【预订】Fool's Assassin
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广东广州
认证卖家担保交易快速发货售后保障
作者Robin Hobb
出版社Random House Worlds
ISBN9780553392913
出版时间2015-07
装帧平装
定价68元
货号YB-85913
上书时间2024-06-30
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NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
Nearly twenty years ago, Robin Hobb burst upon the fantasy scene with the first of her acclaimed Farseer novels, Assassin’s Apprentice, which introduced the characters of FitzChivalry Farseer and his uncanny friend the Fool. A watershed moment in modern fantasy, this novel—and those that followed—broke exciting new ground in a beloved genre. Together with George R. R. Martin, Robin Hobb helped pave the way for such talented new voices as Scott Lynch, Brandon Sanderson, and Naomi Novik.
Over the years, Hobb’s imagination has soared throughout the mythic lands of the Six Duchies in such bestselling series as the Liveship Traders Trilogy and the Rain Wilds Chronicles. But no matter how far she roamed, her heart always remained with Fitz. And now, at last, she has come home, with an astonishing new novel that opens a dark and gripping chapter in the Farseer saga.
FitzChivalry—royal bastard and former king’s assassin—has left his life of intrigue behind. As far as the rest of the world knows, FitzChivalry Farseer is dead and buried. Masquerading as Tom Badgerlock, Fitz is now married to his childhood sweetheart, Molly, and leading the quiet life of a country squire.
Though Fitz is haunted by the disappearance of the Fool, who did so much to shape Fitz into the man he has become, such private hurts are put aside in the business of daily life, at least until the appearance of menacing, pale-skinned strangers casts a sinister shadow over Fitz’s past . . . and his future.
Now, to protect his new life, the former assassin must once again take up his old one. . . .
Praise for Fool’s Assassin
“Hobb knows the complicated workings of the wayward human heart, and she takes time to depict them in her tale, to tell her story sweetly, insistently, compellingly. . . . A book meant to be inhabited rather than run through.”—The Seattle Times
“[FitzChivalry Farseer is] one of the best characters in fantasy literature.”—Fantasy Book Review
“[Hobb’s] prose sparkles, her characters leap off the page.”—Tordotcom
“Modern fantasy at its irresistible best.”—The Guardian
“Fantastic . . . emotionally rich storytelling.”—Library Journal (starred review)
纽约时报畅销书
近二十年前，罗宾·霍布凭借她的第一本广受好评的《先知》小说《刺客》闯入了奇幻界。的学徒，介绍了 FitzChivalry Farseer 和他不可思议的朋友 Fool 的角色。这部小说以及随后的小说是现代奇幻小说的分水岭，在这一受人喜爱的类型中开辟了令人兴奋的新天地。罗宾·霍布与乔治·RR·马丁一起，为斯科特·林奇、布兰登·桑德森和娜奥米·诺维克等才华横溢的新声音铺平了道路。
多年来，霍布的想象力在整个世界中不断飙升。 《生船商人三部曲》和《雨林荒野编年史》等畅销系列作品中，描绘了六大公国的神话土地。但无论她走多远，她的心始终与菲兹在一起。现在，她终于带着一本令人惊叹的新小说回家了，揭开了先知传奇中黑暗而扣人心弦的篇章。
菲茨骑士——皇家私生子和前国王的刺客——已经把他的阴谋生活抛在脑后。据世界其他地区所知，FitzChivalry Farseer 已经去世并被埋葬。菲茨伪装成汤姆·巴杰洛克，现已与青梅竹马的莫莉结婚，过着乡村乡绅的平静生活。
尽管菲茨对愚人的失踪感到困扰，但愚人却这样做了为了将菲茨塑造成现在的样子，这种私人伤害在日常生活中被抛在了一边，至少直到那些来势汹汹、肤色苍白的陌生人的出现给菲茨的过去蒙上了险恶的阴影。 。 。和他的未来。
现在，为了保护他的新生活，这位前刺客必须再次拿起他的旧生活。 。 。 .
对傻瓜刺客的赞美
“霍布了解任性的人心的复杂运作方式，她花时间在她的故事中描绘它们，以甜美、坚持、引人入胜的方式讲述她的故事。 。 。 。一本书是为了让人居住而不是通过阅读。”—《西雅图时报》
“[FitzChivalry Farseer 是]其中之一奇幻文学中最好的人物。”—奇幻书评
“[霍布&rsquo ;s] 散文闪闪发光，她的人物跃然纸上。”—Tordotcom
“现代奇幻不可抗拒的巅峰.”—卫报
“太棒了。 。 。情感丰富的故事讲述。”—图书馆杂志（加星标的评论）
作者简介
Robin Hobb is the author of the Farseer Trilogy, the Liveship Traders Trilogy, the Tawny Man Trilogy, the Soldier Son Trilogy, and the Rain Wilds Chronicles. She has also written as Megan Lindholm. She is a native of Washington State.
