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Assassin's Apprentice: The Farseer Trilogy Book 1

The Farseer Trilogy Book 1

Farseer Trilogy Band 1

Robin Hobb

(2)
Buch (Taschenbuch, Englisch)
Buch (Taschenbuch, Englisch)
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  • Assassin's Apprentice: The Farseer Trilogy Book 1

    Penguin Random House

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  • The Farseer Trilogy 1. Assassin's Apprentice

    HarperCollins

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  • The Farseer: Assassin's Apprentice

    CD (2010)

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    Fr. 72.90

    CD (2010)
  • The Farseer: Assassin's Apprentice

    CD (2010)

    wird besorgt, Lieferzeit unbekannt

    Fr. 96.90

    CD (2010)
Taschenbuch
ab Fr. 16.90
Penguin Random House Fr. 16.90
gebundene Ausgabe
ab Fr. 39.90
eBook (ePUB)
Fr. 4.19
Hörbuch
ab Fr. 72.90

Beschreibung

"Fantasy as it ought to be written . . . Robin Hobb's books are diamonds in a sea of zircons."-George R. R. Martin

Young Fitz is the bastard son of the noble Prince Chivalry, raised in the shadow of the royal court by his father's gruff stableman. He is treated as an outcast by all the royalty except the devious King Shrewd, who has him secretly tutored in the arts of the assassin. For in Fitz's blood runs the magic Skill-and the darker knowledge of a child raised with the stable hounds and rejected by his family.

As barbarous raiders ravage the coasts, Fitz is growing to manhood. Soon he will face his first dangerous, soul-shattering mission. And though some regard him as a threat to the throne, he may just be the key to the survival of the kingdom.

Praise for Robin Hobb and Assassin's Apprentice

"A gleaming debut in the crowded field of epic fantasies . . . a delightful take on the powers and politics behind the throne."-Publishers Weekly

"This is the kind of book you fall into, and start reading slower as you get to the end, because you don't want it to be over."-Steven Brust

Praise for Robin Hobb and Assassin's Apprentice

"Fantasy as it ought to be written . . . Robin Hobb's books are diamonds in a sea of zircons."-George R. R. Martin

"A gleaming debut in the crowded field of epic fantasies . . . a delightful take on the powers and politics behind the throne."-Publishers Weekly

"This is the kind of book you fall into, and start reading slower as you get to the end, because you don't want it to be over."-Steven Brust

Produktdetails

Einband Taschenbuch
Seitenzahl 448
Erscheinungsdatum 01.03.1996
Sprache Englisch
ISBN 978-0-553-57339-8
Reihe Farseer Trilogy
Verlag Penguin Random House
Maße (L/B/H) 17.6/10.8/3.2 cm
Gewicht 216 g
Verkaufsrang 39635
weitere Details weniger Details

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Gut!
von René Herrmann-Zielonka aus Regensburg (Donau EKZ) am 29.08.2011

Der Bastardsohn Fritz wird von seinem Onkel auf der Schwelle des Königshauses abgegeben als er gerade mal sechs Jahre alt ist. In diesem Roman geht es um die Kindheit und frühe Jugend von Fritz, der dem Stallmeister Burrich in die Arme gedrückt wird, damit dieser sich um ihn kümmert. Seinen leiblichen Vater, Prinz Chivalric lern... Der Bastardsohn Fritz wird von seinem Onkel auf der Schwelle des Königshauses abgegeben als er gerade mal sechs Jahre alt ist. In diesem Roman geht es um die Kindheit und frühe Jugend von Fritz, der dem Stallmeister Burrich in die Arme gedrückt wird, damit dieser sich um ihn kümmert. Seinen leiblichen Vater, Prinz Chivalric lernt er nie kennen und das übrige Königshaus schneidet ihn wo es kann. Darunter leidet der Junge sehr und der König beginnt langsam sich für ihn zu interessieren. Auf Geheiß des Königs wird Fritz des Nachts zum Assassinen ausgebildet... - Ein Fantasyroman der absoluten Hochgenuss verheißt.

