Paul of Dune

by Brian Herbert; Kevin J. Anderson

  Moritani joined the redheaded Swordmaster in the frigate’s corridor and sealed the stateroom door behind him. Resser watched the muscles work in the nobleman’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. “Ah, Resser, I cannot decide whom to despise more — Archduke Ecaz or the Corrino Emperor. Maybe I don’t have to make the choice. I have enough hatred for both.”

  Resser was surprised. Knowing the enemies of House Moritani was a vital part of his job. “Why do you hate the Emperor, my Lord?”

  “Come with me into my study. I will share with you the ancient documents I obtained from the Bene Gesserit. You’ll see the real reason we came to Kaitain.”

  “I thought the real reason was to make contact with the Baron Harkonnen.”

  “There are several real reasons — none of which have anything to do with Shaddam and his damned wedding.”

  Resser stood at attention in the private room, looking at the man he had sworn to serve. Once, back in the smoldering ruins of Ginaz, Duncan Idaho had offered him a position with House Atreides. Although most of the Grumman students had been expelled by the Swordmaster instructors for refusing to denounce the Viscount’s dishonorable acts, Resser had insisted on staying to finish his training. He had believed that the only way to restore the respect of House Moritani would be to shepherd it back onto an honorable path. In the years since Resser’s return to Grumman, he had become Viscount Moritani’s most trusted man and had done his best to keep the volatile leader in check.

  Smiling without humor, Viscount Moritani activated a palmlock and unsealed an armored drawer built into the frigate’s bulkhead. He withdrew a long, curling sheet of instroy paper on which were printed countless names and dates in minuscule letters. “This is a very small segment of the Bene Gesserit breeding records. A chart of bloodlines.”

  Resser squinted to read the small script, but didn’t know what he was supposed to make of all the names. Something about House Tantor and the Salusa Incident. “And how did you obtain private breeding records, sir?”

  Moritani raised a bushy eyebrow and regarded him coldly. Resser knew not to ask further about that.

  “My father once told me a rumor,” the Viscount continued, “a tall tale that his father had told him, and so on. It always had a ring of truth to me, and I spent years digging.” He tapped the long sheet of paper. “This proves what I long suspected — generation after generation, dating back thousands of years.”

  “What does it prove, my Lord?”

  “This family was not always House Moritani. Once, we were named Tantor. After Salusa, though, every member of House Tantor was hunted down and killed. Every member the hunters could find, that is.”

  A shudder ran down Resser’s spine. Now it began to make sense. “The Salusa Incident? Not the atomic attack that nearly wiped out House Corrino and devastated all of Salusa Secundus?”

  “One and the same. We are the renegade family whose name was erased from the historical record.” The nobleman narrowed his eyes. “Thanks to the Bene Gesserit, I now have proof. I know what the Corrinos did to many of my ancestors… and what Archduke Ecaz is doing to my only son.”

  “And no one else is aware of this genealogy? Surely everyone has forgotten about the blood hunt.”

  “I have never forgotten. You are now one of only five persons, including myself, who even suspects such a connection. Five living persons, that is. I had to take certain necessary precautions to ensure the silence of an informant, and of the opportunist in whom he confided.”

  The Viscount replaced the instroy document in the armored bulkhead drawer. “If not for the systematic extermination of my ancestors, poor Wolfram would not be the last of our bloodline.”

  The implications rolled through Resser’s mind. From what he knew, the execution edict against the nameless family that had unleashed the atomics on Salusa Secundus had never technically been lifted. “But shouldn’t you just destroy that document, my Lord? It is dangerous to keep in your possession.”

  “On the contrary, I wish to keep it as a constant reminder of the destruction my noble House is capable of … no matter which name we bear.” His mouth became a grim line. “One day we shall exact our final revenge. On House Corrino, and on House Ecaz.”

  Resser felt a chill in the reprocessed air of the sealed chamber, but his oath of duty and honor required him to serve without questioning his master. “I live only to serve you and your noble House, Lord Moritani.”

  Empires may rise and fall, and stars may burn for millennia, but nothing is quite so enduring as hatred.

