Mentats of Dune

Chapter 43 (Successful people sort through priorities)

In hand-to-hand combat, Valya Harkonnen had found only one true match for her skills — her brother Griffin, and he was dead.

Each time she practiced fighting now, each time she went through her lethal yet graceful moves, she remembered what she and her brother had taught each other. More recently, during Tula’s training, her sister had shown quick advancement, too, almost fighting at Valya’s level. But Tula was no match for Valya, as Griffin had been. She and her brother had shared something indefinable, had saved each other’s lives, and forged a remarkable closeness.

Perhaps Valya would have that connection with Tula one day, after her sister had Atreides blood on her hands.…

For her other goal, the advancement of the Sisterhood, she would continue to instruct the Sisters on Wallach IX. Armed with specialized muscular and reflexive training to give them superior control of their bodies, as well as other fighting skills, the Sisters would become formidable fighters.

But first, Valya meant to acquire even more skills of her own.

The Ginaz School had been established during Serena Butler’s Jihad. For more than a century, skilled Swordmasters had wrought great destruction on combat meks and fighting robots. Now, long after the defeat of the thinking machines, Ginaz still produced the best Swordmasters in the Imperium. Some worked as mercenaries for noble houses; many espoused belief in the Butlerian movement, since a true Swordmaster needed no advanced technology, only a sword and the ability to use it.

On the first day of instruction on Ginaz, Valya wore a sleeveless white combat suit. That morning in one of the simple, open huts where students slept, an aide had tied a black bandana around her head. The aide, an aged man who had never completed his training but remained at the school, called himself Rissar. Before sending her out to the training field, he had looked at Valya’s outfit, nodded at her with a smile. “You are dressed like Jool Noret, the founder of the school. Now prove yourself worthy of that garment.”

Rissar said the same to each of the other students as he prepared their headbands and fitted short training swords at their waists. Then the old man sent the candidates out to stand on a rocky promontory above the sea, facing away from the water. “Remain completely silent. And wait.”

Perspiring in the tropical heat of the training island, Valya stood with the other students. As they waited for their instructor, she considered the legendary fighters who had been here before her. As soon as Valya incorporated their techniques with the skills she had acquired as a Reverend Mother, she could be more formidable than the heroes of Ginaz — and there had been many. With her already-honed skills and natural abilities, she expected to advance quickly here.

During the long, restless pause, Valya had time to study the other students standing in the sun: four women (including herself) and ten men, some anxious, some calm, all wondering when the lesson would begin. Valya endured the delay, annoyed that the school was wasting her time. She wanted to learn everything she could and return to Wallach IX as soon as possible.

A hot ocean breeze blew strands of dark hair around the sides of her face, though the headband held most of it in place. Ever wary, she kept watch over her shoulder, in case someone climbed the rocks. She began to suspect that the instructor might make some sort of dramatic entrance and leap into their midst.

As she assessed her companions in silence, she noticed some of them doing the same with her. At the far end of the line, a small, sinewy man stared straight ahead, not moving a muscle. His headband, combat suit, and sword-in-scabbard were the same as everyone else’s, but he wore them differently; his stance was more prepared, as if he knew something they didn’t. Supposedly all fourteen students were equally matched for the training, but Valya wondered if this one already had some training at the school, or—

Defying Rissar’s instructions, she broke formation and walked over to him, meeting his steady blue-eyed gaze. He had a small mouth and broad nose; she noticed a pale scar on one cheek. “You’ve been in combat before.”

“And you as well,” he replied in a high voice, both amused and interested. “I can tell by the way you move and the way you survey your surroundings.”

She had all the information she needed to know. “You are our instructor.”

While the other students reacted with surprise, the man gave her a thin smile. He made a quick move to his right and darted around her, while she went into a defensive posture and spun to face him.

He landed on the balls of his feet, but did not attack. Instead, he faced the line of students. “I am Master Placido. I was only ten when the Swordmaster School accepted me, and over the past nine years I have collected plenty of experience. I intend to give a small amount of it to you — if you are ready.”

With a sudden movement, he flourished his thin sword, then tossed it high in the air and caught it by the handle, before sliding it smoothly back into the scabbard. Valya was not impressed by the acrobatics; it was all braggadocio, effective for intimidating an average opponent or a class of green students, but Valya could easily have disarmed him while he was showing off.

She slipped back into formation, intentionally taking the spot where Master Placido had stood moments ago. He seemed amused by her behavior, but she was not amused by his. She used her training and observation techniques to measure his movements, attitudes, and abilities, so that she could defeat him.

“Only one of you proved observant enough to notice that I was different,” he said. “Defeating an opponent depends on more than your ability to handle a weapon. Any fight begins with an accurate assessment of your adversary, to ascertain weaknesses and strengths.”

