Stilgar looked down at the yellow emblem on the knife he held.
"When I am Duke in Arrakeen with Chani by my side, do you think I'll have time to concern myself with every detail of governing Tabr sietch?" Paul asked.
"Do you concern yourself with the internal problems of every family?"
Stilgar continued staring at the knife.
"Do you think I wish to cut off my right arm?" Paul demanded.
Slowly, Stilgar looked up at him.
"You!" Paul said. "Do you think I wish to deprive myself or the tribe of your wisdom and strength?"
In a low voice, Stilgar said: "The young man of my tribe whose name is known to me, this young man I could kill on the challenge floor, Shai-hulud willing.
The Lisan al-Gaib, him I could not harm. You knew this when you handed me this knife."
"I knew it," Paul agreed.
Stilgar opened his hand. The knife clattered against the stone of the floor.
"Ways change," he said.
"Chani," Paul said, "go to my mother, send her here that her counsel will be available in --"
"But you said we would go to the south!" she protested.
"I was wrong," he said. "The Harkonnens are not there. The war is not there."
She took a deep breath, accepting this as a desert woman accepted all necessities in the midst of a life involved with death.
"You will give my mother a message for her ears alone," Paul said. "Tell her that Stilgar acknowledges me Duke of Arrakis, but a way must be found to make the young men accept this without combat."
Chani glanced at Stilgar.
"Do as he says," Stilgar growled. "We both know he could overcome me . . .
and I could not raise my hand against him . . . for the good of the tribe."
"I shall return with your mother," Chani said.
"Send her," Paul said. "Stilgar's instinct was right. I am stronger when you are safe. You will remain in the sietch."
She started to protest, swallowed it.
"Sihaya," Paul said, using his intimate name for her. He whirled away to the right, met Gurney's glaring eyes.
The interchange between Paul and the older Fremen had passed as though in a cloud around Gurney since Paul's reference to his mother.
"Your mother," Gurney said.
"Idaho saved us the night of the raid," Paul said, distracted by the parting with Chani. "Right now we've --"
"What of Duncan Idaho, m'Lord?" Gurney asked.
"He's dead -- buying us a bit of time to escape."
The she-witch alive! Gurney thought. The one I swore vengeance against, alive! And it's obvious Duke Paul doesn't know what manner of creature gave him birth. The evil one! Betrayed his own father to the Harkonnens!
Paul pressed past him, jumped up to the ledge. He glanced back, noted that the wounded and dead had been removed, and he thought bitterly that here was another chapter in the legend of Paul Muad'Dib. I didn't even draw my knife, but it'll be said of this day that I slew twenty Sardaukar by my own hand.
Gurney followed with Stilgar, stepping on ground that he did not even feel.
The cavern with its yellow light of glowglobes was forced out of his thoughts by rage. The she-witch alive while those she betrayed are bones in lonesome graves.
I must contrive it that Paul learns the truth about her before I slay her.
= = = = = =
How often it is that the angry man rages denial of what his inner self is telling him.
-"The Collected Sayings of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan The crowd in the cavern assembly chamber radiated that pack feeling Jessica had sensed the day Paul killed Jamis. There was murmuring nervousness in the voices. Little cliques gathered like knots among the robes.
Jessica tucked a message cylinder beneath her robe as she emerged to the ledge from Paul's private quarters. She felt rested after the long journey up from the south, but still rankled that Paul would not yet permit them to use the captured ornithopters.
"We do not have full control of the air," he had said. "And we must not become dependent upon offworld fuel. Both fuel and aircraft must be gathered and saved for the day of maximum effort."
Paul stood with a group of the younger men near the ledge. The pale light of glowglobes gave the scene a tinge of unreality. It was like a tableau, but with the added dimension of warren smells, the whispers, the sounds of shuffling feet.
