Paul Of Dune Part 21

Viscount Moritani just laughed cruelly, startling the entire audience. Even the Baron wondered what the man was doing. "Oh, more Houses than Ecaz and Atreides are involved. You might be surprised." Now he seemed to be looking directly at the Harkonnen seats. A dangerous game to play with me dangerous game to play with me, the Baron thought.

Moritani took a step toward the Emperor's podium, though the Sardaukar would not let him get closer. "Why not just send another legion of Sardaukar to breathe down my neck, Sire? I will ignore them as I did before." Now he actually turned his back on Shaddam and began to stride away as the outcry mounted in the chamber. He raised his voice bitterly, "Now if you all will excuse me, I have a funeral to plan - for my son."

The Emperor pounded his gavel again, but the Viscount did not turn. "Hundro Moritani, you are officially censured for inappropriate behavior. On behalf of the entire Landsraad and the member Houses, you are also placed on administrative probation." The n.o.ble members muttered at this light sentence for such extreme defiance, and Shaddam shouted, "If need be, House Moritani can be stripped. Any further violations, and you will face the loss of your fief!"

Now, the man turned slowly, looking back at the Emperor with unabashed loathing. "How much is my fief worth, Sire? Grumman is a worn-out and nearly valueless planet, but it is my home and I am its ruler. I will protect my people and my honor as I see fit. Come and see for yourself, if you like. See how a Moritani Moritani defends his honor!" defends his honor!"

The Baron went cold. Was the man mad? After the wedding ma.s.sacre, Atreides and Ecazi forces were almost certainly planning to attack Grumman, and now he provoked the Emperor as well? The Viscount no longer seemed to care about anything. Could he really have loved his son so much? The very idea made the Baron uneasy. How could he - or anyone else - control such a man?

THAT EVENING IN his diplomatic quarters, before he could make arrangements to return to Giedi Prime, the Baron received an unwelcome, secret message. When he used an ornate stir stick in his spice coffee, his touch activated a cleverly hidden projector, which produced a holo-display of the smiling Grumman n.o.bleman wafting above the food on his tray. Startled, the Baron pushed his meal away, but that could not stop the Viscount's recorded speech.

"I am on my way back to Grumman to prepare for our great battle. A magnificent battle. The Archduke will come with the Atreides military forces - they cannot resist the bait - and my planet must be defended." With a smug expression, he added, "As my ally, Baron, I expect you to send a Harkonnen military division to help Grumman stand against its enemies. I must insist, for the sake of our friends.h.i.+p... and our secrets."

The Baron knocked over the cup of spice coffee, hoping to disrupt the recorded spectral image, but the Viscount continued with his ominous ultimatum. "As I promised you, I will take the credit for these actions. There is no need for me to reveal Harkonnen involvement. If you provide men for our two Houses to fight side by side, I will be happy to let your troops wear Grumman uniforms to maintain our little masquerade. No one need know, besides ourselves.

"Two weeks should be enough time for you to prepare. Atreides and Ecaz will be delayed at least that long, thanks to Duke Vidal. Send the division - and your man Rabban to command them." He smiled, and the image flickered. "I have already lost my son. You can gamble a mere nephew."

In frustrated fury, the Baron slapped at the lingering, sneering image, but it hung maddeningly in the air, as if to remind him of his inability to a.s.sert even that small degree of control.

We build fortress walls around ourselves with thick mental barricades and deep moats. These places of sanctuary serve the dual purpose of keeping the unpleasant reminders out and locking our own guilt within.

-Bene Gesserit Azhar Book

The walls of the fortress nunnery were solid stone, but the true coldness in the weaving chamber seemed to emanate directly from his grandmother. Lady Helena Atreides clearly wanted Paul to feel uncomfortable and unwelcome, and so he fl.u.s.tered her by refusing to behave in an awkward manner. He had nothing to gain or lose from the older woman's companions.h.i.+p, and neither, he supposed, did the Abbess have anything to gain from his. He expected no sudden change to love and acceptance.

Helena's resentment stemmed from old memories of her husband, Paulus, and perhaps Leto as well, but when she tried to take it out on her grandson, Paul harmlessly deflected her att.i.tude, as though he wore a personal body s.h.i.+eld against emotions.

"Our women are hard at work," Helena had scolded when he entered the upper chamber of the tower one morning, asking to observe their activities. "You must not disturb them."

Paul did not slink away, though, as she apparently expected him to do. "They are forbidden to talk, Grandmother, and none of them has even looked at me, so obviously I'm not disturbing them." He peered curiously at all the feverish activity with looms and threads. "Will you please explain what they are doing?"

