Leto hardened himself, just as he had done after Victor's death and the suicide of Kailea. He had no time for the weakness or hesitation of love. Wasn't that what the Bene Gesserits always taught? Leto finally pushed Jessica away, gave her one more kiss, and then marched into the frigate beside his waiting companions. Right now he had only one focus, as sharp and as all-consuming as a singularity.

A promised marriage was different from any other trade agreement or business arrangement. His father's mistake with Helena had been that he had viewed their marriage as nothing more than a strategic move in a large Imperial game. Paulus had never invested himself personally in it. He may have been a beloved Duke and a good father, but he'd never been much of a husband.

Leto felt a sense of relief when his ships rose from Caladan to be engulfed in the cavernous hold of the Heighliner. The giant doors closed them in, and it was done. He did not want, or need, a chance to change his mind.

He rode with the Archduke in the lead frigate of the Ecazi delegation. The man was damaged and deeply hurt, and Leto would remain at his side as friend and staunch ally against the evil they now faced.

Pale and agitated, Whitmore Bludd rode next to Gurney. The Swordmaster's fine clothes were rumpled now, with no indication of the peac.o.c.k finery he usually wore. He carried the rapier at his side, though he seemed loathe to use it.

A small amount of the ashes from Rivvy Dinari's funeral pyre had been mixed into a polished plaz cube to be the keystone of a new monument. Archduke Ecaz had already promised to build a towering memorial to the beefy Swordmaster for his selfless bravery.

Bludd flinched as he looked at the transparent cube, in which the ashes were suspended like dark stars floating in a bright nebula. The Archduke spoke very little to him, pointedly ignoring his remaining Swordmaster. Whitmore Bludd's name would barely be mentioned in any historical recounting of this event.

Now that Leto had time to consider the scope of the military operation under way, as well as the Guild's transport fees, the realization of how much this full-scale war was going to cost finally began to sink in. If the mad Grumman leader had followed the rules set down for a War of a.s.sa.s.sins, there would have been precise targets, specific victims, and no need for a gigantic armed fleet with all of its attendant support costs. "This could bankrupt me, Armand."

The Archduke turned a gaunt face toward him. "House Ecaz will pay half of your expenses." He blinked, and his eyelids seemed heavy. "What is the price of honor?"

Though there was nothing to see within the Heighliner's hold, the Archduke stared out the small porthole, looking at all of the Atreides military ships there, which would soon be joined with his own warships.

WHEN THE HEIGHLINER reached Ecaz and the hold opened for the Atreides vessels to drop down as a magnificent escort for the Archduke's frigate, a great deal of confusion tangled the communication lines from the palace below.

With a dismissive gesture toward his surviving Swordmaster, Armand said, "Bludd, inform them who we are! Tell them there is no threat." His face looked dead, rather than gloating, as he added, "I want to look Duke Vidal in the eye and watch him squirm. He will be most surprised to see me still alive. How will he make excuses, I wonder?"

"He will claim that the evidence we bring of his treachery was falsified," Leto said.

"He can claim whatever he likes... but I will believe only the truth."

But Duke Vidal did not give them the chance. On the main continent, a swarm of ships scrambled from the Ecazi Palace at the appearance of the overwhelming force coming down from orbit. Hundreds of vessels flew swiftly across the sea to the Elaccan continent. A ma.s.s exodus had begun as soon as the unexpectedly large military force began its descent.

Leto could understand the panicked reaction, though. "With a military force this size, they must think we're invading." But weren't the Ecazis honorable enough to defend their women and children, even if they thought they faced an overwhelming enemy force? Why were they fleeing like thieves in the night?

"I'll set them straight." Bludd eagerly spoke into the microphone. "Archduke Armand has returned, and he calls for an immediate war council. We bring grave news."

"The Archduke is alive?" blurted the s.p.a.ceport manager. "We were told he was a.s.sa.s.sinated, along with his daughter and much of the Atreides household!"

Armand scowled. Leto rose halfway to his feet from his pa.s.senger seat. "Who told you this? How did this information come to Ecaz?"

"Why, Duke Prad Vidal announced it. He has a.s.sumed temporary control of the planet, as acting leader."

Armand's face darkened with anger, and Gurney growled. "There is no way a courier could have brought that information, my Lord. We allowed no ships to leave Caladan. We are the first. No one could have spread the word."

"He didn't need a courier," Leto said. "He knew knew the attack was going to happen, but I did not expect he would act precipitously. He's a fool." the attack was going to happen, but I did not expect he would act precipitously. He's a fool."

