Herbert, Frank - Dune 3 by Herbert Frank

Author:Herbert,Frank [Herbert,Frank]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

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The password was given to me by a man who died in the dungeons of Arrakeen. You see,

that is where I got this ring in the shape of a tortoise. It was in the suk outside the city

where I was hidden by the rebels. The password? Oh, that has been changed many times

since then. It was "Persistence." And the countersign was "Tortoise." It got me out of there alive. That's why I bought this ring: a reminder.

-Tagir Mohandis: Conversations with a Friend

Leto was far out on the sand when he heard the worm behind him, coming to his thumper

there and the dusting of spice he'd spread around the dead tigers. There was a good omen

for this beginning of their plan: worms were scarce enough in these parts most times. The

worm was not essential, but it helped. There would be no need for Ghanima to explain a

missing body.

By this time he knew that Ghanima had worked herself into the belief that he was dead.

Only a tiny, isolated capsule of awareness would remain to her, a walled-off memory

which could be recalled by words uttered in the ancient language shared only by the two

of them in all of this universe. Secher Nbiw. If she heard those words: Golden Path . . . only

then would she remember him. Until then, he was dead.

Now Leto felt truly alone.

He moved with the random walk which made only those sounds natural to the desert.

Nothing in his passage would tell that worm back there that human flesh moved here. It

was a way of walking so deeply conditioned in him that he didn't need to think about it.

197

The feet moved of themselves, no measurable rhythm to their pacing. Any sound his feet

made could be ascribed to the wind, to gravity. No human passed here.

When the worm had done its work behind him, Leto crouched behind a dune's slipface

and peered back toward The Attendant. Yes, he was far enough. He planted a thumper and

summoned his transportation. The worm came swiftly, giving him barely enough time to

position himself before it engulfed the thumper. As it passed, he went up its side on the

Maker hooks, opened the sensitive leading edge of a ring, and turned the mindless beast

southeastward. It was a small worm, but strong. He could sense the strength in its twisting

as it hissed across the dunes. There was a fol owing breeze and he felt the heat of their

passage, the friction which the worm converted to the beginnings of spice within itself.

As the worm moved, his mind moved. Stilgar had taken him up for his first worm journey.

Leto had only to let his memory flow and he could hear Stilgar's voice: calm and precise,

ful of politeness from another age. Not for Stilgar the threatening staggers of a Fremen

drunk on spice-liquor. Not for Stilgar the loud voice and bluster of these times. No --

Stilgar had his duties. He was an instructor of royalty: "In the olden times, the birds were named for their songs. Each wind had its name. A six-klick

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