Part 22 (1/2)

”Those aren't just a.s.sa.s.sins. This is a full-fledged military strike,” Paul said.

”Viscount Moritani has already proven the lengths to which he'll go. It's my job to keep you safe.” Duncan pulled him through the door and they bounded down the winding stairway three steps at a time. ”We have to get out of here. These walls won't hold.”

By the time the two raced out into the courtyard, the fliers had circled back to launch more targeted missiles toward the Abbey. The shock waves caused the entire structure to thrum. Cracks shot like lightning bolts through the reinforced walls. The main tower shuddered and collapsed into fire and stone dust.

His grandmother, and all those women, had been inside. Like the tapestry that Helena had destroyed, the whole tower now lay in jumbled ruins. Red mingled with the gray of the rock in a mosaic of rubble. He searched for a spot in his heart where he might be shocked and horrified by Lady Helena's death, but found nothing there for her.

With a deafening boom and buzzing whine, the attackers streaked back and forth, then came in to land and disgorge fighters who wore no uniforms, no insignia. Many Sisters ran about screaming. Some gathered makes.h.i.+ft weapons and raced to defend the Abbey, while others tried to flee, but they had no place to go.

Paul seized upon a crucial fact. ”If they are attempting to kill me, and they blew up the tower, how can they know whether I am among the dead?”

Duncan shook his head, holding up the Old Duke's sword to defend them both. ”They can't. This must be one of the Viscount's grand schemes. He likes to cause damage more than anything else. He thrives on chaos.”

Swain Goire ran up to them, breathless and covered with dust. His hair was matted with blood from a shrapnel injury. ”Take Paul and escape into the jungle.”

”Which direction?”

”Anywhere away from here - that that is your only priority now.” Goire had two wooden staves, one sharpened into a crude spear and the other to serve as a club. ”I have a body s.h.i.+eld, and I have these. I'll hold them off long enough for you to escape.” is your only priority now.” Goire had two wooden staves, one sharpened into a crude spear and the other to serve as a club. ”I have a body s.h.i.+eld, and I have these. I'll hold them off long enough for you to escape.”

”Duncan, we can't just run!” Paul said, not willing to leave Goire to do all the fighting for them.

”My strategic imperative is to save you, young Master. Your father gave me my mission.” Parts of the outer walls had crumbled during the succession of explosions, and jagged breaches now opened the barrier to the wilderness beyond. Duncan silenced Paul by pus.h.i.+ng him toward the nearest gap. ”If the only way I can accomplish my mission is to take advantage of a diversion or delay, I'll do it.”

Goire activated his body s.h.i.+eld, and the s.h.i.+mmering intangible barrier coc.o.o.ned him. He had his weapons. Duncan felt certain Goire was trying to atone for his mistake in allowing Victor to be killed. Did he hope Duke Leto would forgive him if he sacrificed his life now, to let Paul escape? Possibly.

Duncan hesitated, wondering if he should hand Goire the Old Duke's sword - but that was his his only weapon, and he could not surrender his best means of defending Paul. only weapon, and he could not surrender his best means of defending Paul.

Howling, Goire charged toward the attacking soldiers - one man against dozens, yet he rushed in. It was suicide.

Duncan dragged Paul through the broken wall rubble and into the thick foliage. The last glimpse he got of Swain Goire was when the man collided with the advancing armed soldiers, his body s.h.i.+eld thrumming, his two wooden weapons thras.h.i.+ng from side to side. The a.s.sa.s.sins engulfed him, and their weapons were far sharper.

Paul and Duncan ran blindly into the jungle.

When a lasbeam strikes a s.h.i.+eld, the destructive interaction is wholly disproportionate to the initiating energy. Both parties are completely annihilated. This is a perfect metaphor for politics.

-THUFIR HAWAT, Strategy Lessons

The small ornithopter flew low and fast over the gra.s.sy hills of Grumman. With whisper-quiet engines and movable wings, the vehicle made hardly any noise in its pa.s.sage, just the slight, smooth sounds a large bird might make. Resser sat beside the Viscount, who piloted, ostensibly to test the new aircraft design for rounding up wild horses.

Resser was not fooled, though. He knew Hundro Moritani was preparing for war.

The Grumman soldiers, gruff and hardened warriors culled from villages out in the steppes, had been toiling in the salt tunnels and mineral shafts that riddled the ground under the dry lake bed outside of Ritka. Moritani had gathered hundreds of his stallions into corrals beyond the perimeter of the fortress s.h.i.+elds, fitting them all with spiked armor, though he had ten times as many horses as riders. And Resser didn't see what a mere cavalry could do against a modern military force.

As the 'thopter flew along, the setting sun turned the windows of the fortress city orange, as if the structures were on fire. The Viscount looked intently at the illusion, paying little attention to his piloting. A downdraft caught the craft abruptly and they reeled downward, nearly sc.r.a.ping the ground before he regained control.

”It's not my time to die,” the Viscount said in a matter-of-fact tone. ”Nor yours. Not yet. We have work to do, Resser.” Since returning from Kaitain, Moritani had been in uncharacteristically high spirits, even though he had received a censure from the Landsraad and sparked the wrath of Shaddam IV.

The redheaded Swordmaster said, ”With all due respect, my Lord, I cannot understand your tactics. Did you intentionally provoke the Padishah Emperor?”

