Sanctuary - Lynn Abbey [3]
Indeed, two nights at Land’s End were more than enough. Molin almost pitied young Atredan and his elder brother, Vion, coming of age in their father’s bleak shadow.
“You should thank me, Lord Larris.” Molin changed his tone and thirty years dropped from his bearing.
“For what?”
“For giving you an excuse to leave before the bonfire was burnt down to ashes. Lord Serripines would never have agreed, and a son must obey his father.”
Atredan grimaced. “My lord father doesn’t understand—our future, what there is of it, is bound up with Prince Naimun, and tonight the prince will be in need of a friend’s ear. Better it were my brother escorting you back to the palace and Naimun’s table, but there’s no escape for Vion.”
Molin couldn’t resist a jab at the youth’s defenses. “Naimun’s table or his upper room at the Inn of Secret Pleasures?”
The young man contrived to keep his pale cheeks from darkening, but his darting eyes gave his secrets away quicker than his tongue. “You are mistaken, Lord Torchholder.”
“I think not, and I care not. The Inn’s whores are clean enough, but not tonight, Lord Larris. If you have Naimun’s ear, tell him to stay at home. There’s apt to be trouble, and the Inn’s guards won’t withstand a visit from the Dragon.”
“Pox on Arizak per-Arizak,” Atredan said boldly, giving the Dragon his proper name. “Sweet Sabellia’s tits—what brings the Dragon and all the rest of the Irrune to Sanctuary today of all days?”
“The Irrune are a gathering people,” Molin answered mildly. “They’re entirely unlettered. How else are they to communicate amongst themselves if they do not gather?”
“But not in Sanctuary and not in such numbers. I woke up yesterday morning, looked over the wall, and saw the whole damned Irrune nation riding down the road.”
“The Irrune come together around their chief. Arizak’s their chief, and this year Arizak’s in Sanctuary because this year Arizak’s leg is rotting and he can’t sit his horse. As long as Arizak was out in the hills, the Dragon was confident of his inheritance, but since Arizak’s butt has settled on a silk cushion instead of a saddle, the Dragon began to worry. His mother, his uncle, and the rest of the riders are worried, too, so they’ve followed their favored son here in number to make certain that Chief Arizak doesn’t forget who he is, or more importantly, which son he’s named to succeed him.”
“Prince Naimun doesn’t give a fig for the damned Irrune. He wants Sanctuary.”
“So does the Dragon, just not in the same way. The Dragon wants the city’s wealth, its wine, and its women—” Molin paused for effect. “Well, perhaps the half brothers do each want Sanctuary for the same reason, but Naimun is so much easier to distract.”
“It is not a crime, Lord Torchholder, to drink with a prince,” Atredan asserted, showing more spine than Molin had expected.
“No, indeed it is not. Nor is it a crime to call Naimun a prince when he is no more than the eldest son of his father’s second wife—unless the eldest son of Arizak’s first wife is about and your man gets himself killed in a whore’s bed.”
Atredan had the sense to look embarrassed. “His friends look out for him.”
“And that, of course, is why you want to be in Sanctuary to-night—to look out for your friend. So be it. Naimun’s weak and biddable and you think that makes him an ideal ruler. You’re wrong in more ways than I can count, so be that, too. But think, if you dare, about loyalty—”
“I am loyal, Lord Torchholder.” Atredan lowered his voice then raised it as his indignation swelled. “I am loyal to my father, to my brother, to my family, to my emperor—should he come to claim my service—and I’m loyal to Naimun.”
“Of course you are, Lord Larris—but to whom is Naimun loyal? And why?”
“Don’t play with questions, Lord Torchholder,” Atredan bristled. “If you suspect Naimun can’t be trusted, say so.”
Molin waved the young man’s anger aside. “Did I say that? Did I say that Naimun can’t be trusted? Did I say he wasn’t loyal? What I am saying, Lord Larris, is that while you may, indeed,