boy appeared disoriented, drugged.
“You say he is ill? Not contagious, I hope?” The Baron had his own diseases to deal with.
“The boy is afflicted with a rare disorder that causes him to waste away. His mother suffered from it, too. Dear sweet Cilia. She lasted a year after Wolfram’s birth, but the effort of delivering him took its physical toll.” A wave of sorrow crossed Hundro Moritani’s face; his emotions seemed as mercurial as the weather patterns on Arrakis. Resser led the groggy boy to the table and positioned him in a seat beside the Viscount. Moritani warmly patted his son’s pale hand before turning back to the Baron.
“Wolfram finds solace in semuta. Only the deep trance and the music give him relief from the terrible pain. It’s all I can do to help him. There is a cure, of course — esoit-poay, the Ecazis call it.” His voice took on a razor sharpness. “In the embargo signed by the Archduke, he explicitly forbids any drop of that drug to leave Ecaz, although very few people in the whole Imperium require it.” His fist clenched hard enough to bend silverware. “He does it only to gain vengeance on me.”
“Not a microgram. Even semuta has been restricted so that I must pay exorbitant prices. The Archduke knows what I need and attempts to thwart me at every turn! Out of sheer spite!” A wave of anger reddened his features again, but the man’s volatile emotions quickly shifted to an expression of loving calm. “I’m left with no choice. Damn them, I have to give my son whatever he needs to ease the terrible pain.”
The Baron sensed that the Grumman leader wanted to suggest some sort of bargain with House Harkonnen. Smelling a chance to make a profit if he was careful, the Baron said, “I have certain channels of my own to obtain black-market drugs, Viscount, but House Ecaz is no friend of mine, either. The Archduke is closely allied with House Atreides.”
As Moritani helped his dazed son eat one of the small appetizers, his eyes shone brighter, as if a fire had been lit behind the pupils. “Have you noticed that neither Duke Leto Atreides nor Archduke Armand Ecaz are in attendance here? My spies tell me that Leto has gone to Ecaz for a secret meeting. They are undoubtedly plotting against both of us.”
“Many nobles are not in attendance,” the Baron pointed out. “I am not the only one weary of all the weddings. One Imperial nuptial is much like another.”
“But this one, Baron, gives me the opportunity to invite
Wary but curious, the Baron studied the other man. “There may well be opportunities to explore. Yes, a visit to Grumman might be interesting and mutually beneficial. My people will make the arrangements.”
3
House Moritani of Grumman was censured after the disgraceful attack on the Ginaz Swordmaster school. As the aggressor, Viscount Moritani paid substantial reparations, but in the way of backroom politics, Emperor Shaddam dismissed the matter as a minor event. Nonetheless, the damage was done. Although structures could be rebuilt, new instructors recruited, and training centers reopened, one thing was irreparable: The Swordmasters, those feared warriors, had been beaten. Such a thing could never be erased.
Once the Atreides frigate was released from the Guildship’s hold, Duncan Idaho piloted it toward mottled Ecaz. The sky was full of clouds, the major landmasses a riot of different shades of green. Paul could see numerous oceans below, but none so vast as the seas of Caladan.
Ever since Duke Leto had explained their destination, Paul had detected an inexplicable chill between his parents. Duncan had offered no insights either. “It is not my business, young Master. And if it were yours, your father would tell you.”
So, the boy had occupied himself during the brief journey by studying the frigate’s limited library of filmbooks, eager to learn about Ecaz — a lush and fertile world filled with jungles, rainforests, and well-watered agricultural plains. The primary exports were hardwoods and exotic forest products, as well as unusual unguents, rare drugs, deadly poisons.
“Will we visit the fogtree forests?” Paul asked. He had seen spectacular images, and also read that a blight had wiped out most of the delicate and expensive fogtrees on the continent of Elacca, which was governed by Duke Prad Vidal.
“No,” Leto answered. “Archduke Ecaz is waiting for us. Our business is with him alone.”
“Does he know that I accompany you?” Paul heard the faint bitterness in Jessica’s words.
“You are my bound concubine, the mother of my son. You must go with me.”
In his reading, Paul had taken particular note of his father’s connection to Archduke Armand and the vicious feud between House Moritani and House Ecaz. He was most surprised to learn that his father had been betrothed to the Archduke’s eldest daughter, Sanya — until she and her uncle had been murdered by Moritani soldiers.
Duncan guided the Atreides frigate toward a small, ornate city whose centerpiece was a large structure composed of graceful loops and arches, walkways that connected towers, and thick old trees that grew up beside the walls. The palace was a fairy tale synthesis of branches, vines, and ferns intertwined with pearlescent white stone. Paul doubted even Kaitain could have been more impressive than this.
Before they could land, however, two heavily armed warships raced into the air, circled the Ecazi Palace, and crossed in front of the Atreides frigate in a clear show of force. Incensed, Duncan activated the communication controls. “This is Swordmaster Duncan Idaho of House Atreides. We are here at the invitation of Archduke Ecaz. Explain your actions.”
The two military ships peeled away, spun and darted playfully in the air, then streaked beneath the frigate. Paul was reminded of frolicking dolphins in the Caladan oceans. A booming voice came over the comline speakers. “You use that title with great pride, Swordmaster Idaho — you must have had excellent instructors.”
A thin, nasal voice joined the communication. “Are we allowed to strip him of the title if he doesn’t impress us enough, Rivvy?”
Duncan recognized the voices. “Swordmaster Whitmore Bludd? And Rivvy Dinari?”
The two men chuckled over the speaker. “We came to escort you. We weren’t sure if your pilot was proficient enough to land in the proper place.”
Paul knew the names; Duncan had often talked about his instructors from Ginaz. Duncan’s face showed great pleasure as he explained to Paul, “They must have become ronin since the Ginaz School disbanded. I wouldn’t have guessed that Archduke Ecaz needed both of them.”
“House Moritani has made no recent aggressive moves,” Leto said, “but that could change on a moment’s notice. I do not believe the conflict was ever resolved to the satisfaction of either party.”
“Feuds usually aren’t, my Lord,” Duncan said.
When the three ships had landed in an oval, paved clearing surrounded by tall, feathery trees, the two Swordmasters emerged to greet them. Whitmore Bludd had long wavy hair that was a mixture of silver and gold, a thin face, and rosebud lips that seemed to be pouting. Rivvy Dinari was an enormous globe of a man, who nevertheless seemed light on his feet; his skin was florid in the jungle heat.
Duncan bounded down the frigate’s ramp to greet them, but kept his guard up, as though expecting the two teachers to hurl themselves upon him in a playful yet deadly practice session.
“Duke Leto is here on formal business,” Dinari commented to Bludd in a deep voice which sounded like a kettledrum. “There will be time for swordplay later.”
Bludd sniffed. “There is no
“And if I beat the two of you, how will you ever endure your shame?” Duncan teased.
“We’ll manage,” Dinari replied.