"He is impatient. He could not have guessed we would cut off all communication from Caladan after the ma.s.sacre, or that either of us would survive. It seems he was too anxious to steal my seat of power to wait for confirmation." Armand wrested the communication controls from Bludd and issued orders to the s.p.a.ceport manager. "Have Duke Vidal arrested immediately. He has many questions to answer."

At the main palace, Leto could see the great confusion, numerous ships still lifting off and streaking away, an entire military force in disorganized retreat. Vidal's supporters? The small gang that supported the Elaccan governor's bid for power could not possibly withstand the full Atreides fleet, and they knew it.

"He wanted to take over my palace, but didn't realize he'd have to fight for it. Now he runs back to Elacca to hide behind his own fortifications - for all the good they'll do him." The Archduke's expression was a barely contained thunderstorm.

"Before we can crush the Grumman threat, we will have to deal with the c.o.c.kroaches under your own doormat, my Lord," Gurney said.

The stream of frantic ships continued to evacuate from the Ecazi Palace, racing toward the coast and the open ocean. Armand clenched and unclenched his one remaining fist. "Duke Leto, have your warships destroy those vessels. That will take care of our problem."

Leto straightened. "Armand, that would break the rules of the War of a.s.sa.s.sins. Minimize collateral damage. Take out only the n.o.ble target. If this is not handled properly, you could begin a civil war here on Ecaz and be censured by the Landsraad."

Armand nodded slowly as his lead frigate came in for a landing. "I cannot accept that. A civil war would delay my strike against Grumman."

The Harkonnens killed my family, and I survived, even though Beast Rabban tried to hunt me down. I fought many battles during my Swordmaster training on Ginaz, then helped Duke Leto's troops retake Ix from the Tleilaxu, and through it all I survived. I cannot begin to count the number of battles I have fought in the name of House Atreides. Those numbers do not count. The only thing that matters is that I am still alive to defend House Atreides.

-DUNCAN IDAHO, A Thousand Lives A Thousand Lives

With his wiry black hair and distinctive features, Duncan Idaho bore no resemblance to young Paul Atreides. Since they could not pose as father and son traveling together, they decided instead upon uncle and ward.

They wore comfortable but ill-fitting clothes and carried patched travel sacks, all of which had been picked up at a secondhand market in Cala City. Duncan concealed the Old Duke's sword beneath a loose cape. Paul's hair had been cropped short, and his recent scabs and sc.r.a.pes also altered his appearance. The Swordmaster inspected him and said, "The job of a disguise is not to be perfect, but to deflect attention."

They boarded a large pa.s.senger ferry that slowly crossed the ocean, carrying cargo, farm crews, vacationers who preferred the leisurely pace, and others who were simply too poor to afford a long-distance flight. Most of the pa.s.sengers in the lower decks were pundi rice farmers who moved from paddy to paddy along the continental coasts, following the monsoon season. Short in stature, they had broad faces and aboriginal features, and they spoke a dialect that Paul did not understand; many were descended from tribes that still resided in the dense jungles, isolated for hundreds of generations. In filmbooks Paul had read about the mysterious "Caladan primitives," but little was known about them, since for many generations the Atreides rulers had adhered to a policy of noninterference in the natural, self-contained societies.

Some pa.s.sengers amused themselves by fishing from the main deck. The ferry's cook dragged a net from the stern and used his catch for the day's communal meal. All pa.s.sengers ate at a common table, though Paul and Duncan kept to themselves. Paul was satisfied enough with the thin fish stew and dried wedges of paradan melon.

Once, a storm came close enough to make the large ferry sway back and forth, but Paul had his sea legs and stood on deck with Duncan, watching the clouds and whitecaps, seeing flashes of lightning in the distance. He thought of the stories of electrical creatures named elecrans that preyed upon lost sailors, but this was a more mundane form of lightning, a simple thunderstorm that pa.s.sed away to the north.

When the ferry finally arrived at the Eastern Continent's largest city, little more than a village with docks and wooden houses that extended out over the sh.o.r.eline, they disembarked. Paul regarded the rugged mountains that rose abruptly from the coastline. "Are we going to the interior, Duncan? I don't see any roads."

"It will probably be no more than a trail. The Sisters keep themselves hidden, but there's no isolation so great that I can't find it."

When they asked villagers about the mysterious fortress abbey, they received sour, suspicious looks. Though the Sisters in Isolation were not revered, the locals viewed strangers with even less enthusiasm. Nevertheless, Duncan continued to press, insisting that his interest in the abbey was a private matter. Finally he received vague directions, which enabled the two of them to set off.

