into the facility. The gases and chemicals burst quickly into flames, but he had time to depart with his usual lounging gait. Concussions boomed behind him.
The laboratories burned in his wake— destroying the axlotl tanks, the amal research, and all evidence— but Fenring didn’t bother to hurry.
* * *
The research pavilion exploded as Duncan Idaho and his men penetrated the Imperial barricades, allowing the Atreides soldiers to charge forward.
A tremendous boom echoed through the facility, and everyone took cover. Debris spouted through the roof of the pavilion like a volcanic eruption; the inner walls collapsed. Within moments, the lab complex became an inferno of melted glass, plasteel, and flesh.
Duncan held his men back from the growing fire. His heart sank to know that all proof of the Tleilaxu crimes was being incinerated. Roiling brown-and-orange vapors spewed upward, toxic smoke that could kill them as surely as the flames themselves.
The Swordmaster saw a lean, broad-shouldered man stride out, totally unconcerned. His silhouette was muscular against the orange wall of heat. The man removed a breathing apparatus from his face and tossed it aside. He held a short fighting sword, such as the Sardaukar carried. Duncan raised the Old Duke’s blade in a defensive posture, stepping forward to block this man’s passage.
Count Hasimir Fenring came forward without hesitation. “Aren’t you going to cheer the fact that I’ve escaped, hmmm? Cause for celebration, I’d say. My friend Shaddam will be overjoyed.”
“I know you,” Duncan said, remembering his months of political instruction on a sun-drenched island on the Ginaz archipelago. “You’re the fox who hides behind the Emperor’s cape and commits dirty work for him.”
Fenring smiled. “A fox? I’ve been called a weasel and a ferret before, but never a fox. Hmmm. I have been held here against my will. Those evil Tleilaxu researchers meant to perform terrible experiments on me.” His large eyes widened. “I even foiled a plot that was intended to replace me with a Face Dancer duplicate.”
Duncan stepped closer, his sword half-raised. “It will be interesting to hear your testimony in front of an investigation board.”
“I think not.” Fenring seemed to be losing his sense of amusement. He slashed out with his short sword, as if swatting a fly, but Duncan parried quickly. The blades clanged, and the short sword was deflected upward, but Fenring maintained his grip on its hilt.
“You dare to raise a blade against the Emperor’s Spice Minister, against Shaddam’s closest friend?” Fenring was frustrated, though still slightly amused. “You’d best step aside and let me pass.”
But Duncan pressed forward, taking a more aggressive stance. “I am a Swordmaster of Ginaz, and I have fought many Sardaukar today. If you are not our enemy, then throw down your weapon. You would be wise not to face me as an opponent.”
“I killed men before you were even born, pup.”
The laboratory fire continued to build. The hot air stank of roiling chemicals. Duncan’s eyes stung and watered. Atreides soldiers closed in to protect their Swordmaster, but he waved them off, honor-bound to fight this one by himself.
The Count pressed his attack. He usually killed through devious means, rarely in open combat against a worthy opponent. Still, he possessed many fighting skills that Duncan had not previously encountered.
Lunging toward his rival, the Swordmaster growled through clenched teeth. “I have seen too many casualties in this fight already, but I am not averse to adding you to their number, Count Fenring.” He swung with the Old Duke’s sword, and his blade crashed against his opponent’s upthrust weapon.
Duncan fought with the finesse of a well-trained Swordmaster, but with an edge of brutality. He did not stand on ceremony or chivalrous principles, unlike many of the swordplay instructors Fenring had heard about or actually met in combat.
The Count held up the blade to defend himself, and Duncan swung down, concentrating great strength into a single blow. The Old Duke’s sword rang, and a notch appeared on the blade. But Fenring’s weapon thrummed in his hand— and shattered from the blow. The momentum knocked him into a wall.
Fenring scrambled to recover his balance, and Duncan lunged forward, ready to deal the coup de grace, but alert for anything. This fox had many tricks.
Options flashed through Fenring’s mind. If he wanted to elude the sharp point of his adversary’s blade, he could turn and run back into the raging fire of the laboratory building. Or he could surrender. His choices were indeed limited.
“The Emperor will ransom my life.” He threw down the hilt of his