The Name of the Wind: 10th Anniversary Deluxe Edition by Patrick Rothfuss (Engli

Description: The Name of the Wind: 10th Anniversary Deluxe Edition by Patrick Rothfuss, Dan dos Santos "No one writes about stories like Pat Rothfuss. How the right story at the right time can change the world, how the teller can shape a life." —Lin-Manuel Miranda This deluxe, illustrated edition celebrates the New York Times-bestselling series, The Kingkiller Chronicle—a masterful epic fantasy saga that has inspired readers worldwide.This anniversary hardcover includes more than 50 pages of extra content!• Beautiful, iconic cover by artist Sam Weber and designer Paul Buckley• Gorgeous, never-before-seen illustrations by artist Dan Dos Santos• Detailed and updated world map by artist Nate Taylor• Brand-new authors note• Appendix detailing calendar system and currencies• Pronunciation guide of names and placesDAY ONE: THE NAME OF THE WIND My name is Kvothe.I have stolen princesses back from sleeping barrow kings. I burned down the town of Trebon. I have spent the night with Felurian and left with both my sanity and my life. I was expelled from the University at a younger age than most people are allowed in. I tread paths by moonlight that others fear to speak of during day. I have talked to Gods, loved women, and written songs that make the minstrels weep.You may have heard of me.So begins a tale unequaled in fantasy literature—the story of a hero told in his own voice. It is a tale of sorrow, a tale of survival, a tale of one mans search for meaning in his universe, and how that search, and the indomitable will that drove it, gave birth to a legend. FORMAT Hardcover LANGUAGE English CONDITION Brand New Author Biography Patrick Rothfuss is the bestselling author of The Kingkiller Chronicle. His first novel, The Name of the Wind, won the Quill Award and was a Publishers Weekly Best Book of the Year. Its sequel, The Wise Mans Fear, debuted at #1 on The New York Times bestseller chart and won the David Gemmell Legend Award. His novels have appeared on NPRs Top 100 Science Fiction/Fantasy Books list and Locus Best 21st Century Fantasy Novels list. Pat lives in Wisconsin, where he brews mead, builds box forts with his children, and runs Worldbuilders, a book-centered charity that has raised more than six million dollars for Heifer International. He can be found at patrickrothfuss.com and on Twitter at @patrickrothfuss. Review Praise for The Kingkiller Chronicle"The best epic fantasy I read last year.... Hes bloody good, this Rothfuss guy." —George R. R. Martin, New York Times-bestselling author of A Song of Ice and Fire "Rothfuss Kingkiller books are among the most read and re-read in our home. Its a world you want to spend lifetimes in, as his many fans will attest." —Lin-Manuel Miranda, Pulitzer Prize-winning creator of Hamilton"Rothfuss has real talent, and his tale of Kvothe is deep and intricate and wondrous." —Terry Brooks, New York Times-bestselling author of Shannara "It is a rare and great pleasure to find a fantasist writing...with true music in the words." —Ursula K. LeGuin, award-winning author of Earthsea "The characters are real and the magic is true." —Robin Hobb, New York Times-bestselling author of Assassins Apprentice "Masterful.... There is a beauty to Pats writing that defies description." —Brandon Sanderson, New York Times-bestselling author of Mistborn "[Makes] you think hes inventing the genre, instead of reinventing it." —Lev Grossman, New York Times-bestselling author of The Magicians "This is a magnificent book." —Anne McCaffrey, award-winning author of the Dragonriders of Pern "The great new fantasy writer weve been waiting for, and this is an astonishing book." —Orson Scott Card, New York Times-bestselling author of Enders Game"Its not the fantasy trappings (as wonderful as they are) that make this novel so good, but what the author has to say about true, common things, about ambition and failure, art, love, and loss." —Tad Williams, New York Times-bestselling author of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn "An extremely immersive story set in a flawlessly constructed world and told extremely well." —Jo Walton, award-winning author of Among Others "Hail Patrick Rothfuss! A new giant is striding the land." —Robert J. Sawyer, award-winning author of Wake "Fans of the epic high fantasies of George R.R. Martin or J.R.R. Tolkien will definitely want to check out Patrick Rothfuss The Name of the Wind." —NPR "Shelve The Name of the Wind beside The Lord of the Rings...and look forward to the day when its mentioned in the same breath, perhaps as first among equals." —The A.V. Club "Rothfuss (who has already been compared to the likes of Terry Goodkind, Robert Jordan, and George R. R. Martin) is poised to be crowned the new king of epic fantasy." —Barnes & Noble "I was reminded of Ursula K. Le Guin, George R. R. Martin, and J. R. R. Tolkien, but never felt that Rothfuss was imitating anyone." —The London Times "This fast-moving, vivid, and unpretentious debut roots its coming-of-age fantasy in convincing mythology." —Entertainment Weekly "This breathtakingly epic story is heartrending in its intimacy and masterful in its narrative essence." —Publishers Weekly (starred) "Reminiscent in scope of Robert Jordans Wheel of Time series...this masterpiece of storytelling will appeal to lovers of fantasy on a grand scale." —Library Journal (starred) Review Quote "The best epic fantasy I read last year.... Hes bloody good, this Rothfuss guy." -- George R. R. Martin , New York Times -bestselling author of A Song of Ice and Fire Excerpt from Book PROLOGUE A Silence of Three Parts It was night again. