Read Online The Master of Heathcrest Hall by Galen Beckett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Galen Beckett
Ads: Link
set down in the records of this very Hall? If those who criticize the government of Altania are all to be hung, Lord Davarry, then we will all of us here need to have our collars fitted for longer necks.”
Again laughter went around the Hall, only there was a nervousness to the sound of it this time, and it died out quickly. No one was entirely certain whether Rafferdy was making a jest or not.
Davarry’s face reddened a shade, perhaps realizing that he had allowed himself to be goaded into a misstep. “That is a poor joke, my lord. I speak of men who would diminish the authority of the Crown by their speech. What we discuss here in the Hall of Magnates is hardly the same thing!”
“Isn’t it?” Rafferdy said, and now his voice and his expressionwere utterly serious. He looked not at his opponent, but rather out across the Hall. Lords shuffled on the benches as his gaze swept over them. “For I wonder, what is the difference between a lord who speaks out against a particular law and another man? If the only difference is a fine coat and wig … well, a lord looks much like any man when dressed in sackcloth and a noose.”
Davarry appeared ready to issue a hot rejoinder to this, but he was perhaps saved from further damaging his cause by the loud noise of the High Speaker’s gavel banging against the podium.
“The lord’s time is expired!” the High Speaker called out. “The lord will remove himself from the floor and take his seat!”
With a bow, Rafferdy did.
“I say, that was really splendid!” Coulten whispered as Rafferdy returned to his seat.
“I’m not certain Lord Davarry would agree with you,” Rafferdy whispered back, doing his best not to grin as he cast a glance in Davarry’s direction.
That Davarry would see such an expression was assured. The place where the Magisters sat was not far away, for over the last few months Coulten and Rafferdy, along with some of the other younger lords, had migrated from the back of the Hall toward the front. They had taken to calling themselves the New Wigs, as they had all recently adopted Rafferdy’s habit of wearing a wig to Assembly—though these were not to be confused with the matted mop-ends worn by old country lords. Rather, their wigs were simple yet elegantly styled affairs, and they had a silvery color to them, as opposed to the blue tint favored by the Magisters.
Speaking of whom, the Magisters were all of them glaring in Rafferdy’s direction—something which gave him great delight.
“I almost couldn’t believe it when Davarry snapped at the bait you’d thrown out,” Coulten said under his breath as, at the front of the Hall, the Grand Usher began to drone on about some matter of protocol. “But he did, and now everyone’s neck is itching as they imagine what a rope feels like. I don’t suppose anyone will want to debate the act now.”
Rafferdy sighed, his delight receding a bit. “Oh, they will eventually.Davarry won’t let it go, and a lord is bound to forget about his neck if his arm is wrenched hard enough. But this will at least delay things. If nothing else, I’ve given them doubts about granting Lord Valhaine and his Gray Conclave any more authority than they already have.”
“I should hope so,” Coulten said. His nod was emphasized by the pillar of his wig, which had been constructed to dramatic proportions to contain the tall head of hair concealed beneath. “The Gray Conclave has too much prerogative as it is. Besides, I don’t understand why Davarry should want to support Lord Valhaine. After all, it was on Valhaine’s order that all secret magickal societies were banned. And we all know Davarry wears a House ring under his gloves like most of the Magisters.”
Rafferdy’s gaze shifted a few degrees, and now it was not at Davarry he gazed, but rather at a pale-haired man who sat just behind him. Even seated, the other lord was tall, though his shoulders were somewhat hunched inside the heavy, thickly
Again laughter went around the Hall, only there was a nervousness to the sound of it this time, and it died out quickly. No one was entirely certain whether Rafferdy was making a jest or not.
Davarry’s face reddened a shade, perhaps realizing that he had allowed himself to be goaded into a misstep. “That is a poor joke, my lord. I speak of men who would diminish the authority of the Crown by their speech. What we discuss here in the Hall of Magnates is hardly the same thing!”
“Isn’t it?” Rafferdy said, and now his voice and his expressionwere utterly serious. He looked not at his opponent, but rather out across the Hall. Lords shuffled on the benches as his gaze swept over them. “For I wonder, what is the difference between a lord who speaks out against a particular law and another man? If the only difference is a fine coat and wig … well, a lord looks much like any man when dressed in sackcloth and a noose.”
Davarry appeared ready to issue a hot rejoinder to this, but he was perhaps saved from further damaging his cause by the loud noise of the High Speaker’s gavel banging against the podium.
“The lord’s time is expired!” the High Speaker called out. “The lord will remove himself from the floor and take his seat!”
With a bow, Rafferdy did.
“I say, that was really splendid!” Coulten whispered as Rafferdy returned to his seat.
“I’m not certain Lord Davarry would agree with you,” Rafferdy whispered back, doing his best not to grin as he cast a glance in Davarry’s direction.
That Davarry would see such an expression was assured. The place where the Magisters sat was not far away, for over the last few months Coulten and Rafferdy, along with some of the other younger lords, had migrated from the back of the Hall toward the front. They had taken to calling themselves the New Wigs, as they had all recently adopted Rafferdy’s habit of wearing a wig to Assembly—though these were not to be confused with the matted mop-ends worn by old country lords. Rather, their wigs were simple yet elegantly styled affairs, and they had a silvery color to them, as opposed to the blue tint favored by the Magisters.
Speaking of whom, the Magisters were all of them glaring in Rafferdy’s direction—something which gave him great delight.
“I almost couldn’t believe it when Davarry snapped at the bait you’d thrown out,” Coulten said under his breath as, at the front of the Hall, the Grand Usher began to drone on about some matter of protocol. “But he did, and now everyone’s neck is itching as they imagine what a rope feels like. I don’t suppose anyone will want to debate the act now.”
Rafferdy sighed, his delight receding a bit. “Oh, they will eventually.Davarry won’t let it go, and a lord is bound to forget about his neck if his arm is wrenched hard enough. But this will at least delay things. If nothing else, I’ve given them doubts about granting Lord Valhaine and his Gray Conclave any more authority than they already have.”
“I should hope so,” Coulten said. His nod was emphasized by the pillar of his wig, which had been constructed to dramatic proportions to contain the tall head of hair concealed beneath. “The Gray Conclave has too much prerogative as it is. Besides, I don’t understand why Davarry should want to support Lord Valhaine. After all, it was on Valhaine’s order that all secret magickal societies were banned. And we all know Davarry wears a House ring under his gloves like most of the Magisters.”
Rafferdy’s gaze shifted a few degrees, and now it was not at Davarry he gazed, but rather at a pale-haired man who sat just behind him. Even seated, the other lord was tall, though his shoulders were somewhat hunched inside the heavy, thickly
Similar Books
