"Frank Herbert - Dune 4 - God Emporer of Dune" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert Brian & Frank)

The next runner in the line was named Kwuteg, an old and honorable name on
Arrakis, a name from the Dune times. An ancestor had served Sietch Tabr as
Master of the Deathstills, but that was more than three thousand years lost in a
past which many no longer believed. Kwuteg ran with the long strides of a tall
and slender body which seemed perfectly fitted to such exertion. Long black hair
streamed back from his aquiline features. As with his companions, he wore a
black running suit of tightly knitted cotton. It revealed the workings of his
buttocks and stringy thighs, the deep and steady rhythm of his breathing. Only
his pace, which was markedly slow for Kwuteg, betrayed the fact that he had
injured his right knee coming down from the man-made precipices which girdled
the God Emperor's Citadel fortress in the Sareer.
Kwuteg heard Ulot's screams, the abrupt and potent silence, then the renewed
chase-yelps of the D-wolves. He tried not to let his mind create the image of
another friend being slain by Leto's monster guardians but imagination worked
its sorcery on him. Kwuteg thought a curse against the tyrant but wasted no
breath to voice it. There remained a chance that he could reach the sanctuary of
the Idaho River. Kwuteg knew what his friends thought about him-even Siona. He
had always been known as a conservative. Even as a child he had saved his energy
until it counted most, parceling out his reserves like a miser.
In spite of the injured knee, Kwuteg increased his pace. He knew the river was
near. His injury had gone beyond agony into a steady flame which filled his
entire leg and side with its burning. He knew the limits of his endurance. He
knew also that Siona should be almost at the water. The fastest runner of them
all, she carried the sealed packet and, in it, the things they had stolen from
the fortress in the Sareer. Kwuteg focused his thoughts on that packet as he
ran.
Save it, Siona! Use it to destroy him!
The eager whining of the D-wolves penetrated Kwuteg's consciousness. They were
too close. He knew then that he would not escape.
But Siona must escape!
He risked a backward glance and saw one of the wolves move to flank him. The
pattern of their attack plan imprinted itself on his awareness. As the flanking
wolf leaped Kwuteg also leaped. Placing a tree between himself and the pack, he
ducked beneath the flanking wolf, grasped one of its hind legs in both hands
and, without stopping, whirled the captive wolf as a flail which scattered the
others. Finding the creature not as heavy as he had expected, almost welcoming
the change of action, he flailed his living bludgeon at the attackers in a
dervish whirl which brought two of them down in a crash of skulls. But he could
not guard every side. A lean male caught him in the back, hurling him against a
tree and he lost his bludgeon.
"Go!" he screamed.
The pack bored in and Kwuteg caught the throat of the lean male in his teeth. He
bit down with every gram of his final desperation. Wolf blood spurted over his
face, blinding him. Rolling without any knowledge of where he went, Kwuteg
grappled another wolf. Part of the pack dissolved into a yelping, whirling mob,
some turning against their own injured. Most of the pack remained intent on the
quarry, though. Teeth ripped Kwuteg's throat from both sides.
Siona, too, had heard Ulot scream, then the unmistakable silence followed by the
yelping of the pack as the wolves resumed the chase. Such anger filled her that
she felt she might explode with it. Ulot had been included in this venture