By Lois McMaster Bujold
A guy damaged in physique and spirit, Cazaril has again to the noble loved ones he as soon as served as web page, and is termed, to his nice shock, secretary-tutor to the attractive, strong-willed sister of the impetuous boy who's subsequent in line to rule. it's as task Cazaril dreads, for it needs to finally lead him to where he such a lot fears: the royal courtroom of Cardegoss, the place the strong enemies who as soon as positioned him in chains now occupy lofty positions. however it is greater than the traitorous intrigues of villains that threaten Cazaril and the Royesse Iselle the following, for a sinister curse hangs like a sword over the whole blighted residence of Chalion and all who stand of their circle. And in simple terms by way of making use of the darkest, so much forbidden of magics can Cazaril desire to guard his royal cost -- an act that may mark the unswerving, broken servant as a device of the amazing ... and capture him, flesh and soul, in a maze of demonic paradox, damnation, and loss of life.
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Extra info for The Curse of Chalion (Chalion, Book 1)
Dot moved ahead of me down to the bottom, where she stopped. When I got there I saw why. The stairs let out into a large, dark room. The ﬂoor ended halfway across it, and beyond that, at either side, to the left and right, under the arching roof, were open tunnels. From one tunnel opening to the other ran a pair of gleaming rails. We were standing on a subway platform. Dot walked to the end of the platform and shined the ﬂashlight up the tunnel. The rails gleamed away into the distance. “This doesn’t look like the safe,” I said.
50 s John Kessel That’s the story of my life: me trying to save the rest of you—and the rest of you ignoring me. On the other side of Almond it was all mountains. The road twisted and turned, the headlights ﬂashing against the tops of trees on the downhill side and the cut earth on the uphill. I kept shifting and drifting over the double yellow line as we came in and out of turns, but the road was deserted. Occasionally we’d pass some broken-down house with a battered pickup in the dirt driveway and a rust-spotted propane tank outside in the yard.
They would break every bone inside his bruised body if this continued. Barrow saw his doom and still could not make his body rise off the dusty earth. How had he come to this awful place? He couldn’t remember. He sat upright, waiting for the next misery to ﬁnd him . . but a new voice was shouting, followed by the odd, high-pitched report of a very different gun. The dirt before him rose up in a fountain and drifted away, and left lying between his legs was a single purple Claw of God. Damn, somebody had a dragon-buster gun.