Thirty women worked at various looms to the percussive sliding and spin of fibers being whisked through grids, shuttles thrown to and fro, patterns tamped and reset. The filaments changed colors, drawn from skeins of yarn, spindles of thread.

The women gathered handfuls of strands that ranged from fine gossamer fibers to thick, slubby twists. The weavers incorporated them into patterns and continued to work in a well-practiced cooperative effort, entirely without conversation. It took Paul several moments to realize that, instead of one giant tangle, there were dozens of different tapestries in production. Some were like rainbows, hues blending into hues, while others were dramatic clashes of threads, intersecting lines, and impossible knots.

"Are they following a grand design?"

"Each Sister makes her own pattern. Since we do not converse with one another, who can say what memories and visions drive us?" Helena's face looked pinched as she frowned. "The famed abstract tapestries are our nunnery's most profitable enterprise. They do not have patterns and pictorial representations as typical tapestries do, but these show a different sort of image, one that is open to interpretation. CHOAM pays us handsomely to distribute them across the Imperium."

"So your religious order is a commercial operation." This statement also seemed to annoy his grandmother.

"There is always commerce in religion. We recognize that people want the products, and we accept money in exchange for them. Beyond that, this abbey is fairly self-sufficient. We grow most of our own food. You know this, because I have noticed you two poking around."

Since arriving, he and Duncan had been wandering about the abbey grounds, viewing the cultivated areas on steep terraces outside the thick walls. The dense jungle also yielded fruits, edible leaves, and tubers, as well as game, though Paul couldn't imagine the Sisters in Isolation going on hunting expeditions. Swain Goire, however, might do it.

"The Caladan primitives are also fond of our tapestries."

Paul was surprised. "What do they use them for?"

Though the mysterious tribes from the deep jungles had very little contact with the rest of Caladan, Paul had been fascinated to study them in filmbooks. Since his father was the Atreides Duke, Paul wanted to learn all he could about every aspect of this world. Duke Leto, Paulus, and their predecessors had let the primitives lead their own lives on the Eastern Continent without hara.s.sment. The Old Duke had issued a statement that whenever the Caladan primitives wished to come to civilization, they would do so of their own accord. History was rife with sad examples of modern ways being forced upon an unwilling people.

Helena drew her brows together. "Who can understand the primitives, any more than they understand our abstract patterns? But they know what they see in the tapestries, and that is all our Sisters could ask for."

Knowing it would startle, even provoke her, Paul turned to her. "And do you feel isolated from civilization, Grandmother? Will you ever request forgiveness from my father so that you may return to Castle Caladan?"

Helena's laugh was like breaking gla.s.s. "Why would I wish to do that? I have everything I need here, and I am queen of my own domain. Why should I want to be a p.a.w.n in someone else's game?"

Paul looked down at the carefully s.p.a.ced warp of tapestry strings. A Sister with close-cropped gray hair deftly wove a pink thread into the weft and then a blue one, tying them together to add to her hypnotic kaleidoscope pattern.

His grandmother's voice sounded sour. "Everything is running perfectly well here. My life has been smooth. I have not thought of either my son or my dead husband in years." Then, in a startling gesture, Helena reached out with her long-fingered hands, and hooked them like claws in the unwoven threads. She yanked and ripped them free from the loom hooks. "All was in perfect harmony, until you and Duncan came."

The silent, gray-haired sister working at the loom sat up and looked at the deliberate ruin the Abbess had made of her work.

Paul supposed her gesture was yet another attempt to intimidate him. Instead, he looked at the tangled mess of threads, viewing the colors and knots. "If each woman here creates her own design from her life experience" - he nodded toward the mess - "would I not be correct to interpret that as your your life's pattern?" life's pattern?"

The Forms must be obeyed. Our very civilization depends on this.

-from the Rules of the Great Convention, as applied to a War of a.s.sa.s.sins

With the sudden arrival of the House Atreides s.h.i.+ps and thousands of well-trained, heavily armed soldiers, Archduke Armand had a ready-made planetary force that more than doubled his fighting power. Together, the two militaries should have been enough to crush the Grummans.

But first, they had an unantic.i.p.ated battle to win here on Ecaz. They could not risk losing the planet to rebels in their absence.

In a private discussion chamber within the recaptured Ecazi Palace, the Archduke still trembled with weakness, both from grief and his severe injury. His voice sounded hollow, like a cold storm wind blowing. "I did not intend to fight a civil war."

Gurney lounged in his carved wooden chair, not to imply casualness but rather to remain loose and ready to fight. "Vidal has been planning this for some time - that much is obvious. This morning's overflights on Elacca mapped out the extent of his military buildup and his scrambled defenses. Mark my words, it did not happen overnight. You have proven him a liar simply by being alive, my Lord."

