frigates to the Heighliner and head off to Grumman. He looked up at Gurney Halleck, who scowled at the bureaucrats from the entry hatchway. When Paul caught his friend’s gaze, the lumpy face transformed to a smile.
“All necessary documents have been filed with the Landsraad, and copies sent to Spacing Guild headquarters on Junction,” said Archduke Armand. “This is a proper, legally sanctioned military action.”
Leto added, “Thufir Hawat presented our case before the Emperor, and an Ecazi ambassador has done the same. Shaddam IV publicly censured Viscount Moritani, so he has implicitly accepted our grievance.”
Gurney spoke up, “‘Once God casts His game piece, it is best to stay out of the way.’” Paul had never heard the quote before, and wondered if Gurney had made it up. “And now, by the grace of God and under the shield of vendetta, we intend to hit the Grummans hard.” Gurney’s words carried an unspoken dare, as if provoking the Guild legates to try and stop them.
The strangely identical representatives simply bowed and took a step backward. “It is so. You may bring this battle to House Moritani, though the Emperor himself reserves the right to intervene, if he so chooses.”
“Intervene?” Leto asked. “Or
Neither legate answered the question. “You have permission to load your military forces aboard the Heighliner.” They departed swiftly.
Archduke Armand snapped orders for his troops to board the frigates in an orderly fashion. Gurney hustled about, keeping the operation in order, shouting even louder than the warming spacecraft engines.
Duncan, though, remained beside the Duke, looking saddened, even shamed. He unwrapped a bundle he carried under his arm and presented the worn hilt and discolored, damaged blade of the Old Duke’s sword. “My Lord, this was your father’s weapon. You told me to carry it with honor and use it to defend House Atreides. I have done so, but I am afraid that —” He could not speak further.
Paul said, “Duncan used it to save me, many times over.”
Leto looked at the famous sword that Paulus Atreides had used for his popular spectacles on Caladan and his legendary battles during the Ecazi Revolt fighting alongside Rhombur’s father. Duncan had carried the proud blade for years, fought with it, trained Paul against it.
Duke Leto’s chuckle was a startling contrast to Duncan’s glum demeanor. “That weapon has more than served its purpose, Duncan. It shall be retired with honor when we get back to Castle Caladan. For now, I need your fighting arm and a sharp blade in your hand. You are a Swordmaster of Ginaz, in service to House Atreides. It is high time you had a sword of your own.”
Duncan looked at Paul, smiling uncertainly, then back at Leto. “A fresh new blade before going into battle on Grumman. Yes, my Lord, that would be a fine christening.”
AN ODDLY QUIET Swordmaster Bludd meticulously searched the armory and museum wing of the Archduke’s palace until he found a sword he considered appropriate for Duncan Idaho. He insisted it had to be a masterpiece of metallurgy and craftsmanship that had never been used in battle.
The foppish man carried the gleaming weapon solemnly. As he stepped forward, he flexed the blade and made quick, expert thrusts to each side. “A fitting piece,” Bludd said. “I tested it myself.” He looked teary eyed as he presented it to the Duke, who then turned to Duncan.
“When we return victorious to Caladan, our best metalsmiths will add a hawk sigil to the hilt. But this blade is yours, Duncan. Use it well, and in defense of House Atreides.”
Duncan bowed, then accepted the sword. “My own sweat will be enough to mark it until that time, my Lord. I will use this with honor.”
Leto’s voice took on a stern tone. “And you still have the charge of protecting my son’s life. We are going into a larger battle, and I can’t have you joining the fight with an inferior sword.”
All around, Paul saw military aircraft lifting off from the field — frigates, cargo vessels, fighter craft heading for orbital rendezvous with the Heighliner. Gurney Halleck, who had appeared to watch the brief ceremony, nodded when he saw the new sword.
“I think Gurney should write the ballad of Duncan Idaho someday,” Paul said.
“Duncan’s got to distinguish himself first, young pup. I can’t be writing songs about every average warrior.” Gurney smiled. “Duncan is not, and will never be, average,” Leto answered.
2
Those who seek fame and glory are least qualified to possess it.
Even though the Baron despised being put over a barrel by Viscount Moritani — outright blackmail! — he struggled to find a solution that would still be advantageous to House Harkonnen. As Hundro Moritani had amply demonstrated, he was volatile, violent, unpredictable, and untrustworthy — conditions with which the Baron was familiar, yet now they were turned against him. He hated to waste a division of his own soldiers to fight in this ill- advised engagement on Grumman, a hopeless battle that could not possibly turn out well. Soldiers were expendable, of course, but they weren’t cheap.
The Viscount’s strategy was foolish, heavy-handed, and provocative, and Baron Harkonnen had been happy to grant the man as much rope as he wished, so long as he hung
Glossu Rabban was the eldest son of the Baron’s softhearted brother Abulurd. Since Rabban was older than Feyd, and since those two were the only direct heirs to House Harkonnen, the Baron had no choice but to name one of them his successor. Rabban fully expected to be the na-Baron, but Feyd seemed far more competent and intelligent, more worthy of the responsibility the role required.
The two brothers had a rivalry, potentially a murderous one, and Rabban was certainly capable of killing Feyd in order to assure his title. The Baron had warned him against taking such rash action, but Rabban was often deaf to warnings or common sense.
Perhaps Viscount Moritani’s ultimatum provided a neat solution to the problem. After all, House Harkonnen didn’t really have a choice.
He delayed as long as possible, then summoned Rabban into his private chambers. The Baron had removed his suspensor belt and reclined in a reinforced, overstuffed chair. Rabban marched into the room, looking as though he expected to be reprimanded for making another poor decision.
“I have good news for you, my dear nephew.” Smiling, the Baron lifted a decanter of Kirana brandy and poured a glass for himself and one for the burly, younger man. “Here, a toast. Come now, it’s not poisoned.”
Rabban looked confused, suspicious. Nevertheless he sipped the brandy, then gulped more.
“I’m making you commander of a full division of Harkonnen troops. You will be going to Grumman where you’ll help fight beside our ally, Viscount Moritani.”
Rabban grinned like a fool. “A full division on the battlefields of Grumman, Uncle? Against the Atreides?”
“Yes, you will fight the Atreides.” The Baron relished the idea almost as much as he relished the taste of his own brandy. “House Harkonnen’s involvement must be kept entirely secret, or there will be major repercussions. I saw the Emperor during the censure hearing in the Landsraad Hall. He would not be pleased to learn we are secretly aiding House Moritani. You will wear a Grumman uniform, as will all of our soldiers.”
“I will not disappoint you, Uncle.”
The Baron struggled to keep his expression unreadable.
He sipped his brandy and smiled. For insurance, he was putting subordinate officers in place to watch his nephew and make sure he didn’t make a big mistake. Rabban, who had already drained his glass, seemed disheartened when the Baron didn’t refill it for him.