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts. The most obvious part was a hollow, echoing quiet, made by things that were lacking. If there had been a wind it would have sighed through the trees, set the inns sign creaking on its hooks, and brushed the silence down the road like trailing autumn leaves. If there had been a crowd, even a handful of men inside the inn, they would have filled the silence with conversation and laughter, the clatter and clamor one expects from a drinking house during the dark hours of night. If there had been music...but no, of course there was no music. In fact there were none of these things, and so the silence remained. Inside the Waystone a pair of men huddled at one corner of the bar. They drank with quiet determination, avoiding serious discussions of troubling news. In doing this they added a small, sullen silence to the larger, hollow one. It made an alloy of sorts, a counterpoint. The third silence was not an easy thing to notice. If you listened for an hour, you might begin to feel it in the wooden floor underfoot and in the rough, splintering barrels behind the bar. It was in the weight of the black stone hearth that held the heat of a long dead fire. It was in the slow back and forth of a white linen cloth rubbing along the grain of the bar. And it was in the hands of the man who stood there, polishing a stretch of mahogany that already gleamed in the lamplight. The man had true-red hair, red as flame. His eyes were dark and distant, and he moved with the subtle certainty that comes from knowing many things. The Waystone was his, just as the third silence was his. This was appropriate, as it was the greatest silence of the three, wrapping the others inside itself. It was deep and wide as autumns ending. It was heavy as a great river-smooth stone. It was the patient, cut-flower sound of a man who is waiting to die. CHAPTER ONE A Place for Demons It was Felling Night, and the usual crowd had gathered at the Waystone Inn. Five wasnt much of a crowd, but five was as many as the Waystone ever saw these days, times being what they were. Old Cob was filling his role as storyteller and advice dispensary. The men at the bar sipped their drinks and listened. In the back room a young innkeeper stood out of sight behind the door, smiling as he listened to the details of a familiar story. "When he awoke, Taborlin the Great found himself locked in a high tower. They had taken his sword and stripped him of his tools: key, coin, and candle were all gone. But that werent even the worst of it, you see..." Cob paused for effect, "...cause the lamps on the wall were burning blue!" Graham, Jake, and Shep nodded to themselves. The three friends had grown up together, listening to Cobs stories and ignoring his advice. Cob peered closely at the newer, more attentive member of his small audience, the smiths prentice. "Do you know what that meant, boy?" Everyone called the smiths prentice "boy" despite the fact that he was a hand taller than anyone there. Small towns being what they are, he would most likely remain "boy" until his beard filled out or he bloodied someones nose over the matter. The boy gave a slow nod. "The Chandrian." "Thats right," Cob said approvingly. "The Chandrian. Everyone knows that blue fire is one of their signs. Now he was--" "But howd they find him?" the boy interrupted. "And why dint they kill him when they had the chance?" "Hush now, youll get all the answers before the end," Jake said. "Just let him tell it." "No need for all that, Jake," Graham said. "Boys just curious. Drink your drink." "I drank me drink already," Jake grumbled. "I need tnother but the innkeeps still skinning rats in the back room." He raised his voice and knocked his empty mug hollowly on the top of the mahogany bar. "Hoy! Were thirsty men in here!" The innkeeper appeared with five bowls of stew and two warm, round loaves of bread. He pulled more beer for Jake, Shep, and Old Cob, moving with an air of bustling efficiency. The story was set aside while the men tended to their dinners. Old Cob tucked away his bowl of stew with the predatory efficiency of a lifetime bachelor. The others were still blowing steam off their bowls when he finished the last of his loaf and returned to his story. "Now Taborlin needed to escape, but when he looked around, he saw his cell had no door. No windows. All around him was nothing but smooth, hard stone. It was a cell no man had ever escaped. "But Taborlin knew the names of all things, and so all things were his to command. He said to the stone: Break! and the stone broke. The wall tore like a piece of paper, and through that hole Taborlin could see the sky and breathe the sweet spring air. He stepped to the edge, looked