It took them days to make the journey on foot, following a wide road that degenerated into a dirt one, then a rutted trail, and ultimately dwindled to a muddy path that wound upward into the mountains. Around them the jungle grew denser, the trees taller, the rugged slopes steeper.

When they finally reached the fortress nunnery on the third afternoon, it seemed almost as if they had stumbled upon it by accident. Sheer black walls rose from the ground like artificial cliffs. Paul stared at the imposing razor-edged corners and lookout turrets on which small figures could be discerned. The communal home of the Sisters in Isolation had few windows, only small slots in the thick barricade - perhaps to minimize vulnerabilities, or to give the Sisters few opportunities to view the outside world.

Duncan and Paul strode up to the barred, unwelcoming gates. "They must receive visitors occasionally," Paul mused. "How else do they get supplies and equipment? They can't be entirely self-sufficient."

"No sense hiding our ident.i.ty, now that we're here. I'm sure they've been watching us for the past several kilometers." Duncan threw back his hood and put his hand on the young man's shoulder. He shouted at the gate. "h.e.l.lo!"

Other than the tiny figures stationed at the highest towers, he detected no movement, heard no sound. Duncan called again, "Open the gate! We demand entry in the name of Duke Leto Atreides of Caladan!"

After a moment, Paul saw a flurry above. One of the blocks of stone over the gate shifted aside to reveal a camouflaged window. "Duke Leto the Just? Your claim is easy enough for any man to make," came a gruff voice. A male voice, Paul decided. He wondered why a man would be guarding the door of the towering abbey.

"But it's not easy for a man to bring the Duke's own son, Paul," Duncan countered. "His grandmother Helena is with you. She won't recognize her grandson, since she's never looked upon him, but she will will recognize me." recognize me."

Paul turned his face upward, sure that hidden imagers were capturing every detail.

"And why should the Abbess wish to see her grandson? Your Duke himself told her never again to have contact with his family."

Paul absorbed this information quickly. The Abbess? He was not actually surprised. From what he'd read of Helena Atreides, she was a scheming, highly intelligent woman with lofty ambitions.

Duncan said, "That is a matter we will discuss in private with Lady Helena. She knows why she is there - or would she rather I shout the reasons at the top of my lungs?"

A mechanical click was followed by a heavy droning hum as the gates swung inward. The man who came down to meet them had once been handsome - Paul could see that from his features - but now his face was lined and weathered, as though psychological pressures and sadness had eaten away at his heart for years. Amazingly, he wore a faded and much-mended House Atreides uniform.

Duncan regarded the man, then suddenly stiffened. "Swain Goire! So you have kept yourself alive all these years."

The other man's scowl appeared to be a natural expression for him. "I remain alive only because my Duke commanded it as part of my punishment. Still, my penance can never atone for what I took from him."

"No, but you can can help keep us alive for him." Duncan nudged Paul through the gates and into the thick fortress walls of the abbey. help keep us alive for him." Duncan nudged Paul through the gates and into the thick fortress walls of the abbey.

THEY REQUESTED SANCTUARY in the Duke's name, and the Sisters in Isolation grudgingly provided them with quarters, but very little welcome. The women were dressed in uncomfortable black outfits; many wore dark wimples, while others covered their faces with obscuring mesh. They spoke little, if at all, and seemed to be better at building barricades than bridges.

The Sisters in Isolation had almost no contact with the outside, though they were known for their handmade tapestries. Most of the women were said to have come here because of mental injuries, scars they could not bear. Paul suspected that they simply wallowed together in combined grief, and for their own protection.

At sunset, bra.s.sy bells shattered the haunted silence of the abbey, summoning everyone for dinner in a large mess hall. The meal was plain - bread, fruits, vegetables, and preserved fish. They drank water that bubbled up from jungle springs and was piped into the abbey.

Goire took a seat by himself at a small table on the far edge of the room, avoiding even the two new guests. Apparently he was not welcome to dine with the Sisters. Sentenced here after the death of Victor and Kailea, he was one of the few males in the entire abbey.

The large chair at the head of the long table remained empty, and Paul wondered if his grandmother would bother to show up, or if she would spurn them. He was eager to meet this woman whose name was rarely spoken around the castle. Even though he had pressed Duncan, Gurney, and Thufir for details, they had only answered him with brusque, dismissive words.