  —The Ecaz Family Chronicle

  While the Archduke’s business administrators presented options for the alliance between House Atreides and House Ecaz, Duke Leto was distracted by the ache in his heart. He had a difficult time concentrating on the nuances of the negotiations, though he knew that any mistake he made could have repercussions on his House for years to come. He could have used a Mentat to keep track of the details, but Thufir Hawat was serving a greater need by protecting Caladan.

  Both Ecaz and Atreides desired this arrangement, but Leto’s life was complicated by a concubine and a son he had named as his true heir. An alliance between houses, a marriage, and another son by Ilesa would change the situation considerably.

  Fortunately, most of the negotiations were similar to those from sixteen years ago, when Leto had been betrothed to Armand Ecaz’s elder daughter. The previous agreements had been brought out of the archives to use as a starting point, but much had changed in the years since the Grumman sneak attack had killed Sanyá. The last time he had tried to marry into the Ecazi sphere, Leto had had another son, Victor, by another concubine, Kailea Vernius. Both were now dead, as was Sanyá.

  “You look troubled, my friend,” Armand said. “Did you not sleep well last night? Are your quarters not comfortable?”

  Leto smiled. “Your hospitality is exemplary, Armand.” It was the discussion far into the night that kept me awake, and Jessica’s deep hurt long afterward.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed in her quarters, a private room down the hall from his own, Leto had looked at her beautiful oval face, remembering when the Bene Gesserit first brought her to him as a young woman. His growing love for Jessica had been the wedge that drove Kailea from him. Out of jealousy, Kailea had tried to kill Leto but had instead caused the death of their innocent son, and brutally crippled Prince Rhombur Vernius. Now, Leto swore to himself that he wouldn’t allow Ilesa to become a similar wedge between himself and Jessica.

  “It is business and politics,” he had said, wishing he didn’t sound so defensive. He could have spent hours listing the advantages of such an alliance, but no such explanations would ever touch Jessica’s heart. He assured her that he didn’t love Ilesa — didn’t even know her.

  Jessica simply sat there with a cold expression. “I understand completely, my Duke, and I am confident you will make the appropriate decision. I am just your concubine, with no say in the matter.”

  “Dammit, Jessica, you can speak openly with me!”

  “Yes, my Lord.” She said nothing else.

  He let the silence draw out, but he was no match for a Bene Gesserit. “I am sorry. Truly, I am.” Though her stony mask was impenetrable, she looked so lovely to him.

  “I expect nothing else from you, Leto. Your father raised you never to marry for love, only for political advantage. After all, the lack of love in his marriage to Lady Helena is reflected in your own lack of love toward your exiled mother. I have seen the Old Duke’s portrait. I know what he said and what he taught you. How could you not believe as he did?”

  “You must hate him.”

  “Does one hate the tide for washing away the sand? Does one hate a storm for bringing lightning?”

  Leto wondered if Jessica wished she could have seen the Old Duke when he was alive, just to give him a piece of her mind.

  “I will take care of you and Paul,” Leto insisted. “You will always be part of Castle Caladan. You will always be with me
.”

  “I trust my Duke’s promises.” Jessica turned away quickly.

  Bidding her good night, Leto had taken his leave, but he had remained awake for a long time afterward….

  The servants brought trays of “light refreshments”: a dripping comb of silver honey, roasted tree-crabs in butter on skewers, z-nuts that were startlingly sour. Leto ate while listening to breakdowns of the prime exports of Ecaz, the most profitable forest products. Armand spoke of spending huge amounts of time and money on pharmaceutical research, testing, and processing. Suk medical chemists and biopharmacists in Elaccan jungle camps constantly discovered new leaves, lichens, berries, roots, fungi.

  Most important, the Archduke laid out his absolute trade embargo against Viscount Hundro Moritani of Grumman. He passed Leto a proclamation that stated: “There shall be no export of any useful item to House Moritani.”

  Armand pointed to the official document. “If you are to marry Ilesa, you must agree to this condition, Leto. I cannot bend this rule. Not so much as a leaf from a tree or a berry from a bush. That monster shall not have a gram of comfort from this world.”