Immer noch eines meiner Lieblingsbücher!
von Katrin am 05.08.2008

Der erste Band der Farseer Trilogy ist nach wie vor mit der beste der ganzen Reihe und hatte mich schon nach denj ersten Zeilen absolut gefangen. Auch heute über 12 Jahre später kann ich dieses buch erneut lesen und in diese Welt eintauchen. Die kombination aus einer feudalen mittelalterlichen Gesellschaft mit feuden und Intri... Der erste Band der Farseer Trilogy ist nach wie vor mit der beste der ganzen Reihe und hatte mich schon nach denj ersten Zeilen absolut gefangen. Auch heute über 12 Jahre später kann ich dieses buch erneut lesen und in diese Welt eintauchen. Die kombination aus einer feudalen mittelalterlichen Gesellschaft mit feuden und Intrigen und den beiden gegensätzlichen Magiearten (eine des geistes und eine des Instinkts) machen diese Bücher zu einem unvergesslichen Erlebnis.

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    The Earliest History

    A History of the Six Duchies is of necessity a history of its ruling family, the Farseers. A complete telling would reach back beyond the founding of the First Duchy and, if such names were remembered, would tell us of Outislanders raiding from the sea, visiting as pirates a shore more temperate and gentler than the icy beaches of the Out Islands. But we do not know the names of these earliest forebears.

    "And of the first real King, little more than his name and some extravagant legends remain. Taker his name was, quite simply, and perhaps with that naming began the tradition that daughters and sons of his lineage would be given names that would shape their lives and beings. Folk beliefs claim that such names were sealed to the newborn babes by magic, and that these royal offspring were incapable of betraying the virtues whose names they bore. Passed through fire and plunged through salt water and offered to the winds of the air; thus were names sealed to these chosen children. So we are told. A pretty fancy, and perhaps once there was such a ritual, but history shows us this was not always sufficient to bind a child to the virtue that named it....

    My pen falters, then falls from my knuckly grip, leaving a worm's trail of ink across Fedwren's paper. I have spoiled another leaf of the fine stuff, in what I suspect is a futile endeavor. I wonder if I can write this history, or if on every page there will be some sneaking show of a bitterness I thought long dead. I think myself cured of all spite, but when I touch pen to paper, the hurt of a boy bleeds out with the sea-spawned ink, until I suspect each carefully formed black letter scabs over some ancient scarlet wound.

    Both Fedwren and Patience were so filled with enthusiasm whenever a written account of the history of the Six Duchies was discussed that I persuaded myself the writing of it was a worthwhile effort. I convinced myself that the exercise would turn my thoughts aside from my pain and help the time to pass. But each historical event I consider only awakens my own personal shades of loneliness and loss. I fear I will have to set this work aside entirely, or else give in to reconsidering all that has shaped what I have become. And so I begin again, and again, but always find that I am writing of my own beginnings rather than the beginnings of this land. I do not even know to whom I try to explain myself. My life has been a web of secrets, secrets that even now are unsafe to share. Shall I set them all down on fine paper, only to create from them flame and ash? Perhaps.

    My memories reach back to when I was six years old. Before that, there is nothing, only a blank gulf no exercise of my mind has ever been able to pierce. Prior to that day at Moonseye, there is nothing. But on that day they suddenly begin, with a brightness and detail that overwhelms me. Sometimes it seems too complete, and I wonder if it is truly mine. Am I recalling it from my own mind, or from dozens of retellings by legions of kitchen maids and ranks of scullions and herds of stable boys as they explained my presence to each other? Perhaps I have heard the story so many times, from so many sources, that I now recall it as an actual memory of my own. Is the detail the result of a six-year-old's open absorption of all that goes on around him? Or could the completeness of the memory be the bright overlay of the Skill, and the later drugs a man takes to control his addiction to it, the drugs that bring on pains and cravings of their own? The last is most possible. Perhaps it is even probable. One hopes it is not the case.

    The remembrance is almost physical: the chill grayness of the fading day, the remorseless rain that soaked me, the icy cobbles of the strange town's streets, even the callused roughness of the huge hand that gripped my small one. Sometimes I wonder about that grip. The hand was hard and rough, tr