The Winds of Dune (30 page)

Earl Rhombur Vernius opened his eyes, and a croak of unintelligible sound slid out of his throat. His artificial lungs were damaged, and he could barely breathe. Blood and nutrient liquids covered his face and leaked out onto the floor.

Leaning over him, Bronso continued, “I love you—I forgive you! I’m sorry for what I did, for leaving you, for denying—”

Rhombur twitched, rallied, and gathered a few last shreds of energy. He couldn’t see anyone, barely managed to form his broken thoughts into words. Bronso leaned close, desperate to hear his father’s final words.

Rhombur whispered, “Is
Paul
. . . safe?”

Then he shuddered, and died.

Bronso reeled back as if struck with a physical blow. Paul took a step closer to say how sorry he was, but Bronso flailed out at him, then fell weeping beside the mangled, lifeless body.

One sharp tragedy can erase years of friendship
.

—
THUFIR HAWAT
, Weapons Master of House Atreides

I
n the days following the attack, Governor Kio launched a vigorous—some said excessive—investigation. The heirs of three old-guard noble families were soon implicated in the plot and, though evidence was thin, they were summarily executed in the dark of night. Afterward, Kio seized the assets of the guilty families and promptly married Preto Heiron.

Paul didn’t care one bit about local politics. He’d been unable to sleep following the terrible tragedy in the Theater. In that critical moment, Rhombur had knocked Bronso aside, but his reactive movement had been to save Paul. During that instant, that flashpoint of a decision, he had not been thinking of his own son. And Bronso saw it all.

In the days while he waited for a Heighliner bound for Ix, Bronso Vernius isolated himself in his quarters, grieving. He ignored all company, refused to see Paul, and turned his back on everyone, shattered by what he had witnessed, feeling betrayed by Paul as well as his own father. “Is
Paul
safe?” The words were like the twist of a knife. Bronso would leave Balut as soon as possible, taking Rhombur’s smashed patchwork body with him.

Duke Leto shook his head, sitting alone with Paul. “That young
man is the sole survivor of House Vernius, the ruler of Ix, but he is soft and inexperienced. I fear the technocrats will take control and turn him into nothing more than a puppet.”

“Why won’t he talk with me?” Paul said. “We’ve been through so much together. I thought we would have done anything for each other.”

Introspective now, Leto rarely left Paul’s side, wistfully telling stories of how he and Rhombur had once gone diving for coral-gems and how the volatile stones had set their boat on fire. He talked about how Rhombur had saved a Guild Heighliner when the Navigator was incapacitated by tainted spice gas . . . how Atreides armies and loyal Vernius forces had fought side by side to recapture Ix from the Tleilaxu invaders. Paul had heard those legendary accounts many times before, but now he let his father talk, because the Duke needed to relive those memories.

Governor Kio hosted an impromptu celebration for Paul, during which she rewarded him for his clever and selfless actions in saving her from assassination. Paul had no interest in the rewards or accolades, and he felt that the show of appreciation was inappropriate after the death of poor Rhombur. The ceremony was just another slap in the face to the already hurting Bronso.

In the uproar following the attack, Rheinvar, his Face Dancers, the performers and members of his traveling crew were all arrested, separated, and placed in permanent cells. Even a Master Jongleur could not maintain his illusions and widespread hypnosis for so long, against so many people howling for their blood. They had been caught . . . and blamed.

Paul saw from the outset that the people of Balut—and Governor Kio herself—
needed
scapegoats, and that the troupe members would do nicely. However, because Paul had saved her life, because she offered to reward him with more than a mere medal, he pressed his advantage. At the appreciation ceremony in front of a large crowd, he asked her to grant his one request: that Rheinvar and his troupe be allowed to depart safely from Balut, on the condition that they never return. Though she grumbled, Kio reluctantly issued the command.

“They were my friends, Father,” Paul explained. “They sheltered Bronso and me, kept us safe—and they taught me a great deal.”

He would never forget his time among the Jongleurs, though he feared he would never see Bronso again.

Two weeks after they all returned to Caladan, unexpected shiploads of Atreides military forces arrived in the spaceport—the two battalions Leto had dispatched to help House Vernius. The uniformed soldiers marched off the numerous transports, but they did not appear happy to be home, at least not under these circumstances.