  At one time, Leto had tried to negotiate an end to the simmering feud between Ecaz and Moritani, and the Emperor had even stationed Sardaukar watchdogs on Grumman for two years. But as soon as the Imperial soldiers pulled out, Viscount Moritani struck again, publicly executing both Armand’s brother and his daughter Sany, opening the floodgates of a full-scale war.

  “Will there never be an end to it?” Leto asked.

  “I recently had to reprimand Duke Prad Vidal because he attempted to make a black-market cargo shipment against my express orders. Once caught, Vidal simply offered to pay me half the profits, expecting to be forgiven, but I spat in his face. I literally spat in his face!” Armand blinked at Leto, as though surprised at himself. “He submitted a formal apology for his actions, and seemed to expect one from me in return. My administrators claim we are losing profits because of the embargo, but what is mere money? I hate the Moritanis.”

  In a quiet voice, Leto said, “I have heard that the Viscount’s son suffers from a terrible disease, and that a cure is available here on Ecaz. If you showed compassion by providing medicine, would that not be a way to resolve your conflict peacefully?”

  Armand said acidly, “How could I save his pathetic son, when he murdered my daughter? By denying Moritani the medicine, I’ll make that madman feel some of the pain he has inflicted on my House. This dispute will not end without a complete extermination of one family or the other.”

  The Archduke lifted a small crystalline vial that stood near his place on the table. “This is the rare medicine the Viscount so desperately needs. Esoit-poay requires months to extract, refine, and process. Yes, I could provide this to Moritani. I could save his son.”

  Armand clenched the tiny bottle in his hand, then hurled it to the stone tiled floor, smashing the vial to glinting shards. “I would rather let the cure dry on the ground than have it touch the lips of that vile Grumman spawn.” He lowered. “Imagine if you were given a chance to provide comfort or save the Baron Harkonnen’s young nephew. Would you do it?”

  Leto sighed heavily. “I doubt it. The Harkonnens were involved in the death of my father, and quite probably were part of the scheme that cost the life of my firstborn son. No, I’d throttle Feyd-Rautha with my bare hands rather than save him.”

  “Then you understand my position better than most people.”

  Leto nodded. “I agree to the terms.”

  The rest of the negotiations went smoothly, and soon it was time for Leto to return home with Paul and Jessica and begin the preparations. The wedding would take place at Castle Caladan in two months.

  Former friends make the most bloodthirsty enemies. Who is in a better position to know how to inflict the greatest pain?

  —from The Wisdom of Muad’Dib by the PRINCESS IRULAN

  Centuries of exploitation by the Harkonnens had wrung nearly every resource out of Giedi Prime. Even the Baron recognized that. The Moritani home planet of Grumman, however, was in far worse shape.

  House Moritani had abused the landscape for generations until it was little more than the husk of a once-fertile world, mined out and barely capable of sustaining even the hardiest crops. The natives could extract very little more from the planet, and House Moritani was hungry for a new fief. The Viscount had already petitioned the Emperor several times, specifically mentioning Ecaz as a possibility, but his requests had been turned down.

  No wonder the man is always in a foul mood, the Baron thought as he gazed across the patchy steppes. Even the breezes through the dry remnants of vegetation sounded like a death rattle.

  Dressed entirely in black, the large Baron stood impatiently outside a series of linked insulated yurts and stable-sized tents. Through the fluttering tent flaps he saw high wooden stall doors, and men in leathers. He heard specially bred horses neighing and kicking in their stalls, and handlers trying to calm them.

  After his arrival from Giedi Prime, a rugged open vehicle had brought him and his Mentat, Piter de Vries, directly from the spaceport.

  A thick-armed driver with shaggy hair and a long mustache had said that Viscount Moritani would meet them there, but failed to say when. Now, the Harkonnen leader pulled his collar up around his neck. The air seemed laden with grit and dust, worse even than Arrakis. Vladimir Harkonnen was not accustomed to waiting.

  Piter looked indignant on his behalf. “My Baron, this is a Grumman barn! Hardly an appropriate meeting place if the Viscount is trying to impress you.”

