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Murbella couldn't understand what Hellica intended to accomplish, why she had rallied her rebels, drawing them all into a debilitating conflict that none of them could win. The enclaves of violent holdouts had caused much damage--Richese was only the worst example--weakening humanity. To what purpose?
"We were nearly ready to depart from Tleilax. Right now, you are in my way." The Matre Superior stood, then dropped into a fighting stance. "On the other hand, if I kill you and take over your New Sisterhood for myself, perhaps we'll stay a while longer."
"At one time, I might have tried to reeducate you. Now I see that the effort would be wasted."
Hellica wanted this conflict. Apparently, she had no illusions about surviving, knowing about the bloody battles occurring all across Bandalong. Her intent must have been to maximize casualties, nothing more. More explosions rang throughout the city.
Staring hard at the beautiful woman, Murbella imagined Hellica dead, slumped at the base of the dais holding her throne. The vision was so clear it seemed like a gift of prescience. A classic Swordmaster technique.
At the edges of her vision, Murbella noticed flickering shadows, bodies moving stealthily around the throne room. Dozens of Honored Matre guards closed in, a surprise ambush. But it would never be enough. Her own Valkyries had been waiting for this trap, the desperate last stand. More than prepared to fight, they turned their superior numbers against them and plunged into the fray. Overhead, Bashar Aztin's clustered attack ships roared across the sky, making the whole Palace shake.
Murbella bounded up the steps to the dais as Hellica vaulted over one of the armrests. The two grappled like asteroids colliding, but Murbella used her balance to throw her weight with a Swordmaster reorienting technique, and drove Hellica to the floor.
Rolling on the stone tiles in a flurry of deadly blows and blocks, Murbella and the pretender queen tore at each other. The Mother Commander clawed a long gouge down Hellica's cheek, then the other woman smashed her forehead into Murbella's, stunning her just long enough to tear herself free.
Springing to their feet, the opponents faced off, and the Matre Superior demonstrated unorthodox fighting techniques, subtly advanced from anything Murbella remembered in her own Honored Matre training. So, Hellica had learned, or changed.
In response, Murbella altered her timing, sought the opportunity to strike, but the other woman moved with an unexpected flash, more swiftly than Murbella could dodge. A hard, stinging blow bruised her left thigh, but the Mother Commander did not go down. She blocked her nerve receptors, numbed the pain in her leg, and then threw herself back into the fight.
An Honored Matre fought with violent impulsiveness, sheer strength and speed; Murbella possessed those traits herself, combined with the finesse of the long-forgotten Swordmaster art as well as the best Bene Gesserit skills. Once Murbella reset her mind and her approach, the Matre Superior had no chance.
Envisioning an unexpected response of her own, Murbella planned a sequence of moves and countermoves a few seconds into the future. The nonpattern in Hellica's fighting style was really a pattern when viewed from a larger perspective. Murbella didn't need a sword--needed no weapon at all, in fact--just herself.
Despite the Matre Superior's flurry of movement, the parries, punches, and kicks, Murbella saw a straight line of vulnerability--and acted. The instant she envisioned it, her path of attack became no more than an afterthought. The action was over, and successful, as soon as she undertook it.
With the force of a pile driver, her right foot found its way under Hellica's rib cage and smashed straight into the heart. Hellica's eyes opened wide, and she mouthed a curse without getting the words out. She spilled onto the floor at the base of the dais, exactly as Murbella had foreseen her, moments before.
Panting, the Mother Commander turned away and assessed the handful of still-living Honored Matre guards locked in combat with the Valkyries. Many discarded bodies in bright leotards already lay strewn across the tiles, along with far fewer Sisters. "Hold! I am your Matre Superior now!"
"We do not follow witches," one woman snapped indignantly, smearing blood from her mouth and ready to keep fighting. "We are not fools."
With her peripheral vision, Murbella noticed the dead Matre Superior beginning to change. The Mother Commander turned back to her victim and caught the impossible shifting. Hellica's face went slack and grayish white; her eyes sank in, her hair writhed and altered. The thing that had been the pretender queen sprawled in gaudy clothes. Pug nose, tiny mouth, black button eyes.
