Four months after the avalanche disaster, Abulurd Harkonnen and his wife embarked on a well-publicized visit to the recovering mountain city. The Bifrost Eyrie tragedy had struck to the heart of Lankiveil and drawn the populace together.

Steadfast companions, he and Emmi had shown their combined strength. For years now Abulurd had preferred to be a behind-the-scenes ruler, not even claiming the specific title that was his due. He wanted the people of Lankiveil to govern themselves, to help each other according to their hearts. He saw the various villagers, hunters, and fishermen as a great extended family, all with common interests.

Then, speaking with quiet confidence, Emmi convinced her husband that a public pilgrimage as acting planetary governor would draw attention to the plight of the mountain stronghold. The burgomaster, Onir Rautha-Rabban, would welcome them.

Abulurd and Emmi rode in a formal transport flanked by servants and retainers, many of whom had never been far from the whaling villages. The three ornithopters passed slowly inland over glaciers and snow-covered mountains, toward the line of crags in which the monastery city nestled.

With the sun sparkling off snow and ice crystals from protruding mountaintops, the world appeared pristine and peaceful. Ever an optimist, Abulurd hoped the Bifrost inhabitants could now look forward to an even stronger future. He had written a speech that imparted basically the same message; though he had little experience addressing large crowds, Abulurd looked forward to delivering this communication. He’d already practiced twice in front of Emmi.

On a plateau in front of the sheer cliffs of Bifrost Eyrie, the governor’s procession landed, and Abulurd and his entourage disembarked. Emmi walked at her husband’s side, looking regal in a heavy blue cape. He took her arm.

The construction teams had made amazing progress. They had sliced away the intruding fan of snow and excavated the buried buildings. Because most of the wonderful architecture had been destroyed or defaced, the broken buildings were now covered with a webwork of scaffolding. Skilled stonemasons worked round-the-clock to add block upon block, rebuilding and glorifying the retreat. Bifrost Eyrie would never be the same . . . but perhaps it could be even better than before, like a phoenix rising from the snowfield.

Stocky Onir Rautha-Rabban came out to meet them, dressed in gilded robes lined with sable whale fur. Emmi’s father had shaved off his voluminous gray beard after the disaster; whenever he looked in a reflecting glass, he wanted to be reminded of how much his mountain city had lost. This time his broad, squarish face seemed content, lit with a fire that had not been present the last time they’d been together.

With the arrival of their planetary governor, workers climbed down from scaffoldings and picked their way along packed snowfield paths into the large square. When completed, the towering buildings would look down upon the square like gods from on high; even incomplete, the soaring stonework remained impressive.

The weather had cooperated since the avalanche, but in another month or two, the hard snap of winter would force them to cease their efforts and huddle within the stone buildings for half a year. Bifrost Eyrie would not be finished this season. With the magnitude of construction work, perhaps it would never be complete. But the people would continue to build, enhancing their prayer in stone to the skies of Lankiveil.

When the crowds had gathered, Abulurd raised his hands to speak, rehearsing again in his mind. Then all the words drained from his mind to be replaced with nervousness. Looking like a queen beside him, Emmi reached out to touch his arm, giving her support. Then she whispered his opening lines, helping him remember what he needed to say.

“My friends,” he said loudly, grinning with embarrassment, “Buddislamic teachings encourage charity, hard work, and assistance to those in need. There can be no better example of heartfelt cooperation than what you volunteers are doing now to rebuild—”

The gathered people began to murmur, gesturing toward the sky and whispering among themselves. Abulurd hesitated again, turning to look over his shoulder. Just then, Emmi cried out.

A formation of black ships appeared in the azure sky, swooping toward the mountains, attack craft that bore the griffin of House Harkonnen. Abulurd’s brows knitted, more in puzzlement than alarm. He looked over at his wife. “What does this mean, Emmi? I did not call for any ships.” But she had no better idea than he did.

Seven fighters roared low, engines cracking through the air with sonic booms. Abulurd felt a flash of annoyance, afraid the thunderous sound would provoke fresh avalanches— until the ships’ gunports opened. The people of the mountain stronghold began milling back and forth in confusion, shouting. Some ran, searching for shelter. Abulurd could not understand what he was seeing.

Three of the sleek craft slowed to a hover over the square where the villagers were gathered. Lasguns extended, targeted.

Abulurd waved his hands, trying to get the pilots’ attention. “What are you doing? There must be some mistake.”

Emmi pushed him away from the speaking podium, where he was a prime target. “There’s no mistake.”

The villagers scrambled for cover as the vessels settled down to land in the square. Abulurd was convinced the pilots would have landed right on top of the crowd if the spectators had not moved fast enough. “Stay here,” he said to Emmi as he strode toward the trio of landed ships to demand answers.

The four remaining vessels circled in the air and came back. With a buzzing crackle of static, hot lasgun beams lanced out to slice scaffolding from the stone buildings like a fisherman gutting his catch.

