The Name of the Wind (The Kingkiller Chronicle, #1)

by Patrick Rothfuss

The flickering hope for peace each of them had nurtured for so long flared like hot fire inside them.

His armor fit him closely as a second skin of shadow.

He had wrought it from the carcass of the beast he had killed at Drossen Tor.

Lanre said nothing, and from his silence Selitos knew that Lyra was dead.

??? Sound a lot like Haliax. Hmm? Or were they Amyr? Who is Aleph then?

He saw in Lanre a great darkness and a troubled spirit.

Lanre paused. “My wife is dead. Deceit and treachery brought me to it, but her death is on my hands.”

Sounds a lot like what K says at the beginning about HIS story!

Lanre’s face was terrible to look upon. Grief and despair had ravaged it.

They are safe. Safe from the thousand evils of the everyday. Safe from the pains of an unjust fate.”

Tehlu=Lanre. Those he bound were some of them Namer's of great power, Haliax, aleph, and form the 7 with him selitos and encaenis. He started out protecting people from evil but became the very evil he abhorred?

I sow salt because the choice is between weeds and nothing.” Selitos saw nothing but emptiness behind his eyes.

Voila. He sows salt to not sow weeds

Selitos, his eyes unveiled, looked at his friend. He saw how Lanre, nearly mad with grief, had sought the power to bring Lyra back to life again. Out of love for Lyra, Lanre had sought knowledge where knowledge is better left alone, and gained it at a terrible price.

So I was wrong. Lanre IS Haliax. Cursed be cause he let some demon overcome him to get Lyra back, Encaenis maybe?, and all who follow. So he is chased but not completely evil like those 6 who follow him?

Then Selitos bowed his head and wept hot tears of blood upon the earth.

“Thank you. I wanted to thank you. My father would have loved that story.

Only when I saw Skarpi’s eyes following me did I realize I was backing nervously toward the exit. I stopped and forced myself to turn and walk out the door.

Lanre and Haliax

Kill the Chandrian? Kill Lanre? How could I even begin?

Here is the real KING the Kingkiller will kill. Haliax. Lanre. The Chandrian. And any who stand in his way.

Haliax had said to Cinder. Who keeps you safe from the Amyr? The singers? The Sithe? From all that would harm you in the world? The Chandrian had enemies. If I could find them, they would help me. I had no idea who the singers or the Sithe were, but everyone knew that the Amyr were church knights, the strong right hand of the Aturan Empire. Unfortunately, everyone also knew that there had been no Amyr in three hundred years. They had been disbanded when the Aturan Empire collapsed. But Haliax had spoken of them as if they still existed. And Skarpi’s story implied that the Amyr had begun with Selitos, not with the Aturan Empire as I had always been taught. There was obviously more to the story, more that I needed to know.

felt very comfortable just then, and it occurred to me that it wouldn’t be a bad life, owning a place like this.

“You have a lovely inn here. I’d count myself lucky to have one as nice when I’ve grown up.”

No one. It took a nerve-wracking half hour and two more alleys before I finally figured out what it was. It felt strange to be walking with the crowd.

He smiled timidly, as if the joke was a pair of old boots that had worn out long ago, but were too comfortable to give up.

“You can tell a lot about a person by their feet,” he mused. “Some men come in here, smiling and laughing, shoes all clean and brushed, socks all powdered up. But when the shoes are off, their feet smell just fearsome. Those are the people that hide things. They’ve got bad smelling secrets and they try to hide ’em, just like they try to hide their feet.”

Only way to stop your feet from smelling is to let them air out a bit. Could be the same thing with secrets.

for new shoes like these I charge a talent, maybe a talent and two.” He pointed at my feet. “Those shoes, on the other hand, are used, and I don’t sell used shoes.” He turned his back on me and started to tidy his workbench rather aimlessly, humming to himself. It took me a second to recognize the tune: “Leave the Town, Tinker.”

Why? Because pride is a strange thing, and because generosity deserves generosity in return. But mostly because it felt like the right thing to do, and that is reason enough.

Denna FIRST APPEARANCE

“Ari,” he called to one of the boys standing near the bushel basket.

“Kvothe, you run for soap.” He held out a halfpenny. “Go to Marna’s in the Wash. You’ll get better from her if you tell her who it’s for.” I felt a sudden lump form in my throat. He knew me. I can’t hope to explain to you how much of a relief it was. Trapis was the closest thing I had to a family. The thought of him not knowing me had been horrifying.

“Come here.” He came forward and gathered me into a clumsy hug, his beard tickling the side of my face. “I’m always glad to see one of you get away,” he said softly to me. “I know you’ll do just fine for yourself, but you can always come back if you need to.”

