Read Online Master Of The Planes (Book 3) by T.O. Munro - Free Book Online Page A

strike the seneschal there and then.
    “It was by the queen’s own command,” Giseanne struck up in Kimbolt’s defence.
    “Her hands, they are moving,” Elise cried.
    “No wonder,” Tordil exclaimed.  “Trying to work some feeling back.  Those ropes have all but cut her circulation off.  Fear not, your Majesty, I will have you free in an instant.”
    As the elf stepped towards the throne, the queen’s fingers whirled in a blur of enchantment.  The knots instantly disentangled themselves and the ropes slipped to the floor.  Tordil stopped with a grin as the queen stood up to her full height, a smirk playing across her mouth beneath the blank visor of the helm. The elf captain smiled back.  “Truly this artefact carries many charms,” he said.  “The power to kill, to fly and now escapology!”
    “Hepdida!” Kimbolt shouted.
    As though roused from slumber the princess, still standing behind the queen, seized the Helm and lifted it clear of her head.  Niarmit gave a great inhuman bellow and collapsed insensible to the floor.
    “Fool, girl,” Tordil exclaimed as he leapt to Niarmit’s side.  “What have you done? Meddling with an artefact you don’t understand, you have injured the queen.”
    “She was following the queen’s orders,” Elise said as Kimbolt and Giseanne joined the elf by Niarmit’s prone form.  “And whatever the princess may or may not understand about the Helm, Captain, I am quite sure that you understand none of it.”
    “Magic runs in the blood of elves more than it ever did in humans,” Tordil growled.
    “This is not elf-magic Captain.  The Helm was crafted by human hands.  While you may nonetheless admire its powers, those of us gathered here have seen how the queen fears it. She is not a woman to fear without reason.”
    “How is she?” Hepdida demanded, placing the Helm carefully upon the floor.
    Kimbolt pursed his lips.  “It is just a faint, I think.  Here, help me get her to her chambers.”

***
    Hepdida was whistling as she crossed the gardens.  An old love song which had amused her as a child when she walked the corridors of a different palace.  Through its simple melody she touched the reassurance of more innocent days gone by to set against the constant sense of bewilderment and failure which filled her present.
    She held the Helm with both hands, more for the gravity of the object than its weight.  She was sure someone somewhere would think it unseemly for a crown princess to skip through the palace corridors swinging so ancient a relic one handed at her side. There were plenty who had been quick to upbraid her for any momentary lapses in her royal demeanour.
    As she turned a corner she almost stumbled into Lady Maia and had to turn herself sideways to keep the Helm from touching the Oostsalve courtesan. 
    “Well, well, my dear,” Tybert’s mistress exclaimed.  “I see my lord spoke true, you are fully recovered and restored to us.”
    “Yes, my lady.”
    “Oh, please,” she pressed a finger to Hepdida’s lips.  “Now that it is confirmed that you are crown princess, you must call me Maia.”
    “Of course, Maia.”
    “And this,” Maia stepped back in wonderment at the object in Hepdida’s hands.  “This is the famous Helm of the Vanquisher, the one your cousin wore to ward off the half-breed witch’s treachery?”
    Quintala had called Maia a whore and a harlot, with some reason. Hepdida felt her hackles rise at the casual prejudice in the courtesan’s words, but then the woman was right.  Quintala had been the greatest of traitors to them all, and to Hepdida especially.
    Maia stretched a finger towards the Helm and Hepdida abruptly swung it to one side.  “Don’t Lady Maia.  To touch it is to die. Its enchantment will destroy any not of Eadran’s line who lay a hand upon it.” 
    Maia’s eyes widened and her tongue flicked across her lips, but still she held her hand reaching towards the artefact trembling with a feverish