Finally, as though telepathically linked, all the silent Sisters turned to face a wooden door at the far side of the banquet chamber. It opened, and a tall, hooded woman entered.

She wore a black mesh over her face, and spangles of Richesian circuit-embroidery wound about the wrapping at her throat. Threaded speakers. Threaded speakers. The woman glided forward to stand straight-backed at her chair. She looked ominous to Paul, like a superst.i.tious old drawing of the Grim Reaper. When she turned her obscured face toward the two visitors, Paul noticed that, at the side of the room, Swain Goire had turned away from her. The woman glided forward to stand straight-backed at her chair. She looked ominous to Paul, like a superst.i.tious old drawing of the Grim Reaper. When she turned her obscured face toward the two visitors, Paul noticed that, at the side of the room, Swain Goire had turned away from her.

The Abbess took her seat without uttering a word. Paul wondered if he should introduce himself, ask his questions. Duncan's fist clenched where it rested on the tabletop.

After a lengthy and unpleasant moment, the woman reached up with black-gloved hands to touch the sides of her hood, hesitated as though afraid, and then pulled back the fabric to reveal dark, wavy brown hair shot through with silver-gray. She peeled down the mesh that obscured her face, and Paul gazed for the first time upon his paternal grandmother.

Her features were lean and severe, but he recognized hints of his father's face. Lady Helena of House Richese had married Duke Paulus Atreides, and clearly she had not forgotten her regal bearing. She spoke in a voice that seemed ragged and rusty from disuse. "For now, at this meal, I will acknowledge that I am your grandmother, boy. But do not expect a loving welcome or celebratory feast."

"Nevertheless, we expect courtesy and your guarantee of safety," Duncan warned.

"Courtesy..." Helena seemed to consider this. "You ask for a great deal."

Goire stood, startling the gathered women. "And you will give it to them. They have every right to make this request of us, and we have every obligation to grant it."

Helena's lips pursed in a scowl. "Very well. You are here, and I will learn why... but later. For now, let us eat in peace. And silence."

Politics is a tangled web, an intricate labyrinth, an ever-shifting kaleidoscopic pattern. And it is not pretty.

-COUNT HASIMIR FENRING

Baron Harkonnen sat in a swollen, self-adjusting chair in the back row of the Landsraad Hall of Oratory, waiting for the shouting match to begin and hoping that his name would not be mentioned. He had wearied of biding his time on Giedi Prime, hoping for any hint of news about poor Duke Leto's wedding-day tragedy and the murder of his innocent son (if the secondary a.s.sa.s.sins had completed their mission). Finally, unable to quell his impatience, he had decided on an unannounced trip to Kaitain to attend to "business matters." No one would think anything of it.

And so, he happened to be in the Imperial city when the Mentat Thufir Hawat from House Atreides and the official Ecazi amba.s.sador stationed on Kaitain called an emergency session of the Landsraad and demanded a judgment from the Emperor himself.

They must be very upset indeed. Oh dear. Word of the ma.s.sacre quickly spread, and the Baron was disappointed to learn that Duke Leto and his son Paul had survived. So far. Word of the ma.s.sacre quickly spread, and the Baron was disappointed to learn that Duke Leto and his son Paul had survived. So far.

Viscount Hundro Moritani was also conveniently in the Imperial city, as if he had come here just waiting to be accused. That was both provocative and foolish, the Baron thought. Tactically, the smart thing would have been for the Viscount to go home and sh.o.r.e up his defenses against the combined Atreides and Ecazi retaliation that was sure to come. What was he doing here? The Baron had gone out of his way to avoid seeing the man, not sure what the vitriolic Grumman leader might be up to.

The gathered n.o.bles in the Hall of Oratory took their a.s.signed seats with an air of hushed antic.i.p.ation. Many of them were clearly disturbed by what they had heard. The box reserved for House Moritani was conspicuously empty. Was the man insane enough to defy an Imperial summons? Possibly.

Far below, Shaddam IV called the session to order from an ornate podium on the central dais. "I summon Viscount Hundro Moritani of Grumman to face the charges being leveled here today." The Emperor raised his hand toward the vaulted ceiling, and a clearplaz bubble descended on suspensors.

Inside the transparent ball stood a tall, angular man who wrapped himself proudly in a fur-lined yellow robe. The Viscount's indignant, heavily accented voice was transmitted through speakers around the auditorium. "Why have I been imprisoned before I have been charged with any offense? Am I to be on display like a zoo animal before this chamber of my peers?"

The Emperor was entirely unperturbed. "The confinement is for your own protection."