Leto shook his head, disturbed. "If he had simply bided his time, his treachery would not have been so obvious."

Armand heaved a deep sigh. "Vidal blithely a.s.sumed I would be a.s.sa.s.sinated. Now that he has already announced to everyone that I was killed, how can he explain my return?"

Gurney gave a rumbling chuckle. "That man is a poor leader if he banks on every plan coming off as expected."

"And now there will be tremendous bloodshed because of it." The Archduke hung his head, letting his unkempt silver hair fall forward. "And why do so many of my own people follow him? His deceit is painfully obvious. Does he plant ridiculous stories to cast doubt in the minds of his followers? Could he have suggested to them that I'm a Face Dancer? Or does he simply keep them ignorant?"

"Probably the latter," Leto mused. "But it is not the province of common soldiers to wrestle with the tangles of politics. They will follow his orders."

Whitmore Bludd sat on the opposite side of the table, near the Archduke, yet alone. Though pale, the Swordmaster tried to summon defiance, sounding uncharacteristically bloodthirsty. "We will crush the rebels, no matter the cost. Ecaz will soon be in your complete control again, my Lord. Then we can move on Grumman. It is only a matter of time before we place Hundro Moritani's head on a stake. I promise you that."

Without looking up, the Archduke nodded slowly, as if his head were too heavy for his neck. "Yes, but our path can take many different turns. How do I stomach a b.l.o.o.d.y campaign against my own people, who have been led astray by a traitor?"

"Maybe you won't have to. I propose that we not launch a full-scale civil war," Leto offered. "Even though our armies can defeat the Elaccan rebels, it would be wasteful to set so many brave Ecazi fighters at each other's throats."

"What choice do we have? By now our case has been presented in the Landsraad court. Do you suggest we simply wait to hear from Kaitain while Vidal reinforces his fortifications? And every day of delay here gives Viscount Moritani more time to prepare for us on Grumman."

Leto traced the table's swirling grains of bloodwood. "We brought our armies here to join with yours and then move immediately on to Grumman. Now that Vidal has seen our overwhelming force, he will expect us to launch a full-scale attack, instead of the precision strikes required by the Great Convention. Vidal has never even declared himself in this War of a.s.sa.s.sins, and yet he has joined it. Viscount Hundro Moritani has cast the rules to the winds in this conflict." His expression became hard and implacable as he crossed his arms over his chest. "But we do not have to. Others have flagrantly violated the rules, but that does not give us carte blanche to do the same. One crime does not justify another, particularly when it comes to the emotional pitfalls of internecine warfare."

Gurney could see where Leto was going. His voice was deep and resonant. "The Forms must be obeyed."

The exhausted and grieving Archduke was no longer so nimble, though. "What are you suggesting, my friend?"

"Merely that if they are prepared for a total civil war, ready to defend against a frontal a.s.sault from a large military force, we should demonstrate what a War of a.s.sa.s.sins is all about. We use use a.s.sa.s.sins. A defensive line can protect against a large army, but one or two carefully trained infiltrators might make it through." a.s.sa.s.sins. A defensive line can protect against a large army, but one or two carefully trained infiltrators might make it through."

"I'll do it," Gurney said. "The Orange Catholic Bible states: 'For I have a righteous Lord, and the enemies of my Lord are the enemies of G.o.d.'"

"It is my place to spill the blood of my enemy," the Archduke said.

"You cannot go, Armand," Leto said, his voice filled with compa.s.sion, though he knew he was stating the obvious. "I'll go in your stead. Gurney and I will be the a.s.sa.s.sins."

"And I," said Bludd, a moment late. "For the honor of House Ecaz, my Lord Archduke, let me go and destroy our enemies."

The one-armed Armand did not want to admit his own frailty, yet he could not deny it. "No, stay with me, Swordmaster. I require your security. We have not yet completed a thorough sweep of the palace and the cities. I need you here."

Bludd seemed diminished by the comment, inferring - perhaps correctly, Leto thought - that the Archduke was not willing to overlook his failure. "But my Lord, how can you send a n.o.bleman to do b.l.o.o.d.y work like this? The Duke should not put himself in such danger."

"I should not," Leto said, "but I will anyway. I am not defenseless. Ask Gurney here, or Duncan Idaho. They are my best fighters, my most loyal bodyguards, and they trained me."

Gurney nodded. "Duke Leto is a n.o.bleman first and rarely allows himself to be seen in personal combat, but he is a formidable fighter. He can even best me one time out of ten."

"Four out of ten, Gurney."

The inkvine scar darkened with a bit of a flush. "It is not for me to argue with my Duke."

