Wizard's First Rule
Tor Books by Terry Goodkind
THE SWORD OF TRUTH
Wizard’s First Rule
Stone of Tears
Blood of the Fold
Temple of the Winds
Soul of the Fire
Faith of the Fallen
The Pillars of Creation
Naked Empire
Chainfire
Phantom
Confessor
Wizard’s First Rule
Copyright © 1994 by Terry Goodkind
Cover art was created by Keith Parkinson, © 1994,
www.keithparkinson.com
and used by permission.
Maps created by Terry Goodkind.
eForeword to the electronic edition copyright© 2008 by RosettaBooks, LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
For information address
[email protected]
First electronic edition published 2008 by RosettaBooks LLC, New York.
ISBN ePub edition: 9780795330766
For Jeri
I would like to thank some special people:
My father, Leo, for never once telling me to read, but instead reading himself, and thus infecting me with curiosity.
My good friends, Rachel Kahlandt and Gloria Avner, for taking on the task of reading the raw manuscript and offering valuable insights, and for their steadfast belief in me when I needed it most.
My agent, Russell Galen, for having the guts to be the first to pick up the sword and making my dreams reality.
My editor, James Frenkel, not only for his exceptional editorial talent, guidance, and improvements in this book, but also for his boundless good humor and patience at teaching me to be a better author along the way.
The good people at Tor, one and all, for their enthusiasm and hard work.
And two very special people, Richard and Kahlan, for choosing me to tell their story. Their tears and triumphs have touched my heart. I will never be the same again.
eForeword
Wizard’s First Rule by Terry Goodkind
Wizard’s First Rule
, the first novel by Terry Goodkind, was a phenomenon from the moment it was published by Tor Books in 1994, selling over a million copies in North America alone. It still sells more than 100,000 copies a year there and has gone on to bestsellerdom in the United Kingdom and in more than twenty foreign translations as well as audiobook form.
It is now being developed as one of the most ambitious television miniseries of all time. Executive Producer Sam Raimi (director of the three
Spider-Man
movies), in collaboration with Disney/ABC, is creating a 22-episode adaptation of the book to be filmed in New Zealand.
Richard and Kahlan’s story unfolds over ten more novels, collectively known as the
Sword of Truth
series, concluding with CONFESSOR in 2007. Placing Goodkind in the elite club of #1 New York Times bestselling authors, the series has sold more than 20 million copies to date worldwide.
In
Wizard’s First Rule
, Goodkind introduced the world to an ordinary forest guide, Richard Cypher, and the mysterious, powerful woman he comes to love, Kahlan Amnell. Learning his true identity, Richard accepts his destiny as the one man who can stop the bloodthirsty tyrant Darken Rahl. Hunted relentlessly, betrayed and alone, Kahlan calls upon Richard to reach beyond his sword and invoke something more noble within himself as the final confrontation with Darken Rahl looms.
The importance of
Wizard’s First Rule
, goes beyond these achievements. Goodkind took on the toughest of all literary challenges: to tell an electrifying story of action, violence, and adventure that would also make people think, and that would influence the choices and actions of its readers.
Years after reading
Wizard’s First Rule
Goodkind fans still ask themselves, “What would Richard do?” when confronted with life’s obstacles and challenges. “Your life is yours alone,” Richard says at a key moment. “Rise up and live it.” To take that step, you must rise up and read this extraordinary novel that has meant so much to so many.
It was an odd-looking vine. Dusky variegated leaves hunkered against a stem that wound in a stranglehold around the smooth trunk of a balsam fir. Sap drooled down the wounded bark, and dry limbs slumped, making it look as if the tree were trying to voice a moan into the cool, damp morning air. Pods stuck out from the vine here and there along its length, almost seeming to look warily about for witnesses.
It was the smell that had first caught his attention, a smell like the decomposition of something that had been wholly unsavory even in life. Richard combed his fingers through his thick hair as his mind lifted out of the fog of despair, coming into focus upon seeing the vine. He scanned for others, but saw none. Everything else looked normal. The maples of the upper Ven Forest were already tinged with crimson, proudly showing off their new mantle in the light breeze. With nights getting colder, it wouldn’t be long before their cousins down in the Hartland Woods joined them. The oaks, being the last to surrender to the season, still stoically wore their dark green coats.
Having spent most his life in the woods, Richard knew all the plants—if not by name, by sight. From when Richard was very small, his friend Zedd had taken him along, hunting for special herbs. He had shown Richard which ones to look for, where they grew and why, and put names to everything they saw. Many times they just talked, the old man always treating him as an equal, asking as much as he answered. Zedd had sparked Richard’s hunger to learn, to know.
This vine, though, he had seen only once before, and it wasn’t in the woods. He had found a sprig of it at his father’s house, in the blue clay jar Richard had made when he was a boy. His father had been a trader and had traveled often, looking for the chance exotic or rare item. People of means had often sought him out, interested in what he might have turned up. It seemed to be the looking, more than the finding, that he had liked, as he had always been happy to part with his latest discovery so he could be off after the next.
From a young age, Richard had liked to spend time with Zedd while his father was away. Richard’s brother, Michael, was a few years older, and having no interest in the woods, or Zedd’s rambling lectures, preferred to spend his time with people of means. About five years before, Richard had moved away to live on his own, but he often stopped by his father’s home, unlike Michael, who was always busy and rarely had time to visit. If his father had gone away, he would leave Richard a message in the blue jar telling him the latest news, some gossip, or of some sight he had seen.
On the day three weeks before when Michael had come and told him their father had been murdered, Richard had gone to his father’s house, despite his brother’s insistence that there was no reason to go, nothing he could do. Richard had long since passed the age when he did as his brother said. Wanting to spare him, the people there didn’t let him see the body. But still, he saw the big, sickening splashes and puddles of blood, brown and dry across the plank floor. When Richard came close, voices fell silent, except to offer sympathy, which only deepened the riving pain. Yet he had heard them talking, in hushed tones, of the stories and the wild rumors of things come out of the boundary.
