PATRICK ROTHFUSS US.A. $ CAN. $ THE N A M E OF THE W I N D The Kingkiller Chronicle: Day One PATRICK ROTHFUSS My name is Kvothe. Allen, David. Getting things done: the art of stress-free productivity / David Allen anything fall through the cracks. Rüzgarın Adı - Patrick Rothfuss. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The scanning, uploading and distribution of .

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The Name of the Wind PDF Summary by Patrick Rothfuss is an exciting mythical story that is filled with various characters. Available as an. DOWNLOAD PDF. Report this file. Description. Download Patrick Rothfuss - Numele Vantului Free in pdf format. Sponsored Ads. Shop Related Products. Wind (Kingkiller Chronicles) Patrick Rothfuss pdf, by Patrick Rothfuss The Name of the Wind (Kingkiller Chronicles), book pdf The Name of the Wind ( Kingkiller.

He feels stunned and uplifted at the same time. After clearing his path, he is tested by the official to see whether Kvothe got what it takes to become a fellow scholar.

He immediately catches the eye of another student known as Ambrose. Their rivalry actually begins even before they engage in verbal confrontations.

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In the dark corners of the University Library, he begins to conduct in-depth research and specialize in all matters related to the Chandrian. His actions are not well-received , and the university officials ban him from the archives — stopping his progress. Now, the lack of money is an incentive enough for him to download an instrument and perform in a local tavern. The destiny reunites Kvothe and Denna once more, and their relationship reaches a new level. In the inn, Kvothe is exposed to a lot of gossiping, but one particular rumor shakes his world.

On a wedding day, all the guests were slaughtered by someone. This sequence of events gets him upset and prompts Kvothe to investigate the case.

A savage monster and mythical creature named — Draccus lays at the end of the investigation. Kvothe finally manages to kill him, nearly destroying the entire town in the endeavor. Upon his arrival to the University, Kvothe and Ambrose exchange a few blows. The clash is followed by hatred and hard feelings between them. The enhancement in learning the mythical secrets grants him a few more privileges. One of the professors — Elodin, teaches its students how to use advanced magic, and Kvothe becomes one of his favorite rookies.

A mercenary apparently a victim of evil forces, attacks patrons with the intention of killing them all. He manages to slaughter just one before he is put to eternal sleep by a young patron. It did not change. It stayed. The lady came to the tower. She cut a branch of holly for a wreath, which was bad. She rooted up the climbing vines and tore them from the branches, which 32 Patrick Rotkfuss was good. She turned the earth and made a garden, which was neither. She sat beneath the holly reading books and wept.

She sat beneath the holly in the sun and wept. She sat beneath the holly in the rain and wept. She sat beneath the holly and the moon and wept.

The Name of the Wind PDF Summary

She sat beneath the holly and she sang. The Lady sat beneath the holly, which was good. The Lady wept, which was bad. The Lady sang, which was good. The Lady left the tower, which was bad. The tower stayed, which was neither.

The holly changed, which was both.

The holly stayed. There was a stream, which was beautiful. There was wind, which was beautiful. There were birds, which were beautiful. The Lady came to the tower, which was good. She turned the earth, which was good. The Lady sang, which was beautiful. There were tomatoes, and the Lady ate them, which was good.

There was sun and rain. There was day and night. There was sum- mer and winter. The holly grew, and that was good. The Lady sat upon his gnarled roots and fished, and that was good.

The Lady watched the squir- rels play among his leaves and laughed, and that was good. The Lady turned her foot upon a stone, and that was bad.

She leaned against his trunk and frowned, and that was bad. The Lady sang a song to holly. Holly listened. Holly bent. The Lady sang and branch became a walking stick, and that was good.

She walked and leaned on him, and that was good. The Lady climbed into the highest reaches of his branches, look- ing into nests, and that was good. The Lady pricked her hands upon his thorns, and that was bad. She sucked the bright bead from her thumb, and slipped, and screamed, and fell. And holly bent. And Holly bent his boughs to catch her. And the Lady smiled, and that was beautiful.

But there was blood upon her hands, and that was bad. But then the Lady looked upon her blood, and laughed, and sang. And there were berries bright as blood, and that was good. The Lady spoke to Holly, which was good. The Lady told to Holly, 34 Patrick Rotkfuss which was good.

She sang and sang and sang to Holly, which was good. The Lady was afraid, and that was bad. She watched the water of the stream. She looked into the sky.

She listened to the wind, and was afraid, and that was bad. The Lady turned to Holly. The Lady laid her hand upon his trunk. The Lady spoke to Holly. Holly bent, and that was good. The Lady drew a breath and sang a song to Holly. She sang a song and Holly burrowed deep into the earth. She sang a song and all along the stream there sprung new holly from the ground. She sang and all around the tower climbed new holly. She sang and up the tower grew new holly.

