Дюна
Book Three: The Prophet
Paultwistedhislefthandfree,aidedbythelubricationofbloodfromhisarm,thrustoncehardupunderneathFeyd-Rautha’sjaw.Thepointslidhomeintothebrain.Feyd-Rauthajerkedandsaggedback,stillheldpartlyonhissidebytheneedleimbeddedinthefloor.
Breathingdeeplytorestorehiscalm,Paulpushedhimselfawayandgottohisfeet.Hestoodoverthebody,knifeinhand,raisedhiseyeswithdeliberateslownesstolookacrosstheroomattheEmperor.
“Majesty,”Paulsaid,“yourforceisreducedbyonemore.Shallwenowshedshamandpretense?Shallwenowdiscusswhatmustbe?YourdaughterwedtomeandthewayopenedforanAtreidestositonthethrone.”
TheEmperorturned,lookedatCountFenring.TheCountmethisstare—grayeyesagainstgreen.Thethoughtlaythereclearlybetweenthem,theirassociationsolongthatunderstandingcouldbeachievedwithaglance.
Killthisupstartforme,theEmperorwassaying.TheAtreidesisyoungandresourceful,yes—butheisalsotiredfromlongeffortandhe’dbenomatchforyou,anyway.Callhimoutnow...youknowthewayofit.Killhim.
Slowly,Fenringmovedhishead,aprolongedturninguntilhefacedPaul.
“Doit!”theEmperorhissed.
TheCountfocusedonPaul,seeingwitheyeshisLadyMargothadtrainedintheBeneGesseritway,awareofthemysteryandhiddengrandeuraboutthisAtreidesyouth.
Icouldkillhim,Fenringthought—andheknewthisforatruth.