精彩内容
9780553392425|excerpt
Liss / FOOL'S ASSASSIN
Chapter 1
Withywoods
Burrich, old friend,
Well, we are settled here, I suppose. It has not been a pleasant time for me, or for you if your somewhat terse message conceals as much as I suspect it does. The house is immense, far too large for the two of us. It is so like you to ask after our mounts before inquiring after my own health. I will answer that query first. I’m pleased to tell you that Silk has taken the change in stable quite calmly, as the well-mannered palfrey she has always been. Tallfellow, in contrast, has made a new hobby out of bullying the resident stallion, but we have taken steps to be sure their stalls and paddocks are well separated now. I’ve reduced his grain and there is a young stableman here named, oddly enough, Tallman, who was absolutely ecstatic to receive my request that he take the horse out and run him hard at least once a day. With such a regimen, I am sure he will soon settle.
My lady wife. You did not ask after her, but I know you well, my friend. So I will tell you that Patience has been furious, wounded, melancholy, hysterical, and altogether of a hundred different minds about the situation. She berates me that I was unfaithful to her before we met, and in the next instant forgives me and blames herself that she has not furnished me an heir, given that “it is evident that the problem is entirely with me.” Somehow, we two will weather this.
I appreciate that you have taken command of my other responsibilities there. My brother has told me enough of your charge’s temperament that I send my sympathy to both of you and my deepest thanks. On whom else could I rely at a time such as this, for a favor so extreme?
I trust you to understand why I remain circumspect in this regard. Give Vixen a pat, a hug, and a large bone from me. I am confident that I owe as much to her vigilance as to yours. My wife is calling for me down the halls. I must end this and send it on its way. My brother may have words for you from me when next your paths cross.
Unsigned letter from Chivalry to Stablemaster Burrich
Fresh snowfall perched in white ramparts on the bare black birch limbs that lined the drive. White gleamed against black, like a fool’s winter motley. The snow came down in loose clumps of flakes, adding a fresh layer of glistening white to the banked snow in the courtyard. It was softening the hard ridges of fresh wheel tracks in the carriageway, erasing the boys’ footprints in the snow and smoothing the rutted pathways to mere suggestions of themselves. As I watched, another carriage arrived, drawn by a dapple-gray team. The driver’s red-cloaked shoulders were dusted with snow. A page in green and yellow darted from the steps of Withywoods to open the carriage door and gesture a welcome to our guests. From my vantage I could not tell who they were, save that their garb bespoke Withy merchants rather than gentry from one of the neighboring estates. As they passed out of my view and their driver moved the carriage off to our stables, I looked up at the afternoon sky. Definitely more to come. I suspected it would snow all night. Well, that was fitting. I let the curtain fall and turned as Molly entered our bedchamber.
“Fitz! You aren’t ready yet?”
I glanced down at myself. “I thought I was . . .”
My wife clicked her tongue at me. “Oh, Fitz. It’s Winterfest. The halls are festooned with greenery, Patience had Cook create a feast that will probably sustain the whole household for three days, all three sets of minstrels that she invited are tuning up, and half our guests have already arrived. You should be down there, greeting them as they enter. And you’re not even dressed yet.”
I thought of asking her what was wrong with what I was wearing, but she was already digging through my clothing chest, lifting garments, considering them, and discarding them. I waited. “This,” she said, pulling out a white linen shirt with ridges of lace down the sleeves. “And this jerkin over it. Everyone knows that wearing green at Winterfest is good luck. With your silver chain to match the buttons. These leggings. They’re old-fashioned enough to make you look like an old man, but at least they’re not as saggy as those you have on. I know better than to ask you to wear your new trousers.”
“I am an old man. At forty-seven, surely I’m allowed to dress as I please.”
She lowered her brows and gave me a mock glare. She set her hands to her hips. “Are you calling me an old woman, sirrah? For I seem to recall I have three years on you.”
“Of course not!” I hastily amended my words. But I could not resist grumbling, “But I have no idea why everyone wishes to dress as if they are Jamaillian nobility. The fabric on those trousers is so thin, the slightest bramble would tear them, and . . .”
She looked up at me with an exasperated sigh. “Yes. I’ve heard it from you a hundred times. Let’s ignore that there are few brambles inside Withywoods, shall we? So. Take these clean leggings. The ones you have on are a disgrace; didn’t you wear them yesterday when you were helping with that horse that had a cracked hoof? And put on your house shoes, not those worn boots. You’ll be expected to dance, you know.”
She straightened from her excavation of my clothing chest. Conceding to the inevitable, I’d already begun shedding garments. As I thrust my head out of the shirt, my gaze met hers. She was smiling in a familiar way, and as I considered her holly crown, the cascading lace on her blouse and gaily embroid
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