Duncan and Gurney emerged, both looking flustered and angry. Gurney issued his report. “We were ousted from Ix, my Lord. Bronso Vernius evicted us as soon as he returned to the Grand Palais. Gods below, he gave us three hours to pack up and get to a waiting Heighliner!”

“Three hours! After all we did for House Vernius.” Duncan was incensed and not afraid to show it. “We did our duty, my Lord—exactly as you and Earl Rhombur asked of us. If we hadn’t been there, Bolig Avati would’ve turned the Grand Palais into a factory.”

“I was afraid Bronso would do something like that, sir,” Paul said to his father. “He blames us.”

“Misplaced blame, son—and he will realize it in time.”

The last man to emerge from the military transport ship was not a soldier at all, but a slight-figured, sad-looking man with a thin face, sallow features, and long hair bound in a silver Suk ring. Dr. Wellington Yueh looked out of place, unsure of himself.

Yueh presented himself to the Duke with a careful bow. He drew a breath, pondered his words, and forged ahead. “Because I could not save Earl Rhombur from his grievous injuries, Bronso has no further need of my services. I am banished from Ix.” Yueh’s graying mustache drooped along the corners of his mouth as he bowed his head and spread his delicate hands. “By any chance . . . does House Atreides have use for a physician of my skills? Perhaps a tutor for the young Master, in matters other than fighting and military strategy?”

Leto did not take long to consider the man’s offer. Even before Paul’s birth, the Suk doctor had spent years on Caladan helping Prince Rhombur during his recovery, and he had been a wise, diligent, and loyal physician. “I’ve seen your work and valor over the years, Yueh. I know
how hard you labored to save and repair Rhombur the first time. You added more than a dozen years onto his life, and because of that, he was able to be a good father to Bronso. The boy doesn’t appreciate that yet, but I hope he will someday. Your loyalty is without question.”

Jessica looked at Leto, then at the Suk practitioner. “You are welcome here on Caladan, Dr. Yueh. Any wise counsel you can offer Paul would be appreciated. His education on Ix was cut dramatically short, and it’s not likely he’ll go back to finish it.”

Paul felt a heavy sadness inside and looked up at his parents. “This is a terrible rift between our Great Houses. How long do you think it will last?”

Leto merely shook his head. “It may never be healed.”

PART III
10, 207 AG

Two months after the end of Muad’Dib’s reign. Regent Alia struggles to cement her control over the Imperium
.

What I
write
and what I
know
are not always the same thing. Muad’Dib placed a great responsibility on my shoulders, and I accept it as a duty that is holier and more compelling than anything the Sisterhood demands of me. I will continue to write as the needs of history require. My knowledge of true events, however, remains unchanged
.

—
PRINCESS IRULAN
, response to Wallach IX demands

A
s Jessica finished her lengthy story, the restless but fascinated Ir-ulan began to pace around the garden enclosure. She shook her head, as if to scatter the words that buzzed around her like biting flies. “So, more parts of Paul’s past unfold. He never told me such things, never hinted—”

Jessica’s throat was scratchy. “You already knew that he kept many things from you. You’ve had to rewrite your stories to incorporate new information. Paul understood exactly what he was doing.” Suddenly leery of being overheard, she spoke quietly in one of the Bene Gesserit languages that no normal spy would ever understand. “Believe me, you do Paul no service by writing this sanitized, glorified version of him. You are sowing a minefield for the future of humanity.”

Irulan rounded on her, speaking in the same language. “How do you know what he would have wanted? You left Paul and Arrakis, abandoned the Jihad. For most of your son’s rule, during his worst stresses and challenges, you were on Caladan. I may have been his wife in name only, but at least I was at his side.”

Jessica hesitated, not wanting to reveal all her secrets just yet. “I was still his mother. Even during his rule, Paul . . . trusted me with things he never told you.”

The two reached a flagstoned contemplation area, where a pool of golden, mutated carp swam beneath a transparent moisture-seal dome. Irulan heaved a long sigh and spoke again in common Galach, not needing to hide her words. “I agree, philosophically, that it’s important for the people to know what you have revealed to me. While the background material doesn’t excuse Bronso’s crimes, at least it explains his bitter grudge against Paul. It exposes his motivation for spreading destructive lies. His hatred is personal, obsessive, irrational.”