  The Baron frowned at him. “Use your deductive reasoning, Mentat. Hundro Moritani loves his specially bred stallions. He probably considers this an honor.” He had heard the magnificent horses were huge and dangerous. The beasts certainly made a frightful amount of noise.

  On the flight down from orbit, the pilot had pointed out the walled city of Ritka on the edge of a dry seabed that butted up against a low mountain range. Most of the people on Grumman were nomadic, wandering over the rugged land to eke out an existence from the sparse remaining resources. The inhabitants of Ritka depended almost entirely on offworld supplies.

  Beneath the dry seabed and its surrounding plains, the crust had been riddled with interconnecting tunnels and mine shafts by Grumman mineral extractors that chewed like termites, scraping away every speck of worthwhile dust. The Baron had been nervous that the whole plain would collapse under the weight of the passenger ship as it landed outside of Ritka.

  House Moritani was desperate, and for good reason. The Baron was eager to hear what the Viscount intended to propose. If he could use the Grumman hatred of Ecaz to inflict collateral misery on House Atreides, he would be well pleased. In the meantime, however, he was not pleased with this long wait.

  Something caught his eye in the distant sky, a lumbering aircraft flying low over the hills. Soon he heard the steady, muffled drone of engines. A large, heavy creature dangled in a metallic sling from the fixed-wing flier — an animal with long legs, black hide, flailing mane and tail. One of their monster horses?

  The plane hovered over a landing pad not far from the connected yurts and tents, easing the black brute down to the ground. The Baron could see vicious-looking spines protruding from the stallion’s head. Men on speedcycles encircled the creature and fired bright yellow loops of energy at it, which they tightened on all sides as the beast pulled against the restraints. Shield ribbons, the Baron realized; he’d heard of them. Releasing the harness from the aircraft, the cycle wranglers sent the sling mechanism back up into the air. As they worked, the Baron recognized one of the wranglers as the Grumman Swordmaster, Hiih Resser. The redhead was multi-talented, it seemed. The fixed-wing flier landed nearby, and Moritani emerged from the craft, flushed and grinning.

  “Piter, come meet our host,” the Baron said. Buoyed by his suspensor belt, he strode purposefully toward the landing area, careful to stay clear of the thrashing animal and the cycle wrang
lers who fought to drag it toward a corral.

  Viscount Moritani marched down the aircraft’s exit ramp wearing a brown leather jerkin, a pointed cap, chaps, and glistening spurboots. “I trust you enjoyed the show, Vladimir! You should see what my stallions can do in a blood tournament.”

  “Perhaps later… after we discuss our business. I have been waiting here for quite some time.”

  “Apologies. A prized wild stallion was spotted on the steppes. He led us on quite a chase, but we finally got him. Very valuable breeding stock, a thoroughbred Genga — our ancient breed is found nowhere else in the galaxy. One of the few truly profitable things left on Grumman.”

  Before the handlers could get the huge spiny horse into a stall, the creature broke free of the shield ribbons and charged back out, wild-eyed, toward the Baron and the Viscount. The two noblemen stumbled toward the dubious shelter of the plane. Boosted by his suspensors, the Baron reached the ramp first. The wild stallion slammed into the thin metal walkway as the Viscount tried to get around the Baron, causing the two men to stumble into each other.

  The Baron shouted, “Piter, stop that beast!” The Mentat was not sure what to do with a spiny horse that neighed and roared.

  The wranglers sped forward on their cycles, throwing out more shield ribbons, but missed their mark. Standing alone, unmoving, Swordmaster Resser fired a volley of stun darts at the horse as it charged toward him. Finally it collapsed in its tracks with a heavy thud.

  The Baron brushed himself off, trying to regain his composure by venting his anger at Piter de Vries. Viscount Moritani roared with laughter. “Gengas are the most spirited horses in the Imperium! Each one is big and fast, a lethal combination that can defeat the largest Salusan bull.”

  After the drugged horse was safely hauled away, an aide hurried up to issue a weather report. Frowning, Moritani turned to the Baron. “I intended to put on a horse show for you, but alas our climate-control methods are rudimentary in comparison with those of other worlds.” Black clouds had begun to gather over the mountains. “We will have to retire to my fortress in Ritka.”