“Now, go. The troops already have their orders. You must depart immediately so that you reach Grumman before our enemies arrive. If you get there too late, there will be no one left for you to fight.”
ON THE DRY hills outside Ritka, Beast Rabban lifted his chin, drew a deep breath of the bitter-smelling air, and watched with pride as his Harkonnen soldiers marched in formation to the edge of the dry seabed. All of the troops wore the yellow uniforms of House Moritani, with padded shoulders and metallic armbands. Observing them, Rabban thought that his disguised division moved with great precision, while the Grumman counterparts seemed more like an unruly band of barbarians. But at least they were muscular, hardened by their squalid lives, and determined to fight.
Once the enemies arrived, the local terrain would determine the initial layout of the battle. Nestled into the crook of rugged foothills, the city of Ritka was defensible from the rear and sides. Shields around the fortress would protect it from aerial bombardment and projectile fire, but infantry could still pass through the shields. The dry seabed stretched out in front of Ritka, where centuries ago ships had come to port. Now it was an open expanse, the only way that opposing armies could approach en masse. Atreides and Ecazi war frigates could land on the far side of the rocky pan, out of range of Ritka’s guns. From there, the armies would emerge and make a frontal attack.
The Grumman leader, with his shaggy hair and overly bright eyes, sat astride his huge black stallion, caparisoned in spiny armor. His redheaded Swordmaster Resser rode another mount beside him. Moritani grunted appreciatively as the massed Harkonnen troops flowed into the ranks of his own soldiers. “Baron Harkonnen has met the obligations of our alliance. Our enemies will soon come, and this clash will be remembered for centuries.” He gazed wistfully out on the open plain, as if imagining the glorious battle to come. “I have no doubt the Emperor will arrive to intervene as well. Shaddam cannot resist a chance to prove his manhood.”
“I have no need to prove my own,” Rabban said, with a sneer.
“Boasting of your bravery and demonstrating it are two different things,” Resser chided coolly. “We are counting on you to lead your Harkonnen troops and hold back the invasion as long as you can. We expect to face overwhelming numbers.”
“I won’t merely hold them back, I intend to defeat them utterly,” Rabban said.
“You may try,” the Viscount said wryly. He reached out a hand as a soldier handed him a thick helmet topped with a brush of black feathers. The Moritani leader placed the helmet upon Rabban’s head and moved his steed back a step. “You are my Warlord now.”
The helmet felt heavy, and Rabban was sure he must look magnificent.
“Brom, come here!” Moritani shouted. A bearded, broad-shouldered warrior nearly as tall as the Viscount’s towering mount came forward. “Brom is your lieutenant, Rabban. He and his troops will follow your commands in battle. You are responsible for them. You are the heart that beats red blood into their veins.”
The Grumman officer looked disturbed and resentful at the choice of Rabban as commander, but when the Viscount glared at him, Brom stepped back, his expression unreadable.
“I have great plans, Rabban, and you are a key part of them. I give you a horse and a command,” Moritani said. “My Swordmaster will stay with me inside the fortress, protected by house shields. You will have the honor of being out front, but you must lead according to my orders.”
“As long as I can be in the thick of the fighting against the Atreides.” Rabban could hardly wait for the opposing armies to appear.
3
What is the point of being the Emperor of the Known Universe if people don’t do as I say, when I say it? That is very troubling to me, Hasimir.
“This has gone on quite long enough,” Shaddam said, looking at the latest reports. “I have been generous, benevolent, and forgiving. I don’t care what kind of bribes Viscount Moritani has paid to the Lion Throne — I will not continue to be insulted.”
At his side on the spacious private terrace, regarding the lavish expanse of the capital city on Kaitain, Hasimir Fenring bobbed his head. “Hmmm, Sire, I was wondering when you would reach your limit. And what, aahh, will you do about it? How do you propose to respond to this flagrant defiance by the Grummans?”
Shaddam had shooed away his concubines and spent many hours in his private quarters. Lately, he was also beginning to lose interest in his new wife, Firenza, which was a decidedly bad sign, certainly for her. Instead, the Emperor preferred to survey the metropolis from this balcony. While the city itself was only the tiniest fraction of all the worlds and peoples he ruled, the impressive view helped remind him of his importance. It was good for an Emperor to shore up his confidence when he was about to take drastic but necessary action.
“The Imperium operates within a safety net of rules and laws. Any person who tries to sever the strands of our safety net endangers us all.” Shaddam smiled to himself. He liked that. The words had been spontaneous, but eloquent; he would have to use them in a proclamation someday. “Years ago, we stationed Sardaukar on Grumman to keep that Moritani madman in line, but as soon as the troops left, he returned to his old antics. Obviously the Viscount does not fear my military as much as he should.”
“More importantly, Sire, he does not fear
Shaddam turned abruptly to his friend. Fenring’s assessment was entirely correct. He scowled. “Then we must do something about him, Hasimir. I will take as many Sardaukar as I can load aboard our frigates and go personally to Grumman. This time I will bring my camp and my supporters, and we will occupy the Viscount’s planet. I will strip him of his titles and find someone else to take over the siridar fief of House Moritani.”
Fenring pursed his lips, tapped his fingers on the burnished gold balustrade. “Hmmm, it may be difficult to find someone who even wants Grumman. The planet is all used up. Even the Moritanis have been trying to unencumber themselves for some time.”
“Then we shall assign it to someone we don’t like! Either way, I want House Moritani out of there — and I mean to do it personally. I must show the Landsraad that the Emperor pays attention to any slight against his good name.”
Fenring did not seem quite as overjoyed or enthusiastic as Shaddam thought he should be. The sounds and smells of the nighttime city wafted about the men in a rich and heady stew. “Have you considered, aaahh, Sire, that this may be exactly what the Viscount wants? He has been baiting you, pushing you, as though hoping you would go there in person, rather than let someone else dirty their hands on your behalf.”
Shaddam sniffed. “For something so important, I would not delegate the responsibility — even to you, my trusted friend. Once we land with all the might of my Imperium, Viscount Moritani will abase himself before me to beg my forgiveness.”
Fenring suddenly showed interest in sparkling holographic flames that erupted as an illusionary torch from a tower, so that Shaddam couldn’t see the expression on his face when he said, “Aaahh, perhaps you expect a little too much.”
“That is not possible. I am Emperor.”
Despite the Count’s lackluster reaction, Shaddam felt good about what he had decided to do. This would not be a mere military campaign, but an awe-inspiring event, a genuine spectacle with all the pomp and glory that House Corrino could provide. This would teach Viscount Hundro Moritani — and all the Houses of the Landsraad — a valuable lesson in obedience.
4