The Lady sang and they were both. Around them both there grew new holly. New holly spread and stretched and wrapped the tower. Then he tugged off one of his boots, stripped out the lining, and removed a tightly wrapped bundle of coins stuffed deep into the toe. He moved some of these into his purse, then unfastened his pants, produced another bundle of coins from underneath several layers of clothes, and moved some of that money into his purse as well.

The key was to keep the proper amount in your purse. Too little and they would be disappointed and prone to look for more. Too much and they would be excited and might get greedy. There was a third bundle of coins baked into the stale loaf of bread that only the most desperate of criminals would be interested in.

He left that alone for now, as well as the whole silver talent he had hidden in ajar of ink. The Name of the Wind 21 Over the years he had come to think of the last as more of a luck piece. No one had ever found that. He had to admit, it was probably the most civil robbery he'd ever been through.

They had been genteel, efficient, and not terribly savvy. Losing the horse and saddle was hard, but he could download another in Abbott's Ford and still have enough money to live comfortably until he finished this foolishness and met up with Skarpi in Treya. Feeling an urgent call of nature, Chronicler pushed his way through the bloodred sumac at the side of the road.

As he was rebuttoning his pants, there was sudden motion in the underbrush as a dark shape thrashed its way free of some nearby bushes. Chronicler staggered back, crying out in alarm before he realized it was nothing more than a crow beating its wings into flight. Chuckling at his own foolishness, he straightened his clothes and made his way back to the road through the sumac, brushing away invisible strands of spiderweb that clung tickling to his face.

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As he shouldered his travelsack and satchel, Chronicler found himself feeling remarkably lighthearted. The worst had happened, and it hadn't been that bad.

A breeze tussled through the trees, sending poplar leaves spinning like golden coins down onto the rutted dirt road. It was a beautiful day.

Lord and lady, it's beautiful as anything these hands have ever made. Then, seeing the flat bundle in the man's arms, he brightened. The mounting board! It's been so long. I'd almost forgotten. He saw Graham watching him and hurried to add, "That can be a lifetime if you're waiting for something.

In fact, Kote himself seemed rather sickly. Not exactly unhealthy, but hollow. Like a plant that's been moved into the wrong sort of soil and, lacking something vital, has begun to wilt.

Graham noted the difference. The innkeeper's gestures weren't as extravagant. His voice wasn't as deep. Even his eyes weren't as bright as they had been a month ago. Their color seemed duller. They were less sea-foam, less green-grass than they had been. Now they were like riverweed, like the bottom of a green glass bottle.

And his hair had been bright before, the color of flame. Now it seemed—red. Just red-hair color, really. Kote drew back the cloth and looked underneath. The wood was a dark The Name of the Wind 23 charcoal color with a black grain, heavy as a sheet of iron.

Three dark pegs were set above a word chiseled into the wood. Graham thought for a moment. It's difficult wood to work with. Try a chisel, like iron. Then, after all the shouting was done, I couldn't char it. Me and the boy managed to sear it with a hot iron. Took us better than two hours to get it black. Not a wisp of smoke, but it made a stink like old leather and clover. Damnedest thing.

The Name of the Wind

What sort of wood don't burn? I haven't quite decided where to put it. Kote remained at the bar, idly running his hands over the wood and the word. Before too long Bast came out of the kitchen and looked over his teacher's shoulder. There was a long moment of silence like a tribute given to the dead. Eventually, Bast spoke up. Bast struggled for a moment, opening his mouth, then closing it with a frustrated look, then repeating the process.

Kote was a long while in answering. My greatest successes came from decisions I made when I stopped thinking and simply did what felt right. Even if there was no good explanation for what I did. Kote grinned wickedly, a measure of vitality coming back into his face. He looked speculatively at the walls and pursed his lips. The bar was decorated with glittering bpttles, and Kote was standing on the now-vacant counter between the two heavy oak barrels when Bast came back into the room, black scabbard swinging loosely from one hand.

Kote paused in the act of setting the mounting board atop one of the barrels and cried out in dismay, "Careful, Bast! You're carrying a lady there, not swinging some wench at a barn dance.

Kote pounded a pair of nails into the wall, twisted some wire, and hung the mounting board firmly on the wall. Using both hands, Bast held it up to him, looking for a moment like a squire offering up a sword to some bright-armored knight.

But there was no knight there, just an innkeeper, just a man in an apron who called himself Kote. He took the sword from Bast and stood upright on the counter behind the bar. The Name of the Wind 25 He drew the sword without a flourish.