Murbella's mind raced, and she seized the moment of astonishment and disbelief. "You had no qualms against following a Face Dancer! Now who is the fool? How many more of you are Face Dancers?"
Even as they fought the Valkyries, the remaining Honored Matres glimpsed the blank-faced creature that had been Hellica. More of the whores stuttered to a halt, staring in shock.
"Matre Superior!"
"She is not human!"
"Behold your leader," Murbella ordered, strutting forward. "You obeyed the orders of a Face Dancer planted among you. You were deceived and betrayed!"
Only one of the Honored Matre guards continued to battle furiously. The Valkyries soon dispatched her, and Murbella was not shocked to see the fallen woman transform into a second Face Dancer.
Here, and on Gammu--how far had this insidious infiltration spread? Hellica's provocative actions had somehow served the Face Dancers rather than the whores. Was it a plot spawned by the Lost Tleilaxu, or did it extend even farther than that? Who were the shape-shifters really fighting for? Could they already be a vanguard from the Enemy, sent into the Old Empire to assess and weaken the target?
All those rebel enclaves, the dissent and violence that drained the resources of the New Sisterhood. Could it all have been a plot to weaken humanity's defenses? Setting them against each other, killing viable fighters to make them vulnerable so that the Enemy could wade in and finish the job more easily? With the main fight over in the city, more of her Valkyries streamed into the throne room, consolidating their hold on the gaudy Palace. Throughout Bandalong, Hellica's remaining followers fought to the death, while the Guild Heighliner remained up in stationary orbit, observing the fray from a safe distance.
Her daughter Janess, looking battered but bright-eyed, led them. "Mother Commander, the Palace is ours."
The enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend. He may hate you as much as any other rival.
--Hawat's Strategic Corollary
W
ith the deadly hunt over and all five Honored Matres dead, Sheeana and Teg descended the wooden steps of the open-framed lookout tower. It had been an exhilarating, as well as unsettling, experience. Sheeana sensed that the young Bashar beside her wrestled with his own questions, extrapolations, and suspicions, but he could not voice any
of them without the guards overhearing.
The Handlers were gathering by their Futars in the leaf-strewn clearing where the last Honored Matre had been torn to pieces in plain view. Hrrm and the black-striped Futar had fought over, then jointly brought down, the last of the terrible whores.
It had been a dizzying fight, with the two Futars circling, lashing out, and dodging the woman's hands and feet. When she leapt high with a kick, Hrrm had reached out and caught her ankle with his claws, like catching a fish on a hook, and slammed her to the forest floor. Black Stripe had lunged in to tear out her throat. Scarlet droplets spattered the carpet of golden leaves.
Walking away from the observation platform, Sheeana and Teg went to stand by the Futars with cold, wary fascination. Recognizing her, Hrrm gave her a bloody grin, as if expecting Sheeana to come forward and give him a back rub. She sensed his need for acceptance, and for years she had been the only one to give it to him. Though the Handlers--the true masters--were there in the forest now, Sheeana said, "Excellent work, Hrrm. I am proud of you."
A deep purr rumbled in his throat. Then he dug his face into the Honored Matre's pale flesh and ripped out another mouthful of meat. Sheeana had not seen the other three Futars from the no-ship, but knew they must have joined the hunt as well.
Four of the lanky natives, including the Chief Handler, stood watching the grisly scene, apparently satisfied with the creatures' performance. Orak Tho said, "Now you see our true feelings for the Honored Matres."
"We never doubted it," Sheeana said. "But another Enemy is coming--one that those whores provoked. That Enemy is far worse."
"Worse? How do you know this?" the Chief Handler said. "What if there is nothing to fear from this other Enemy? Perhaps you have misunderstood."
Sheeana noticed the other Handlers subtly closing in around them. Teg picked up on it, too, but showed no obvious reaction.
Standing amidst the bloody remnants of the hunt, Orak Tho surprised them by changing the subject. "And now that we have shown our goodwill, I would like to visit your no-ship. I will bring a party of Handlers with me to see it."
