The Dying Moon ( Feyd Rautha )

Chapter 13

Hawks heart stilled as she descended into the core of the palace, recalling the look of the dead boy with flame burnt eyes. Several tales crept into her mind, ones the Galicine knew from birth of mortal gods and monsters. Ones the religious fanatics of the galaxy had woven to offer a sense of hope to their patrons.

"Why did you kill the red eyed boy?" Hawk whispered to Oliver as she strode ahead. "What was he?"

"That was no boy," Oliver returned with a grim look. "I haven't seen one in over a decade, since I first joined up. It is Grummon's best kept secret, we do not irk them and they don't come on to the palace grounds or village."

"Not man or beast. He looked as if he were part of the planet," she mused through tightened teeth, "are they typically volatile when confronted?"

"Yes," Oliver said, "but quite easy to kill."

The Duke and Duchess were seated on the dais of the throne room. They looked the perfect pair. Collette, with her dark shroud disguising her face and motives. Moss, with his regal attire and nose so high in the air he must have been able to smell the silt that clung to Hawks armor.

Feyd Rautha and Rabban sat on cushioned chairs at the base of the steps. Feyd looked displeased, but that was no incredible development. He was always pouting about as if he had recently tasted something sour. Hawk had half of a mind, and all of the gumption, to drive forward and stick Olivers pike through his chest. It would be a swift movement, over in one motion as she had done to the soldier with her axe.

There was no action she could take quick enough to end his life and spare hers. The remaining Harkonnen's would be on her back before she leapt.

"Tell your side," Moss ordered, lifting his hand. The collar around Hawks throat tightened. She had been referring to it as a chain while Collette was the only one wise enough to use it. It had become a collar the moment Moss reveled in his power. She was a dog to them, one that slept on the bed and bit at the hand that fed.

Hawk sighed and recounted every detail of the ascent with the Harkonnen's. The soldier that slipped into the rear at the last moment, the dagger, the axe and the cargo that had been left behind.
She was relieved when Moss cut her off before the memory of the boy could be voiced.

"Cargo?" He asked, "what sort?"

"I did not have the opportunity to assess it," she said, casting a glare toward Feyd that made his head tilt.

Someone in that room had either tried to end her life, or a failed assassination of the Harkonnen's had taken place. The only beings capable of such a feat were sat before her, glaring, questioning and feigning ignorance. They all wore the same tepid, disbelieving eyes.