Triumph of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [84]
Lord Samuels and Lady Rosamund attended all the important court functions and parties. If the joy appeared to have gone out of their lives—and it often seemed that they did not truly care where they were or what was transpiring around them—they were merely exhibiting the proper attitude of noble indifference. They fit in perfectly with their new peers.
Lord Samuels and his family had only last night arrived in their house in Merilon, having been forced to leave Devon Castle when news of war was brought to them by the Ariels. It was to Lord Samuels’s credit that he had not fled his lands until assured that the peasants who worked for him would be protected. Remembering what he’d heard from Joram of the life of the Field Magi and witnessing the appalling conditions in the village when he’d taken over the estate, Lord Samuels had done what he could to improve the living conditions of his people, spending his own money and magical energy. It was now one of the few pleasures in his barren, empty life to see the peoples formerly dull, lackluster stares replaced by gratitude and respect.
“Do you think what we’ve heard is true!” Lady Rosamund asked him softly, glancing about to make certain the House Magi were out of hearing.
“About what, my dear?” he asked, turning to look at her.
“About … about the battle yesterday, the death of the Emperor? You’ve been locked in your study all forenoon. I heard you talking to someone and then the Ariels came. What messages did they bring?”
Lord Samuels sighed. Taking his wife’s hand, he drew her near to him. “The news is not good. Yes, the reports are true. I was going to tell you, but I wanted to wait until Marie and the children and the servants were settled for the afternoon.”
“What is it?” Lady Rosamund’s face was pale, but her manner composed.
“The person I spoke to this morning was Rob.”
“Rob?” Lady Rosamund looked at him in wonder. “Our overseer? Did you go back to the castle? After they warned us—”
“No, my dear. Rob is here, in Merilon. All our people are here. The Duuk-tsarith brought them into the city this morning. And it is not only ours, but they brought in the Field Magi of the surrounding villages as well.”
“Name of the Almin!” Lady Rosamund moved closer to her husband, who put his arm around her comfortingly. “Such a thing has not happened since the Iron Wars! What is going on? Sharakan agreed to the Field of Contest. Why did they break their solemn vows—”
“It is not Sharakan, my dear,” said Lord Samuels.
“But–”
“I know. That is what Bishop Vanya would have us believe. There are too many who know the truth, however, and who have returned to report it. The enemy is rumored to have come from Beyond. It is said that Prince Garald of Sharakan, who, you know, my dear, is reputed to be a man of honor and valor, fought side-by-side with Emperor Xavier against this new menace.”
“Then why is Bishop Vanya lying to us?”
“That, my dear, is what a great many of us would like to know,” Lord Samuels said gravely, frowning. “He won’t even admit publicly that Xavier is dead, though witnesses have come forward giving their accounts. The Bishop—may the Almin forgive me—is old and infirm. This responsibility is too much for him, I fear. That is my belief and the belief of others, according to the messages they sent me. There will be a meeting this night at the Palace to consider what is to be done I plan to attend.”
Lord Samuels looked intently at his wife as he spoke. She gripped his arm more tightly.
“Who has called this meeting?” she asked, seeing a troubled expression in his eyes.
“Prince Garald, my dear,” Lord Samuels answered calmly.
Lady Rosamund caught her breath, her lips parted to protest, but her husband forestalled her.
“Yes, I know Vanya will probably consider this treason. But something must be done. There is growing unrest in the city, particularly in City Below. Temporary quarters for the Field Magi have been established in the Grove, but those poor people are crowded in there like rabbits in a warren. There has always been dissatisfaction