Placido walked down the line of students, pausing in front of each, but he ignored Valya. Was he trying to irritate her? She made a point of controlling her emotions.

“Break into pairs and demonstrate your fighting abilities against each other, so that I can assess where the starting point should be for this class. Use your swords or not, as you prefer.”

Valya was paired with a tall, thirtyish man who identified himself as Linari. She could tell from the way he moved and his muscular build that he’d been in fights before, but they had probably been brawls; he relied on strength and intimidation rather than finesse. Linari wore a sneering expression as they circled each other; both of them kept their swords sheathed. Valya knew she wouldn’t need hers, and Linari refused to draw his own as a matter of pride.

As she and her opponent remained wary, evaluating, she heard other students wrestling or punching one another. She did not take her eyes from Linari’s. When she decided she’d given him enough time, Valya lunged to the right and leaped up to strike Linari with a fist in the temple, stunning him long enough for her to go low and slide around him. She kicked his knees from behind and sent him tumbling down onto the rocky surface.

As Linari rose to his feet, his expression changed from haughtiness to respect. “Good move,” he said, with a toothy grin. “Thank you for teaching it to me.”

After each combat, Master Placido changed the pairings, and Valya rapidly proved herself to be the elite fighter in the class. In each case she took down her opponent with enough restraint to prevent injury, though she could easily have killed or disabled every one of them.

Placido watched her, measured her. He seemed to know Valya was holding back. As she dispatched one classmate after another, Placido and the other students gathered around to watch. Valya turned from the last defeated student, who hunched over, wheezing, and then she stood crisply in front of the youthful instructor, appraising him again. Her dark headband was damp with perspiration, but she did not feel tired. A breeze from the sea cooled her skin. She heard the waves, the movement of feet around her, the rustling of garments and sheathing of swords — and the awed whisperings of the students.

“Perhaps you would like to instruct this class?” Placido’s body was rigid, his mouth a tight line, one hand near the handle of his sheathed sword.

“I have been instructing them. And now I would like to instruct you as well, Master Placido.” Some of the students gasped; others watched in intent silence.

Placido smiled. “I am always eager to learn.” The two faced each other and began the combat dance. Valya kept her knees slightly bent, her hands and arms relaxed and in front of her, watching his every move.

Even as tension built in the air, the Swordmaster continued to lecture the others. “Notice her precise muscle control, and the way her eyes absorb their surroundings. She draws information from every available sense, which enables her to adapt to changes in the combat situation.”

Valya considered attacking, then decided not to, because Placido would expect her to do that. He gave a faint nod as he recognized what she was doing.

“She’s wondering what I can do,” Placido announced to the others. “That is good. Notice that her earlier aggressiveness has changed, and now she is in a defensive, wait-and-see mode.”

In a lightning-fast maneuver, he somersaulted instead of walking, becoming a blur as he continued to circle her, sometimes on his hands, sometimes on his feet, sometimes sliding past her. A short sword suddenly appeared in his hand, and Valya realized that he had taken it from her scabbard, like an acrobatic pickpocket. When he stopped moving, Placido had a sword in each hand. He dropped both weapons onto the rocks with a metallic clang.

Valya turned, still alert, just as he blurred into motion again. She felt a hard thrust in her midsection that knocked the wind out of her and dropped her to her knees. When she looked up, and around, he was no longer there. Linari and several other students rushed to the edge of the precipice, staring down.

Catching her breath, forcing control on her body, Valya rose to her feet and fought back the after-echoes of pain. Far below, she saw Master Placido bounding along the beach at the base of the cliff.

“He must be afraid of me,” she said, eliciting laughter from the others.

Moments later, Placido returned, after climbing the outcrop from a different side, and he presented himself, not breathing hard at all. He faced Valya. “You still have a great deal to learn, but I find you interesting.”

Valya took care to maintain a nonthreatening posture, with her arms folded across her chest. “And I find you interesting as well. Perhaps I can learn from the Swordmasters after all.”

His assessment of her went deeper than she expected. “You have fire in your eyes. There is someone you wish to kill. Not me, I hope.”

“It is not you, Master.”

He continued to stare at her. “Swordmaster training is not designed to create murderers.”

She avoided a direct answer. “I have no vendetta against my fellow students, but I need to fight them as part of our lessons. While I train, I find it useful to think of someone I despise, so I can raise my skills to a higher level.”

Placido nodded slightly. “An unusual technique, but you use it effectively.” He looked at the other trainees. “For those of you who have hatred to spare, you might wish to do the same, while keeping the secret of your enemy’s identity. I will teach you fighting methods, and you may customize them to your own abilities and needs. And hatreds.”