“Stop!” Abulurd shouted to the skies, clenching his fists— but none of the military men could hear him. These were Harkonnen troops, loyal to his own family, but they were attacking his people, the citizens of Lankiveil. “Stop!” he repeated, reeling backward from the shockwaves.

Emmi grabbed him and pulled him aside as one of the ships swooped low, creating a sharp, hot wind with its passage.

More lasgun fire lanced out, this time targeting the milling mass of people. The blasts slew dozens in a single sweep.

Chunks of ice toppled from the glaciers, crystalline blue-white blocks that fell in a flash of steam as they were cauterized from the main mass. Half-completed buildings were crushed under the onslaught as lasgun beams chopped them to bits.

The four attack craft came around a third time while the other vessels powered down and stabilized on the ground. Their doors hissed open, and Harkonnen troops boiled out, wearing dark blue commando assault uniforms, insulated against the cold.

“I am Abulurd Harkonnen, and I order you to stop!” After quick glances in his direction, the soldiers ignored him.

Then Glossu Rabban stepped out of the craft. Weapons bristled from his belt and military insignia covered his shoulders and breast. An iridescent black helmet made him look like a gladiator in an ancient coliseum.

Recognizing his grandson, Onir Rautha-Rabban raced forward, his hands clasped in front of him, beseeching. His face was splotched with anger and horror. “Please stop! Glossu Rabban, why are you doing this?”

At the other side of the square, the ground troops withdrew lasrifles and opened fire on screaming villagers, who had no place to go. Before the old burgomaster could reach Rabban on the boarding ramp, soldiers grabbed him and dragged him away.

His face stormy, Abulurd marched toward Rabban. Harkonnen troops moved to block his way, but he snapped, “Let me pass.”

Rabban looked over at him with cold metal eyes. His thick lips were drawn into a satisfied line above his blocky chin. “Father, your people must learn that there are worse things than natural disasters.” He raised his chin a notch. “If they find excuses to avoid paying their tithes, they will face an unnatural disaster— me.”

“Call them off!” Abulurd raised his voice even as he felt completely impotent. “I am governor here, and these are my people.”

Rabban looked at him in disgust. “And they need an example to understand the kind of behavior that’s expected of them. It’s not a complicated issue, but obviously you don’t provide the proper inspiration.”

Harkonnen soldiers dragged the struggling Onir Rabban toward an abrupt cliff edge. Emmi saw what they meant to do and screamed. Abulurd whirled to see that they had brought his father-in-law to the sheer, ice-frosted precipice. The chasm below ended only in a soup of clouds.

“You can’t do that!” Abulurd said, aghast. “That man is the lawful leader of this village. He’s your own grandfather.”

Smiling, Rabban whispered the words, with no emotion, no sense of command. “Oh, wait. Stop.” There was no chance the troops could hear him. They already had their orders.

The Harkonnen guards grabbed the burgomaster by both arms and held him like a loose sack of cargo at the brink. Emmi’s father cried out, his arms and legs flailing. He looked over at Abulurd, his face filled with disbelief and horror. Their eyes met.

“Oh, dear me, please, no,” Rabban whispered again, with a grin curving his lips.

Then the soldiers shoved the old man over, and he disappeared into the void.

“Too late,” Rabban said with a shrug.

Emmi fell to her knees, retching. Abulurd, who couldn’t decide whether to comfort her or rush forward to strike his son, remained paralyzed.

With a clap of his meaty hands, Rabban called out, “Enough! Fall in!”

Loud signals came from the landed battleships. With military precision, the Harkonnen troops marched back to their ships in perfect ranks. They left wailing survivors who scurried over to the bodies, searching for companions, loved ones, anyone who might need medical attention.

On the ramp of the flagship, Rabban studied his father. “Be thankful I was willing to do your dirty work. You’ve used too light a touch on these people, and they’ve grown lazy.”

The four flying vessels completed one more attack run, which devastated another building, causing it to collapse in a rumble of rock dust. Then they flew off, regrouping in a formation in the sky.

“If you force my hand again, I’ll have to show a little more muscle— all in your name, of course.” Rabban turned about and strode back into his command ship.

Appalled and disoriented, Abulurd stared in utter horror at the obliteration, the fires, the awful cauterized bodies. He heard a mounting scream like a song of mourning— and realized it came from his own throat.

Emmi had staggered over to the cliff edge and stood sobbing as she stared down into the bottomless clouds where her father had disappeared.

The last Harkonnen ships lifted into the sky on suspensors, leaving scorch marks on the clearing in front of the now-devastated mountain city. Abulurd sank to his knees in utter despair. His mind filled with a roaring hum of disbelief and a bright agony dominated by the smug expression of Glossu Rabban.

“How could I have ever sired such a monster?” He knew he would never find an answer to that question.