Armand pondered. "We will provide a diversion by continuing our military buildup as if we are preparing to attack Elacca. Vidal's spies will be watching to see when we intend to move against him. He won't expect a small, personal attack, even though it is exactly what the rules require."

"Gurney and I will make plans and slip away to the Elaccan continent at our earliest opportunity," Leto said.

When a man is pushed to extremes, which aspect manifests itself - his humanity or his brutality? That is the defining aspect of character.

-DUKE LETO ATREIDES

Atop the fortress nunnery's tallest tower, Duncan stood at midday with Swain Goire, surveying the steep jungle hills all around. Verdant plantings filled terraced gardens on the abrupt slope.

One silent Sister had come up to the tower with them to add food to the rookery. Grains and fruits were spread out as a banquet for the large black hawks. Duncan thought the raptors must be perfectly capable of hunting their own prey in the jungles. Were these women trying to turn them into vegetarians? Then he realized that the grains and fruit were not for the hawks, but served instead to lure smaller birds, which the raptors then devoured. Hawks circled high above the tower, no more than black specks in the clouds, while others swooped down to the thick jungle.

Goire wore his reticence like a thick cloak on a cold day. In his youth Duncan had not known the man well, having been away at the Ginaz School when Goire became captain of the Atreides guard. Duncan knew only what this man had done, and that was enough for him.

Goire finally spoke up. "Paul reminds me so much of young Victor. He has the look of his father about him."

"I barely knew Victor. His life was over by the time I returned from Ginaz."

Like a wave-battered rock on the coast, Goire showed no reaction despite the brusqueness of Duncan's words. "Well, I knew the boy well. I saw him every day, up until the end. I was supposed to keep him safe, and I failed."

"Paul has me to defend him," Duncan said.

Goire's eyes were weary and reddened. "I didn't intend for Victor to be harmed, but we all know that failure renders such intentions irrelevant. Actions and results are all that matter."

The two fell into a longer silence, watching the high-circling hawks, gazing at the jungle-covered hills that stretched to the horizon and the empty sky. In the distance, Duncan could see small flying s.h.i.+ps that must have been part of the business of the coastal towns.

"What exactly are you defending Paul from?" Goire finally asked. "What sort of desperation drove you here? A mere squabble would not require such extreme measures."

With a sigh, Duncan explained about Viscount Moritani's blood feud with Ecaz, in which House Atreides was now embroiled. When he was done, the old guard said, "And you have reason to believe the danger isn't over? You suspect that more a.s.sa.s.sins are coming for Paul?"

"Viscount Moritani wants to kill the Duke's son, for whatever twisted reason he has in his head. Paul still lives, and I intend to keep it that way. I will not lower my guard."

"But it makes no sense for the Grummans to continue attacking. Paul is an innocent."

"It made no sense in the first place, and still the attack occurred. Ilesa was an innocent, too."

Goire nodded solemnly. Both of them regarded the distant glints of silvery s.h.i.+ps, which were now approaching, sleek fliers skimming over the untracked green canopy. Viewed from the high vantage point, these craft looked no larger than the hawks circling in the air. Within moments, the roar of engines could be heard.

Goire tensed. "I have not seen s.h.i.+ps like that before. We get very little -"

Duncan could tell immediately they were not supply craft. "They're going to attack!"

"Yes - yes they are." Goire gave Duncan a push. "Go! Go get Paul!" Duncan ran as angular attack fliers streaked in.

DUNCAN BURST INTO the tapestry room, having already retrieved and drawn the Old Duke's sword. "They're coming. We've got to get to shelter!"

After years of training, Paul did not hesitate, but sprang into motion to join his companion.

Paying no heed to the Swordmaster's obvious urgency, Helena was about to scold him for the interruption, when the first great concussive explosions. .h.i.t the side of the abbey. Duncan shouted to her. "Sound an evacuation. Get your Sisters out of here!"

"I will not." Helena stood icily. "This is our fortress. Our home." Her pride seemed more important to her than survival. "Are you saying the great Duncan Idaho cannot protect us all with that sword?"

Scowling, he grabbed Paul by the arm and rushed him toward the door and the stone stairs. "I am not sworn to protect you, you, my Lady. Your safety is on your own head now. Your fortress is under attack." my Lady. Your safety is on your own head now. Your fortress is under attack."

"This War of a.s.sa.s.sins has nothing to do with us," Helena insisted.

"It does now!" Paul called from the doorway. "They're trying to kill me. And even if you're no more than collateral damage, you will still be dead."

The other Sisters blithely continued their weaving, since the Abbess had not instructed them to do otherwise. A second explosion impacted the outer walls, and the entire tower room shook violently.