down, and without a second thought he stepped out into the open air...." The boys eyes went wide. "He didnt!" Cob nodded seriously. "So Taborlin fell, but he did not despair. For he knew the name of the wind, and so the wind obeyed him. He spoke to the wind and it cradled and caressed him. It bore him to the ground as gently as a puff of thistledown and set him on his feet softly as a mothers kiss. "And when he got to the ground and felt his side where theyd stabbed him, he saw that it werent hardly a scratch. Now maybe it was just a piece of luck," Cob tapped the side of his nose knowingly. "Or maybe it had something to do with the amulet he was wearing under his shirt." "What amulet?" the boy asked eagerly through a mouthful of stew. Old Cob leaned back on his stool, glad for the chance to elaborate. "A few days earlier, Taborlin had met a tinker on the road. And even though Taborlin didnt have much to eat, he shared his dinner with the old man." "Right sensible thing to do," Graham said quietly to the boy. "Everyone knows: A tinker pays for kindness twice." "No no," Jake grumbled. "Get it right: A tinkers advice pays kindness twice." The innkeeper spoke up for the first time that night. "Actually, youre missing more than half," he said, standing in the doorway behind the bar. "A tinkers debt is always paid: Once for any simple trade. Twice for freely-given aid. Thrice for any insult made." The men at the bar seemed almost surprised to see Kote standing there. Theyd been coming to the Waystone every Felling night for months and Kote had never interjected anything of his own before. Not that you could expect anything else, really. Hed only been in town for a year or so. He was still a stranger. The smiths prentice had lived here since he was eleven, and he was still referred to as "that Rannish boy," as if Rannish were some foreign country and not a town less than thirty miles away. "Just something I heard once," Kote said to fill the silence, obviously embarrassed. Old Cob nodded before he cleared his throat and launched back into the story. "Now this amulet was worth a whole bucket of gold nobles, but on account of Taborlins kindness, the tinker sold it to him for nothing but an iron penny, a copper penny, and a silver penny. It was black as a winter night and cold as ice to touch, but so long as it was round his neck, Taborlin would be safe from the harm of evil things. Demons and such." "Id give a good piece for such a thing these days," Shep said darkly. He had drunk most and talked least over the course of the evening. Everyone knew that something bad had happened out on his farm last Cendling night, but since they were good friends they knew better than to press him for the details. At least not this early in the evening, not as sober as they were. "Aye, who wouldnt?" Old Cob said judiciously, taking a long drink. "I dint know the Chandrian were demons," the boy said. "Id heard--" "They aint demons," Jake said firmly. "They were the first six people to refuse Tehlus choice of the path, and he cursed them to wander the corners--" "Are you telling this story, Jacob Walker?" Cob said sharply. "Cause if you are, Ill just let you get on with it." The two men glared at each other for a long moment. Eventually Jake looked away, muttering something that could, conceivably, have been an apology. Cob turned back to the boy. "Thats the mystery of the Chandrian," he explained. "Where do they come from? Where do they go after theyve done their bloody deeds? Are they men who sold their souls? Demons? Spirits? No one knows." Cob shot Jake a profoundly disdainful look. "Though every half-wit claims he knows...." The story fell further into bickering at this point, about the nature of the Chandrian, the signs that showed their presence to the wary, and whether the amulet would protect Taborlin from bandits, or mad dogs, or falling off a horse. Things were getting heated when the front door banged open. Jake looked over. "Its about time you got in, Carter. Tell this damn fool the difference between a demon and a dog. Everybody kn--" Jake stopped midsentence and rushed to the door. "Gods body, what happened to you?" Carter stepped into the light, his face pale and smeared with blood. He clutched an old saddle blanket to his chest. It was an odd, awkward shape, as if it were wrapped around a tangle of kindling stick Details ISBN0756413710 Author Dan dos Santos ISBN-10 0756413710 ISBN-13 9780756413712 Media Book Year 2017 Publication Date 2017-10-03 Pages 752 Series Kingkiller Chronicle Language English Format Hardcover Edition 10th Series Number 1 Illustrator Dan dos Santos Illustrations Illustrations, unspecified Place of Publication New York Country of Publication United States AU Release Date 2017-10-03 NZ Release Date 2017-10-03 US Release Date 2017-10-03 UK Release Date 2017-10-03 Publisher Astra Publishing House Imprint DAW Books DEWEY 813.6 Audience General We've got this At The Nile, if you're looking for it, we've got it. With fast shipping, low prices, friendly service and well over a million items - you're bound to find what you want, at a price you'll love! TheNile_Item_ID:116984336;

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