It shone a dull grey-white in the room's autumn light. It had the appearance of a new sword. It was not notched or rusted. There were no bright scratches skittering along its dull grey side. But though it was unmarred, it was old. And while it was obviously a sword, it was not a familiar shape. At least no one in this town would have found it familiar. It looked as if an alchemist had distilled a dozen swords, and when the crucible had cooled this was lying in the bottom: a sword in its pure form.

It was slender and graceful. It was deadly as a sharp stone beneath swift water. Kote held it a moment. His hand did not shake. Then he set the sword on the mounting board. Its grey-white metal shone against the dark roah behind it. While the handle could be seen, it was dark enough to be almost indistinguishable from the wood.

The word beneath it, black against blackness, seemed to reproach: Folly. Kote climbed down, and for a moment he and Bast stood side by side, silently looking up.

Bast broke the silence. He shuddered. Kote clapped him on the back, oddly cheerful. Then there were things to be done. Bottles to be polished and put back in place. Lunch to be made. Lunch clutter to be cleaned. Things were cheerful for a while in a pleasant, bustling way. The two talked of small matters as they worked.

And while they moved around a great deal, it was obvious they were reluctant to finish whatever task they were close to completing, as if they both dreaded the moment when the work would end and the silence would fill the room again.

Then something odd happened. The door opened and noise poured into the Waystone like a gentle wave. People bustled in, talking and dropping bundles of belongings. They chose tables and threw their coats over the backs of chairs. One man, wearing a shirt of heavy metal rings, unbuckled a sword and leaned it against a wall.

Two or three wore knives on their belts. Four or five called for drinks. Kote and Bast watched for a moment, then moved smoothly into action. Kote smiled and began pouring drinks. Bast darted outside to see if there were horses that needed stabling. Coins rang on the bar. Cheese and fruit were set on platters and a large copper pot was hung to simmer in the kitchen.

Men moved tables and chairs about to better suit their group of nearly a dozen people. Kote identified them as they came in. Two men and two women, wagoneers, rough from years of being outside and smiling to be spending a night out of the wind.

Three guards with hard eyes, smelling of iron. A tinker with a potbelly and a ready smile showing his few remaining teeth. Two young men, one sandy-haired, one dark, well dressed and wellspoken: travelers sensible enough to hook up with a larger group for protection on the road. The settling-in period lasted an hour or two.

Prices of rooms were dickered over. Friendly arguments started about who slept with whom. Minor necessities were brought in from wagons or saddlebags. Baths were requested and water heated. Hay was taken to the horses, and Kote topped off the oil in all the lamps. The tinker hurried outside to make use of the remaining daylight. He walked his two-wheel mule cart through the town's streets.

Children crowded around, begging for candy and stories and shims. When it became apparent that nothing was going to be handed out, most of them lost interest. They formed a circle with a boy in the middle and started to clap, keeping the beat with a children's song that had been ages old when their grandparents had chanted it: "When the hearthfire turns to blue, What to do?

What to do? Run outside. Run and hide. Knife grinder. Willow-wand water-finder. Cut cork. Silk scarves off the city streets. Writing paper. They flocked back to him, making a small parade as he walked down the street, singing, "Belt leather.

Black pepper. Fine lace and bright feather. Tinker in town tonight, gone tomorrow. Working through the evening light. Come wife. Come daugh- The Name of the Wind 27 ter, I've small cloth and rose water.

As the adults began to gather around the old man, the children returned to their game. A girl in the center of the circle put one hand over her eyes and tried to catch the other children as they ran away, clapping and chanting: "When his eyes are black as crow?

Where to go? Near and far. Here they are. He traded sharp knives for dull ones and a small coin. He sold shears and needles, copper pots and small bottles that wives hid quickly after downloading them. He traded buttons and bags of cinnamon and salt. All the while the children continued to sing: "See a man without a face? Move like ghosts from place to place.

What's their plan? They smelled of road dust and horses. He breathed it in like perfume. Best of all was the noise. Leather creaking. Men laughing. The fire cracked and spat. The women flirted. Someone even knocked over a chair.

For the first time in a long while there was no silence in the Waystone Inn. Or if there was, it was too faint to be noticed, or too well hidden. Kote was in the middle of it all, always moving, like a man tending a large, complex machine.

Ready with a drink just as a person called for it, he talked and listened in the right amounts. He laughed at jokes, shook hands, smiled, and whisked coins off the bar as if he truly needed the money. With the fire shining in his hair, he sang "Tinker Tanner," more verses than anyone had heard before, and no one minded in the least. Hours later, the common room had a warm, jovial feel to it.

Kote was kneeling on the hearth, building up the fire, when someone spoke behind him. He swayed a little. I heard you in Imre once. Cried my eyes out afterward. I never heard anything like that before or since. Broke my heart. But I thought it was. Even though. But who else has your hair? By the fountain. The cobblestones are all shathered. They say no one can mend them. Squinting for focus, he seemed surprised by the innkeeper's reaction.