"I need no protection! I demand that you release me so that I can stand before my accusers."

Shaddam brushed at something on his gilded sleeve. "Perhaps some members of the audience feel they need to be protected from you? A formal complaint has been lodged against Grumman." He tapped a sheet of ridulian crystal before him, as if perusing a news report. "The matters before us today concern alleged flaws in the declaration and prosecution of a legal War of a.s.sa.s.sins. There are prescribed rules, and part of my job is to remind you of them - all of you." Shaddam looked around the Hall of Oratory, seemed to hear resounding agreement, then gave instructions for the transparent holding chamber to be opened.

Viscount Moritani stood large and ruffled before the crowd; his thick hair was mussed. "Very well, then let us discuss what I have done. And let all hear the crimes committed against my my House as well." He glared around, perhaps looking for Baron Harkonnen, though he didn't appear to see the Baron yet among the hundreds of representatives. House as well." He glared around, perhaps looking for Baron Harkonnen, though he didn't appear to see the Baron yet among the hundreds of representatives.

Despite his bulk, the Baron tried to withdraw un.o.btrusively into the shadows, sinking into the self-adjusting chair.

The female Ecazi amba.s.sador stepped forward beside Hawat and said in an erudite voice, "Crimes were committed, indeed. We will present our evidence and let the Emperor and the Landsraad decide." Without further encouragement, she began her recital of the major events in the ongoing feud: the biological sabotage of fogtree forests, the murder of amba.s.sadors, the carpet bombing of Ecaz; then the expulsion of all Grumman students from the Swordmaster school on Ginaz, followed by the startling attack that leveled Ginaz, and the murder of the Archduke's brother and eldest daughter.

As he listened, Viscount Moritani was at first stoic and then showed bitter amus.e.m.e.nt. The Landsraad members began an ugly grumbling; the Baron thought it did not bode well.

Thufir Hawat now took his turn, stepping forward. "But that was only the beginning, my Lords. These images speak for themselves."

The audience of n.o.bles sat in horrified silence, and the Baron watched with eager antic.i.p.ation as recordings of the mayhem during the wedding ceremony were played for all to see, culminating in the Viscount Moritani delivering his d.a.m.ning holographic message. To the Baron's great relief, no one mentioned the Harkonnen name.

Shaddam silenced the resulting uproar by banging his enhanced gavel. The Ecazi amba.s.sador spoke again, so furious that her entire body shook. "Throughout this dispute, House Ecaz committed no illegal act. Even in the earlier phase, our Archduke formally declared kanly, as required. We responded only under the strict rules of a War of a.s.sa.s.sins, as laid down in the Great Convention. We did nothing to provoke this vicious and irrational violence from House Moritani."

The Viscount slammed a fist against the secondary podium. "You let my only son die by denying him the drug needed to cure his disease! You murdered Wolfram as surely as if you had sent an a.s.sa.s.sin to plunge a dagger into his heart! My poor son - my only heir! - was an innocent bystander targeted by Ecazi hatred."

The Baron pursed his lips, but remained silent. Someone would probably point out that the killing of a son and heir was, strictly speaking, perfectly allowed under the terms of a War of a.s.sa.s.sins.

The female amba.s.sador remained unruffled. "All members of the Landsraad know Archduke Armand as a great humanitarian. Show us any formal request you made for such drugs. Prove to those a.s.sembled here that Ecaz ever directly denied your son medical treatment." She looked at him coldly. "Considering your past behavior, Viscount, it is more likely that you allowed your son to die so you would have an excuse for more violence."

Moritani turned purple with rage. Before the man could stalk down from the central stage, Sardaukar guards moved closer, ready to confine him within the clearplaz bubble again, should it prove necessary.

Emperor Shaddam pointed a stern finger. "Enough. This must not get out of hand."

Hawat answered in a strong voice. "Out of hand, Sire? House Moritani has struck not only against Ecaz but also House Atreides and House Vernius of Ix. In the ma.s.sacre at the wedding, the representatives of many other n.o.ble families were put at risk and could have been killed. A Grumman sneak attack previously destroyed the Swordmaster school on Ginaz. How much more collateral damage will we tolerate? This dispute can quickly blow up into a conflagration that embroils many more Houses of the Landsraad."

"It will not," Shaddam said in a stern tone. "Viscount Moritani, I command that you cease your foolhardy course of action. You will pay reparations in an amount I will personally determine. And I require you to apologize to the Archduke for killing his two daughters. And his brother. There, that should settle the matter."