Late afternoon on yet another Ginaz island, with stretches of sloping green land, fences of black-lava boulders, and grazing cattle. Thatch-and-frond huts stood in clearings studded with mounds of pampas grass that waved in the wind; canoes lay on smooth beaches. Out on the water, the white flecks of sails dotted the lagoons.

The fishing boats made Duncan Idaho think fondly of Caladan . . . his home.

The remaining students had spent a grueling day of martial-arts instruction, practicing the art of balance. Trainees fought with short knives while standing amidst sharpened bamboo stakes in the ground. Two of his classmates had been seriously injured when they’d fallen onto the stakes. Duncan had sliced open his hand, but he ignored the stinging red gash. It would heal.

“Wounds make better lessons than lectures,” the Swordmaster had remarked, without sympathy.

Now the students took a break for mail call. Duncan and his comrades stood around a wooden platform in front of their interim barracks, waiting as Jeh-Wu, one of their first training masters, called out names and distributed message cylinders and nullentropy parcels. The humidity made Jeh-Wu’s long black dreadlocks hang like drooping vines around his iguana-like face.

It had been two years since the terrible, rainswept night during which Trin Kronos and the other Grumman students were expelled from the Ginaz School. According to infrequent news reports reaching the trainees, Emperor Shaddam and the Landsraad had never agreed on the penalties to be assessed against Grumman for kidnapping and murdering members of the Ecazi noble family. Unrestrained, Viscount Moritani continued his considerable saber rattling, while several other allied Houses began subtle machinations to portray him as the injured party in the quarrel.

Increasingly the name of Duke Atreides was mentioned with admiration. Leto had originally tried to be an intermediary in the conflict, but had now grown unflagging in his support for Archduke Ecaz, and had marshaled agreement among the Great Houses to curb Grumman aggression. Duncan was proud of his Duke, and wished he knew more about what was going on outside in the galaxy. He wanted to return to Caladan and stand by Leto’s side.

In his years on Ginaz, Duncan had grown close to Hiih Resser, the only Grumman who’d had the nerve to condemn his planet’s aggression. House Moritani had severed all ties with Resser for what they considered his betrayal. Resser’s tuition was now paid out of an Imperial hardship fund, since his adoptive father had publicly disowned him at the Viscount’s court.

Now, as Duncan stood beside the redhead at mail call, it was clear that the young man knew he would receive no off-world messages, not then, not ever again. “You might be surprised, Hiih. Don’t you have an old girlfriend who would write to you?”

“After six years? Not likely.”

After the expulsion of the Moritani loyalists, Duncan and Resser spent even more of their free time together, playing pyramid chess and reverse poker, or hiking, or swimming in the wild surf. Duncan had even written to Duke Leto, suggesting that the young Grumman trainee might be a candidate for employment with House Atreides.

Resser, like Duncan, had been orphaned before the age of ten. He’d been adopted by Arsten Resser, one of the principal advisors to Viscount Hundro Moritani. Resser had never gotten along well with his adoptive father, especially during his rebellious teen years. Following a family tradition for alternate generations, the redhead had been sent away to Ginaz; Arsten Resser had been convinced the renowned academy would break the spirit of his difficult adoptive son. Instead, Hiih Resser was thriving and had learned much.

Hearing his name called, Duncan stepped forward to accept a heavy package. “Melange cakes from your mommy?” Jeh-Wu teased.

Earlier, Duncan would have flown into a rage and attacked the man for his teasing, ripping out one dreadlock after another like stalks of celery. Now, he used cutting words instead. “My mother was killed by Glossu Rabban on Giedi Prime.”

Jeh-Wu looked suddenly uncomfortable. Resser put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder and pulled him back into the line. “Something from your home?” He prodded the package. “You’re lucky to have anyone who cares about you.”

Duncan looked at him. “I’ve made Caladan my home, after what the Harkonnens did to me.” He remembered what Leto had said to him, on their last morning at breakfast, when the Duke had given him the marvelous sword: “Never forget compassion.”

Impulsively, Duncan extended the parcel, noting the red hawk crest on the wrapping. “You can have whatever it is. The food, at least— any holophotos or messages are mine.”

Resser accepted the parcel with a grin while Jeh-Wu continued to distribute letter cylinders. “Maybe I’ll share it with you, and maybe I won’t.”

“Don’t challenge me to a duel, because you’ll lose.”

The other young man muttered good-naturedly, “Sure, sure.”

The pair sat on a stairway of the interim barracks, looking out at fishing boats in the lagoon. Resser tore open the wrapping with more enthusiasm than Duncan could have summoned. Removing one of several sealed containers, he gazed through clearplaz at the orange-colored slices inside. “What’s this?”

“Paradan melon!” Duncan grabbed for the container, but Resser snapped it out of his reach and scrutinized it skeptically. “You haven’t heard of paradan? Sweetest treat in the Imperium. My favorite. If I’d known they were sending me that—” Resser handed the container back to him, and Duncan opened it. “Haven’t seen any in a year. They had some crop failures, a plankton bloom that caused shortages.”

He handed a slice of preserved fruit to Resser, who took a small bite and forced himself to swallow. “Way too sweet for me.”

Greedily, Duncan tasted another piece, followed by two more before he closed the container. To cheer Resser, he found some delicious Cala pastries made of brown pundi rice and molasses, wrapped in spice paper.

Finally, he removed three messages from the bottom of the package, handwritten on parchment that bore the seal of House Atreides. Greetings from Rhombur, encouraging him to keep his hopes up . . . a note from Thufir Hawat expressing how much the Mentat looked forward to having Duncan share his work at Castle Caladan . . . a message from Leto promising to consider Hiih Resser for a position in the Atreides House Guard, if the redhead completed his training satisfactorily.

Resser had tears in his eyes when his friend let him read the notes. He looked away, trying to keep Duncan from seeing.

With an arm around his companion’s shoulders, Duncan said, “No matter what House Moritani does, you’ll still find a place. Who would dare challenge House Atreides, knowing that we have two Swordmasters?”

That night Duncan was so homesick he couldn’t sleep, so he took the Old Duke’s sword outside the barracks and practiced in the starlight, dueling with imaginary opponents. It had been such a long time since he’d seen the rolling blue seas of Caladan . . . but he still remembered his chosen home, and how much he owed to House Atreides.