By Dave Duncan
Many legends have emerged from the shadows of Ironhall, but without doubt none can surpass the greatness and glory predestined for Sir Beaumont—possessor of the purest and most powerful of hearts, and a brain as quickly, willing, and exact as his sword. however the day he units out within the provider of the aged Lord Wassail turns to a black one, and younger Beau's trip leads to horror and blood . . . and shame. Banished from the King's Blades, he now faces a grim destiny as a homeless pariah, a creature to be kept away from and despised. yet redemption can come from unforeseen instructions and in unrecognizable guises. Approached in mystery via the mythical Durendal, now Grand grasp of the Order, the dishonored paragon is obtainable one final likelihood to win again his weapon and his position between his brothers in fingers. yet to take action, Beau needs to journey by myself again in the course of the icy gates of Hell . . . and do conflict with the satan himself.
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Extra resources for Paragon Lost: A Chronicle of the King's Blades
Example text
His replacement was a young chest nut, known as Cricket because he had never seen an obsta cle he didn’t think he could jump—even trees, of which there were fortunately none on Starkmoor. His prancing and innovative footwork kept Durendal busy and amused his companions as the little cavalcade wound up Home Tor. Spring was in full ecstasy. The wild landscape that had so recently glowered out of an armor of ice, was softly gowned now in sunlight and bejewelled with wildflowers. Hawks hunted, baby breezes played in the grass, and one last mad 38 Dave Duncan Thirdmoon hare bounced up and down on the Blackwater slope.
And again. Then steel clattered and flashed, lunge, parry, riposte . . Beau signaled the touch, the umpires waved the flag, spectators applauded tepidly. ” Hazard cried. ” He scanned the crowd. “Look at this mob! Almost no one came to see the quarterfinals and semis! Just because the King’s here! I like your livery, brother. I hear your ward bought the store for his Blades. ” They exchanged baffled glances. “I also heard that your ward had taken you over to Sycamore Elementary to be conjured in some foreign tongue .
Behind him, Beaumont made some comment and Arkell laughed. It was a curious coincidence that all three of Durendal’s cur rent charges were lambs, at least compared to most of the hellions who sought refuge in Ironhall. All three had been victims of ill chance and all three were exceptional. Indeed, whatever chance brought Wassail to Ironhall was depriving the Royal Guard of a future Leader in Beaumont. Arkell, too, fitted the popular stereotype of a Blade as a human whirlwind with a steel tooth, but he lacked Beaumont’s overall brilliance.