When Duncan was a boy, he had escaped the Harkonnens and gone to work for House Atreides as a mere stable hand. There, he had observed the fury of the caged Salusan bulls, which would attack anything that moved. Viscount Moritani reminded him of those maddened bulls. Once the vile man set his sights on a particular enemy, he would strike and strike again, trampling anyone who got in his way.
Duncan did not make the mistake of assuming that the danger was past. Now, on his security rounds, he paced the halls, sword in hand, eyes alert. He opened Paul’s door to make sure that nothing threatened the Duke’s son. The boy slept soundly in his room, though his bed-sheets were a tangle — evidence that he had been tossing and turning, as he often did when he had one of his vivid nightmares. In an adjacent bed his guest, Bronso Vernius, snored softly. Prince Rhombur had insisted that the two boys room together and watch out for each other.
Duncan continued his rounds to the dimly lit kitchens. In a plaz case, large ambulatory crustaceans crawled over each other, their claws taped; they would be served for the following day’s meal. The pantries were locked, the gate to the wine cellar shut, the ovens still warm. All the kitchen staff had been dismissed for the day, but they would be back shortly before dawn, when Gurney took his shift. The troubadour warrior liked to be there at breakfast.
From one of the high windows Duncan looked down at the surf crashing against the black rocks. The ocean was dark and restless, occasionally glowing with a wash of phosphorescent plankton. The rocks, slick with spray and algae, blended in with the stone walls of Castle Caladan.
He thought he saw shapes out there, oily moving shadows that slithered up the stone walls, but the night was moonless, the stars obscured by clouds, and he could discern little. Peering into the darkness through a diamond-shaped window pane, he caught a flicker of movement again.
The ocean side of the castle was impregnable. Still, that section of the structure contained the infirmary wing where Archduke Ecaz slept, monitored by medical instruments and regular visits by Dr. Yueh. If another group of stealthy assassins meant to kill him, this would be their last chance on Caladan. The Archduke was due to leave the following morning.
Duncan changed his rounds and headed toward the infirmary.
AS SOON AS the footsteps had disappeared down the corridor, Paul opened his eyes and turned over to regard the son of Prince Rhombur Vernius. For years now, Paul had been able to feign sleep well enough to fool even his guards and closest friends.
He could see Bronso’s bright eyes in the dimness as he lay on a cot beside the main sleeping pallet. Though the Ixian boy was generally quiet and reserved, Paul had quickly recognized how intelligent and adaptable Bronso was. “Now tell me more about Ix,” he whispered.
Sounding homesick, Bronso described the underground caverns, where he said subterranean industries produced valuable technological items, while leaving the planet’s surface a pristine, natural wilderness. Paul’s father had also told him stories about staying on Ix with House Vernius. Leto and Rhombur had barely escaped with their lives during the unexpected Tleilaxu takeover of that planet — a reminder that being “home” was not the same as being safe.
Now, as Bronso continued to whisper, Paul’s ears picked up a stealthy movement, so subtle it almost seemed to be a subset of the silence. The corridor should have been empty, but he heard the most delicate of whispery footsteps. He lowered his voice. “Someone’s coming.”
Despite years of training and preparation for the countless threats he would face as the son of a duke, Paul had never truly felt unsafe. But since the wedding-day slaughter, wherever he walked, whomever he met, Paul was aware of his surroundings with a razor clarity, looking for the tiniest fleck of detail out of place.
Bronso immediately fell silent and strained to listen. “Duncan Idaho coming back?”
“No, it’s not Duncan — I would know. Find a place to take shelter until we see what this is. We can’t be too cautious.”
“You want me to hide like a coward?”
“I want you to stay safe, like a guest of House Atreides.”
Paul slipped from his own sleeping pallet, while Bronso plumped up his blankets and pillows in a very crude deception, then crawled under his loose cot. Paul had no time to strap on his personal shield, so he crept to the assortment of keepsakes he kept on a low shelf and selected a sharp-edged lump of coral rock that he and his father had found on the beach. It was heavy enough to be an effective weapon.
The chamber door remained slightly ajar after Duncan’s cursory inspection. The hall outside, though dimly lit, was still much brighter than the bedchamber, and someone was out there. Paul would have to act swiftly. He remembered some tactical advice Thufir had given him: “Strike fast, and strike where they do not expect. If you are in a position of weakness, surprise your opponent with aggression. The entire scenario can change in a millisecond.”
A millisecond… Paul might not have much more time than that.
He held the heavy coral and crouched at floor level, just to the side of the door where no one would expect him, since the two boys were supposed to be on their sleeping pallets. Paul tensed and waited, mentally reminding himself of the most vulnerable points in a human body.
The door swung open, and hall light flooded into the room. In a mental snapshot, Paul saw a muscular stranger who seemed to be covered in tar, a skintight oily suit. Spotting a curved scimitar-like dagger in the stranger’s hand, he no longer had any doubts about what this man meant to do. The dark, slick-skinned man slipped into the room.
But Paul struck first.
INSIDE THE INFIRMARY, Archduke Armand was sleeping. Yueh had suggested several effective drugs and supplements to increase the man’s energy and improve his stamina, perhaps even a strong dose of melange, but Armand had refused it all. He seemed to prefer his restless sleep and nightmares. Duncan could imagine the ache and misery this nobleman endured, since he had lost his own family when he was just a boy on Giedi Prime, thanks to Rabban. But Duncan had recovered from those scars.
The room was illuminated by instrument panels and medical monitors, sensing that something wasn’t right, he absorbed all the details and waited.
Duncan tightened his grip on the Old Duke’s sword and, preparing for the glare, he slapped the wall controls to full illumination, firing up the room’s clustered glowglobes. Ducking instinctively in the dazzle, he saw three black shapes lunging at him. Each infiltrator was covered in a skin made of black oil that rippled with rainbow iridescence. The figures carried curved daggers halfway between a knife and sickle, tipped with an extra razor-sharp barb. These assassins clearly wanted to hack and slash. They meant to leave Archduke Armand not just dead, but in
Facing the silhouetted infiltrators, Duncan brandished the sword. The assassins threw themselves toward him, moving in almost complete silence but with speed and coordination. He noted scars on their throats and wondered if they had been rendered speechless so that they might never cry out, never reveal information. The attackers’ eyes bulged, and the tendons on their necks were taut, as if they were pumped up on some type of drug.
They set upon him like a wolf pack, but Duncan was able to spin away and use his sword and shield defensively. He slammed the long blade hard against one of the curved daggers, a blow that should have been enough to snap the wrist and knock the dagger free, but the assassin retained his oily black grip. The other two men moved with a manic flurry of jittery gestures.
Duncan stabbed one man through the chest, and barely withdrew the Old Duke’s sword in time to knock aside another assassin’s sickle-dagger as it slid through the shield. With his free hand, Duncan grasped the wrist of its wielder, pushed it back, and then thrust his sword into the second assassin. The tip sank deep into the silent man’s abdomen.
Though both assassins were mortally wounded, they continued to fight him, heedless of their own injuries. The third was still uninjured. Duncan needed to end this quickly.
FROM HIS LOW position, Paul smashed with the heavy coral rock, shattering the intruder’s right kneecap. He heard the crunch of the patella, the snap of cartilage, and the man’s eerily quiet
