.”
HeturnedbacktoPaul,staredintotheyouth’sblue-blueFremeneyes.
AsmiletouchedPaul’smouth,buttherewasahardnessintheexpressionthatremindedGurneyoftheOldDuke,Paul’sgrandfather.GurneysawthenthesinewyharshnessinPaulthathadneverbeforebeenseeninanAtreides—aleatherylooktotheskin,asquinttotheeyesandcalculationintheglancethatseemedtoweigheverythinginsight.
“Theysaidyouweredead,”Gurneyrepeated.
“Anditseemedthebestprotectiontoletthemthinkso,”Paulsaid.
Gurneyrealizedthatwasalltheapologyhe’devergetforhavingbeenabandonedtohisownresources,lefttobelievehisyoungDuke...hisfriend,wasdead.HewonderedtheniftherewereanythinglefthereoftheboyhehadknownandtrainedintheWaysoffightingmen.
PaultookastepclosertoGurney,foundthathiseyesweresmarting.
“Gurney....