The red-haired man was grinning. The Kvothe? I've always thought so myself. I have an engraving of him in back. My assistant teases me for it. Would you tell him what you just told me? But as he stepped from the hearth, one of his legs twisted underneath him and he fell heavily to the floor, knocking over a chair.

Several of the travelers hurried over, but the innkeeper was already on his feet, waving people back to their seats. Sorry to startle any- The Name of the Wind 29 one. His face was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on a chair for support. It gives out every now and then.

One of the mercenaries spoke up. Kote leaned on him with every other step as they made their way through the doorway and up the stairs. He began to curse under his breath as he climbed a few more steps, his knee obviously uninjured.

Bast's eyes widened, then narrowed. Kote stopped at the top of the steps and rubbed his eyes. The one nearest to me by the fireplace. Give him something to make him sleep. He's already been drinking. No one will think twice if he happens to pass out. Kote straightened. Kote spoke crisply and cleanly. Wounded while successfully defending a caravan.

Arrow in right knee. Three years ago. A grateful Cealdish merchant gave me money to start an 30 Patrick Rothfuss inn. His name is Deolan. We were traveling from Purvis. Mention it casually. Do you have it? Kote nodded and gave terse instructions that he not be disturbed for the rest of the night.

Closing the door behind himself, Bast's expression was worried. He stood at the top of the stairs for some time, trying to think of something he could do. It is hard to say what troubled Bast so much.

The Name of the Wind PDF Summary

Kote didn't seem noticeably changed in any way. Except, perhaps, that he moved a little slower, and whatever small spark the night's activity had lit behind his eyes was dimmer now. In fact, it could hardly be seen. In fact, it may not have been there at all. Kote sat in front of the fire and ate his meal mechanically, as if he were simply finding a place inside himself to keep the food. After the last bite he sat staring into nothing, not remembering what he had eaten or what it tasted like.

The fire snapped, making him blink and look around the room. He looked down at his hands, one curled inside the other, resting in his lap. After a moment, he lifted and spread them, as if warming them by the fire. They were graceful, with long, delicate fingers. He watched them intently, as if expecting them to do something on their own.

Then he lowered them to his lap, one hand lightly cupping the other, and returned to watching the fire. Expressionless, motionless, he sat until there was nothing left but grey ash and dully glowing coals. As he was undressing for bed, the fire flared. The red light traced faint lines across his body, across his back and arms. All the scars were smooth and silver, streaking him like lightning, like lines of gentle remembering. The flare of flame revealed them all briefly, old wounds and new.

All the scars were smooth and silver except one. The fire flickered and died. Sleep met him like a lover in an empty bed. The travelers left early the next morning. Bast tended to their needs, explaining his master's knee was swollen quite badly and he didn't feel up to The Name of the Wind 31 taking the stairs so early in the day.

Everyone understood except for the sandy-haired merchant's son, who was too groggy to understand much of anything. The guards exchanged smiles and rolled their eyes while the tinker gave an impromptu sermon on the subject of temperance. Bast recommended several unpleasant hangover cures. After they left, Bast tended to the inn, which was no great chore, as there were no customers. Most of his time was spent trying to find ways to amuse himself.

Some time after noon, Kote came down the stairs to find him crushing walnuts on the bar with a heavy leather-bound book. Wanted to know if we needed any mutton.

It tastes like wet mittens. Keep an eye on things, will you? The sky was a featureless grey sheet of cloud that looked as if it wanted to rain but couldn't quite work up the energy. Kote walked across the street to the open front of the smithy. The smith wore his hair cropped short and his beard thick and bushy. As Kote watched, he carefully drove a pair of nails through a scythe blade's collar, fixing it firmly onto a curved wooden handle. Torn up awful, practically shredded.

The smith shrugged. A bear? I guess they're just selling off what they can't watch over properly, them being shorthanded and all. Just plain old pig-iron would do nicely. Old Cob and the rest came by day before yesterday. Do you have a spare apron and set of forge gloves? But I don't fancy losing half my skin doing it.

The smith shook his head, "A jot would be a great plenty. They're no good to me or the boy. The ground'll be softer after the spring thaw. In the summer, they're too strong and won't let go. In autumn everything is tired and ready to die.Keep an eye on things, will you? If you get hold of one, throw it into the fire. The holly stayed. By the fountain. Kote didn't seem noticeably changed in any way. Ready with a drink just as a person called for it, he talked and listened in the right amounts.

His room was austere, almost monkish. Kote was kneeling on the hearth, building up the fire, when someone spoke behind him. The Mating Habits of the Common Draccus.

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