Read Online Wrath Of The Medusa (Book 2) by T.O. Munro - Free Book Online Page B

no lectures in wisdom from you Haselrig.”
    The antiquary gave a weary sigh.  “Here, bring that lantern close, let us shine a light inside the Vanquisher’s dark place.”  Udecht did as he was bid, illuminating fully the inner surface of the Helm.  It was a simple basinet. A solid metal aventail provided some projection for the neck.  The frontispiece extended down as far as the tip of the nose, shielding the eyes with an unbroken sheet of metal which would effectively blindfold the wearer.  The light inside showed a lining of rich red leather, providing the Helmet’s wearer with some cushioning and comfort against the hard metal and any blow that might be struck against it.
    “The lining is perhaps not part of the magic. If you could peel it away there may be an inscription beneath that will make sense of its dweomer.”
    “You want me to put my hand inside that thing and try to tear it apart?  My I remind you that my unlamented brother put his head in it and two dozen orcs scrubbing have still not got the stain out of the marble throne room floor.”
    “My I remind you that we have thus far spent over a week in frui tless study and each sunset my Master’s disappointment is a shock to both of us,” Haselrig rattled the magical chain that bound them together.  “You will have marked no doubt how the lightning bolts which this binding conducts grow stronger with each day of failure.  There will come a time, before too long, when the persistence of our inadequacy will prove fatal.”
    “I’m not afraid of death.   You should have let him kill me when he wanted to.”
    “You’re an ungrateful sod. I risked my Master’s displeasure to intercede on your behalf, to save you from your brother’s fate.”
    “Why did you do that then, Haselrig?” Udecht challenged the antiquary.  “If I were to scratch away the sheen of your magnanimity I am sure I would find crude self-interest where it has always been, the beginning and the end of all your motivations.”
    Haselrig made no reply.  He gave the prisoner a cold glare of malevolence, which assured Udecht his words had struck home.  “What happened to you, Haselrig?  You were a priest once like me.  How could you turn so far from the path of the Goddess?”
    “It is my place to ask questions and yours to answer them,” Haselrig growled .
    “ I know no more than you of the workings and the wielders of the Helm.”
    “You know much that you do not say, your reverence.  The secret passages into which you led your guards to their deaths at the assassins’ hands.  The self-same paths by which you led the intruders to their escape.  It would require the painful taking of many lives to recompense my Master for a betrayal of such magnitude and you have but one life with which to pay.”
    Udecht shrugged.  “My life has been a nigh tmare these past six weeks.  Death would be like waking up.”
    Haselrig gave a snort.  “You clearly know too little of death and nothing of dying. For now, we have a riddle to unravel, set by your ancestor.  Where in lies the power of this helm and how could it be unlocked?”
    “Peer into the blast ed thing all you like Haselrig. You’ll get no help from me.”
    The antiquary turned to the nearest archer.  “Shoot him ,” he said.  “Somewhere painful but not fatal.” 

***
    Abroath bowed low before Prince Rugan as his father had told him to.  “My name is Prior Abroath. I bring the host of Oostsalve to your aid, my Prince.”
    The Prince of Medyrsalve ran a thumb along his jaw, the black beard precisely trimmed despite the privations of an army camp on the marc h.  “How many men?” the half-elf demanded.
    “Five thousand, your H ighness.”
    “ What kind of warriors?” Rugan queried sharply. Abroath felt the Prince’s keen scrutiny of his own monastic robes.
    “H obelars, your highness and five hundred mounted archers.”
    “ No knights? No cavalry!”  The Prince’s eyebrows shot up as high