Which is more honorable — to follow a monster to whom you have sworn loyalty, or to break your oath and leave his service?
During the trip home to Grumman after the Imperial wedding, Viscount Moritani spent much of the time with his sickly son and a medical entourage in the main stateroom of his family frigate.
Reporting to his master, Resser paused at the open doorway of the stateroom. Inside, the Viscount sat as limp as a discarded garment in a gilded armchair, from which he stared at a paunchy Suk doctor and a male nurse as they tended Wolfram. The pungent smell of semuta and the eerie, trancelike music that accompanied its use had calmed the boy. Even so, he whimpered in constant pain.
The heavyset Dr. Vando Terbali bore a diamond tattoo on his forehead, and his long golden hair was bound in a Suk school ring. “Though this disease is not incurable, my Lord Viscount, treatment is long overdue. Wolfram’s deteriorating condition is not the fault of the Suk brotherhood.”
“If I blamed you, Doctor, you would already be dead,” Moritani said wearily.
The male nurse stiffened in alarm, and the Suk doctor’s gaze sharpened. “Threatening me will not improve the quality of my service.”
The Viscount frowned. “And how can your treatment of my son be any worse? He is dying. Your ministrations have not prolonged his life nor significantly eased his pain.”
“You need esoit-poay, my Lord, and the Ecazis refuse to give it to you. Ergo, we cannot help your son.”
The Viscount’s shoulders bunched. “Duke Prad Vidal was somewhat sympathetic, for a price, but even he could not make the Archduke change his mind. Vidal’s personal entreaty on Wolfram’s behalf was rejected out of hand, because of the Archduke’s enmity toward me.” He rose from his chair, a man-shaped pressure vessel filled with violence, and suddenly noticed that Resser was standing just outside the door. The Viscount’s expression changed, and he spoke abruptly to Dr. Terbali. “Please, if you cannot treat his symptoms then just… ease his pain as much as you can.”
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
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.”
“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.
“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
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.”
6
Empires may rise and fall, and stars may burn for millennia, but nothing is quite so enduring as hatred.
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 Sanya. 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 Sanya.