As the miles rolled away, it was as if a great weight slowly fell away from me. I reveled in the feel of the ground through my shoes, the taste of the air, the quiet hush of wind brushing through the spring wheat in the fields. I found myself grinning for no good reason, save that I was happy. We Ruh are not meant to stay in one place for so long. I took a deep breath and nearly laughed out loud.

No breath of wind disturbed the surface of the water. So as we climbed out onto the fallen stone the stars reflected themselves in double fashion; as above, so below. It was as if we were sitting amid a sea of stars.

I wanted to take her hand. I wanted to brush her cheek with my fingertips. I wanted to tell her that she was the first beautiful thing I had seen in three years.

The closeness of her was the sweetest, sharpest thing my life had ever known.

I touched the last string and tuned it too, ever so slightly. I made a simple chord and strummed it. It rang soft and true. I moved a finger and the chord went minor in a way that always sounded to me as if the lute were saying sad. I moved my hands again and the lute made two chords whispering against each other. Then, without realizing what I was doing, I began to play. The strings felt strange against my fingers, like reunited friends who have forgotten what they have in common. I played soft and slow, sending notes no farther than the circle of our firelight. Fingers and strings made a careful conversation, as if their dance described the lines of an infatuation. Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gossamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a spiderweb stirred by a gentle breath, it changed like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground, and it felt like three years Waterside in Tarbean, with a hollowness inside you and hands that ached from the bitter cold. I don’t know how long I played. It could have been ten minutes or an hour. But my hands weren’t used to the strain. They slipped and the music fell to pieces like a dream on waking. I looked up to see everyone perfectly motionless, their faces ranging from shock to amazement. Then, as if my gaze had broken some spell, everyone stirred. Roent shifted in his seat. The t...

This passages slays me more than the passage of him playing for months in the woods after his family is assassinated. The music is a metaphor, no a simile, for love and a balm for lovelessness. The passage does to me what the music does to Kvothe. Like when I sat at the keyboard yesterday.

Look behind him instead, to the circle of light that the fire has made, and leave Kvothe to himself for now. Everyone deserves a moment or two alone when they desire it. And if by chance there were tears, let us forgive him. He was just a child, after all, and had yet to learn what sorrow really was.

I think this can only be true if he loses romantic love because nothing else could be as sorrowful as finding all your family murdered all at the same time.

It was unnerving to think I wasn’t as world-wise as I’d thought. I slung my travelsack over my shoulder and looked around one last time, thinking that perhaps it would be best if I left without any troublesome good-byes. Denna was nowhere to be seen. That settled it then. I turned to leave . . . . . . and found her standing behind me. She smiled a little awkwardly with her hands clasped behind her back. She was lovely as a flower, and totally unconscious of it. I was suddenly short of breath, and I forgot myself, my irritation, my hurt.

Besides, Anilin was hundreds of miles away. I barely owned the clothes on my back. How would I find her? Denna must have seen my thoughts reflected on my face. She smiled playfully. “I guess I’ll just have to come looking for you, then.”

Watch for me.” She flashed her impish smile again before turning to walk away. “I will,” I called after her. “I’ll see you where the roads meet.”

We didn’t know the title of book 3 then. Doors of stone. The Lackless box or is it doors here?

Ten times ten thousand books. The Archives.

seven

Obsessed with the seven words riddle. There are loads of them in the books!

Master Lorren turned to look in my direction, blinking once.

Lorren knew his father. His father Amyr? Lorren? Elxa Dal? All of the Masters? Gah! Or knew the name of the man who wooed away Lady Lackless.

Relief flooded me. As if it were a great wave that swept my legs from beneath me, I sat suddenly on the floor and wept.

So far wept a few times now. Interesting. But always that little addition to say worse reasons to weep are coming. I like that he wept before the strangers he travelled with, and Denna, and beforr Lorren. It is not encouraging that he weeps alone in the woods behind the Waystone all those years later.

Like an unblinking pillar of stone?”

Could it be this simple. Could the masters who are Amyr be the Doors of Stone thru which the full Arcanist must pass?

Ambrose is almost royalty in Vintas

Lorren lay the request-ledger from Tomes on the table. “I noticed your request while assisting one of the newer scrivs in his duties,” he said. “You have an interest in the Chandrian and the Amyr?” he asked. I nodded. “Is this in regard to an assignment from one of your instructors?”

The Arcanists are the Amyr. At least some. Lorre. Elodin is Taborlin the Great. That was fast.

“I am not accusing you of engaging in boyish fancy. I am advising you to avoid the appearance of boyish fancy.” He gave me a level look, his face as calm as always.

Plainly said, he was giving me enough rope to hang myself with. Apparently he didn’t realize that once a noose is tied, it will fit one neck as easily as another.

I paused and listened to the sound of a half-hundred pens scratching down my words. Beside me, Basil pumped industriously at the bellows. I realized I could grow to enjoy this.