”Absolutely. When the upcoming battle looks most terrible, I expect that our paternal Shaddam will come running to stop us from hurting ourselves.” He glared at Resser. ”Never forget how my ancestors made their mark forever on Salusa Secundus, and how the d.a.m.ned Corrinos hunted them down for revenge.”

”I will not forget, my Lord, but I fail to see what you can accomplish in this manner. Both Duke Atreides and Archduke Ecaz survived your a.s.sa.s.sination attempt. You heard their representatives file formal protests, but they will not stop there. As we speak, they are sure to be combining their planetary militaries in order to strike Grumman hard. You may have intended this to be a War of a.s.sa.s.sins, but you are obviously preparing for far more than that. How can we possibly defeat the armed forces of two two n.o.ble Houses?” n.o.ble Houses?”

He also knew that Duncan Idaho, his old friend from Ginaz, would be with the Atreides forces.

Moritani chuckled. ”Oh, Resser, how you misunderstand! We don't need to defeat them! We merely have to hold out long enough for the Corrino Emperor to come to the rescue - and mark my word, he will. Grumman is a powerful magnet that will draw all of our enemies at once.” Still chuckling, he gripped the controls of the 'thopter and flew them on a daredevil run toward the stony hills behind Ritka, but Resser could see that the man's large, squarish hands were shaking. He continued in a whisper, ”And then it will all be over. Whether our n.o.ble House is known by the name of Tantor or Moritani, we have always been underestimated. After this, no one will ever forget our family name again.”

A terrible sense of foreboding came over Resser. ”What do you intend to do, my Lord?”

”My son is dead, so my House will die with me.”

”You can have other children, my Lord. You can remarry.”

”No, no, Resser. When Cilia died, darkness consumed my soul. Wolfram was my proper heir, and the Ecazis just let him suffer and die - out of spite! We cannot defeat the plots of our enemies in any other way. My line shall end in a way that will be written in all of the historical chronicles. And you will help.”

Resser drew a deep breath to focus. ”I swore an oath to serve you, my Lord.”

”Grumman will become a tomb for House Moritani and our three princ.i.p.al enemies - even for House Harkonnen, if we're lucky. I have commanded the Baron to send his heir apparent to lead a division of disguised Harkonnen troops.” His eyes took on a distant look. ”Resser, I want you to take all of the family atomics and install them in the pa.s.sageways immediately beneath my fortress keep. Remove the safeguards and transfer the codes to my throne room.”

”Atomics, my Lord?” Resser clung to his seat as the 'thopter soared over the rooftops of Ritka. Years ago Duncan had begged him to break his oath to House Moritani and abandon his service to the dishonorable Viscount, but Resser had refused. Though Duncan had disagreed with Resser's decision, he had clearly understood it, because he was an Atreides retainer - a good and loyal fighter for his n.o.ble House, just as Resser was for his. Resser had defiantly served his role, holding to his oath even when he knew that his master broke the rules and provoked his enemies.

But atomics! atomics!

Viscount Moritani shrugged, casually continuing to pilot the craft. ”Do not think of the Great Convention as if it were a sacred text, like the Orange Catholic Bible. It's no more than an ancient agreement written by a frightened people who were still stinging from the wounds of the Butlerian Jihad. Those outdated rules no longer apply to us. Prepare the atomics, as I have commanded.” He narrowed his dark eyes. ”Or will you fail me? Shall I remind you of the blood oath you swore to me? A blood oath!”

The Viscount's words cut with a razor edge. Resser didn't doubt that the man would command him to leap from the flying craft if he did not provide a satisfactory answer. Resser was not afraid of dying - only of making the wrong choice. Perhaps he could fight for the controls and cause the 'thopter to crash into a hillside... which might, after all, be the best outcome for the sake of the Imperium. But he could never accept the thought of killing his own master, no matter how he tried to rationalize it.

Looking away, he replied sincerely, ”My Lord Viscount, am I not the only Swordmaster who remains at your side, when all the others have vanished?”

With a deep growl of agreement, the Viscount changed course and headed toward the central fortress in Ritka. Torchpots had already been lit to mark the landing zone. The sky deepened into dusk, and Resser looked up to see the stars and imagined the many quiet worlds out there.

The blood is always on your own hands, even if you have someone else do the killing for you. Any leader who forgets that will inevitably become a tyrant.

-DUKE LETO ATREIDES

In the thick jungle, Paul watched dispa.s.sionately as Duncan strung up yet another a.s.sa.s.sin-tracker's body. The foliage was so suffocatingly dense that neither felt the need to hide their activities, though they remained constantly alert. They had been hunted for days since the surprise a.s.sault on the fortress nunnery.

Broad leaves formed a camouflage wall all around them. Wide, fleshy fungus gathered rain runoff into long-lived puddles that held colonies of tiny brine shrimp. Fern towers blocked the sunlight in an effort to choke their botanical rivals. Vines laced the forest floor and crawled up the sides of thick trees to pull them down, creating a convoluted mesh of snares.

During their wilderness flight, Paul had felt as if he were swimming through an underwater landscape of leaves and gra.s.ses. Their personal s.h.i.+elds provided little protection here, yet the s.h.i.+mmering force fields at least discouraged the myriad biting insects.

Though he was dismayed to use such a magnificent weapon as a machete, Duncan hacked and slashed through the underbrush with the Old Duke's sword, dulling and notching the blade. The fecund wilderness grew swiftly enough to cover their path, yet the a.s.sa.s.sins had still managed to track them.