rapier poised high in his right. “Now I say guard yourself for true!”
He leaped high to one side, then forward, pressing a furious attack.
Paul fell back, parrying. He felt the field crackling as shield edges
touched and repelled each other, sensed the electric tingling of the contact
along his skin. What’s gotten into Gurney? he asked himself. He’s not faking
this! Paul moved his left hand, dropped his bodkin into his palm from its wrist
sheath.
“You see a need for an extra blade, eh?” Halleck grunted.
Is this betrayal? Paul wondered. Surely not Gurney!
Around the room they fought — thrust and parry, feint and counterfeint. The
air within their shield bubbles grew stale from the demands on it that the slow
interchange along barrier edges could not replenish. With each new shield
contact, the smell of ozone grew stronger.
Paul continued to back, but now he directed his retreat toward the exercise
table. If I can turn him beside the table, I’ll show him a trick, Paul thought.
One more step, Gurney.
Halleck took the step.
Paul directed a parry downward, turned, saw Halleck’s rapier catch against
the table’s edge. Paul flung himself aside, thrust high with rapier and came in
across Halleck’s neckline with the bodkin. He stopped the blade an inch from the
jugular.
“Is this what you seek?” Paul whispered.
“Look down, lad,” Gurney panted.
Paul obeyed, saw Halleck’s kindjal thrust under the table’s edge, the tip
almost touching Paul’s groin.
“We’d have joined each other in death,” Halleck said. “But I’ll admit you
fought some better when pressed to it. You seemed to get the mood.” And he
grinned wolfishly, the inkvine scar rippling along his jaw.
“The way you came at me,” Paul said. “Would you really have drawn my blood?”
Halleck withdrew the kindjal, straightened. “If you’d fought one whit
beneath your abilities. I’d have scratched you a good one, a scar you’d
remember. I’ll not have my favorite pupil fall to the first Harkonnen tramp who
happens along.”
Paul deactivated his shield, leaned on the table to catch his breath. “I
deserved that, Gurney. But it would’ve angered my father if you’d hurt me. I’ll
not have you punished for my failing.”
“As to that,” Halleck said, “it was my failing, too. And you needn’t worry
about a training scar or two. You’re lucky you have so few. As to your father —
the Duke’d punish me only if I failed to make a first-?class fighting man out of
you. And I’d have been failing there if I hadn’t explained the fallacy in this
mood thing you’ve suddenly developed.”
Paul straightened, slipped his bodkin back into its wrist sheath.
“It’s not exactly play we do here,” Halleck said.
Paul nodded. He felt a sense of wonder at the uncharacteristic seriousness
in Halleck’s manner, the sobering intensity. He looked at the beet-?colored
inkvine scar on the man’s jaw, remembering the story of how it had been put
there by Beast Rabban in a Harkonnen slave pit on Giedi Prime. And Paul felt a
sudden shame that he had doubted Halleck even for an instant. It occurred to
Paul, then, that the making of Halleck’s scar had been accompanied by pain — a
pain as intense, perhaps, as that inflicted by a Reverend Mother. He thrust this
thought aside; it chilled their world.
“I guess I did hope for some play today,” Paul said. “Things are so serious
around here lately.”
Halleck turned away to hide his emotions. Something burned in his eyes.
There was pain in him — like a blister, all that was left of some lost
yesterday that Time had pruned off him.
How soon this child must assume his manhood, Halleck thought. How soon he
must read that form within his mind, that contract of brutal caution, to enter
the necessary fact on the necessary line: “Please list your next of kin.”
Halleck spoke without turning: “I sensed the play in you, lad, and I’d like
He leaped high to one side, then forward, pressing a furious attack.
Paul fell back, parrying. He felt the field crackling as shield edges
touched and repelled each other, sensed the electric tingling of the contact
along his skin. What’s gotten into Gurney? he asked himself. He’s not faking
this! Paul moved his left hand, dropped his bodkin into his palm from its wrist
sheath.
“You see a need for an extra blade, eh?” Halleck grunted.
Is this betrayal? Paul wondered. Surely not Gurney!
Around the room they fought — thrust and parry, feint and counterfeint. The
air within their shield bubbles grew stale from the demands on it that the slow
interchange along barrier edges could not replenish. With each new shield
contact, the smell of ozone grew stronger.
Paul continued to back, but now he directed his retreat toward the exercise
table. If I can turn him beside the table, I’ll show him a trick, Paul thought.
One more step, Gurney.
Halleck took the step.
Paul directed a parry downward, turned, saw Halleck’s rapier catch against
the table’s edge. Paul flung himself aside, thrust high with rapier and came in
across Halleck’s neckline with the bodkin. He stopped the blade an inch from the
jugular.
“Is this what you seek?” Paul whispered.
“Look down, lad,” Gurney panted.
Paul obeyed, saw Halleck’s kindjal thrust under the table’s edge, the tip
almost touching Paul’s groin.
“We’d have joined each other in death,” Halleck said. “But I’ll admit you
fought some better when pressed to it. You seemed to get the mood.” And he
grinned wolfishly, the inkvine scar rippling along his jaw.
“The way you came at me,” Paul said. “Would you really have drawn my blood?”
Halleck withdrew the kindjal, straightened. “If you’d fought one whit
beneath your abilities. I’d have scratched you a good one, a scar you’d
remember. I’ll not have my favorite pupil fall to the first Harkonnen tramp who
happens along.”
Paul deactivated his shield, leaned on the table to catch his breath. “I
deserved that, Gurney. But it would’ve angered my father if you’d hurt me. I’ll
not have you punished for my failing.”
“As to that,” Halleck said, “it was my failing, too. And you needn’t worry
about a training scar or two. You’re lucky you have so few. As to your father —
the Duke’d punish me only if I failed to make a first-?class fighting man out of
you. And I’d have been failing there if I hadn’t explained the fallacy in this
mood thing you’ve suddenly developed.”
Paul straightened, slipped his bodkin back into its wrist sheath.
“It’s not exactly play we do here,” Halleck said.
Paul nodded. He felt a sense of wonder at the uncharacteristic seriousness
in Halleck’s manner, the sobering intensity. He looked at the beet-?colored
inkvine scar on the man’s jaw, remembering the story of how it had been put
there by Beast Rabban in a Harkonnen slave pit on Giedi Prime. And Paul felt a
sudden shame that he had doubted Halleck even for an instant. It occurred to
Paul, then, that the making of Halleck’s scar had been accompanied by pain — a
pain as intense, perhaps, as that inflicted by a Reverend Mother. He thrust this
thought aside; it chilled their world.
“I guess I did hope for some play today,” Paul said. “Things are so serious
around here lately.”
Halleck turned away to hide his emotions. Something burned in his eyes.
There was pain in him — like a blister, all that was left of some lost
yesterday that Time had pruned off him.
How soon this child must assume his manhood, Halleck thought. How soon he
must read that form within his mind, that contract of brutal caution, to enter
the necessary fact on the necessary line: “Please list your next of kin.”
Halleck spoke without turning: “I sensed the play in you, lad, and I’d like
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