Relentless

  Dedication

  This book is for the readers, both those who have wandered this road with me for more than three decades now and those younger than the earlier Drizzt books they’re holding in their hands as they join the adventure for the first time.

  For me, what a wonderful journey it’s been.

  And here’s to Diane, long-suffering in social isolation with me during these surreal times!

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Dramatis Personae

  Maps

  Prologue

  Part 1: Shifting Fates and Jarring Perspectives Chapter 1: So Many Moving Parts

  Chapter 2: Expendable

  Chapter 3: Seeds

  Chapter 4: The Ever-turning Wheel of Menzoberranzan

  Chapter 5: Hopes, Fears, Vulnerabilities

  Chapter 6: Simply by His Presence

  Part 2: Entrenchment and Enlightenment Chapter 7: The Eight Hundred

  Chapter 8: Purgatory or Hell?

  Chapter 9: The City Lost

  Chapter 10: Web Weaving

  Chapter 11: Around the Edges of Darkness

  Chapter 12: The Deep Pool of Singular Memory

  Chapter 13: Convergence

  Part 3: Lasting Ramifications Chapter 14: Making Webs in the Shadows

  Chapter 15: Conspiracy

  Chapter 16: The Winding Ways of Umber Hulk Corridors

  Chapter 17: Too Far Down the Thoqqua Hole

  Chapter 18: Making Feywine from Rotten Grapes

  Chapter 19: Wandering Wyrm

  Chapter 20: The Roll of Years

  Part 4: Without the Middle Chapter 21: The Danger, the Thrill

  Chapter 22: The Absence of Compromise

  Chapter 23: That Nagging Discomfort

  Chapter 24: Echoes of Memory

  Chapter 25: Firestorm

  Chapter 26: Between the Living and Those Who Have Crossed

  Chapter 27: Malevolent Infection

  Chapter 28: The Magic of Creation

  Chapter 29: Of Fire Born

  Chapter 30: The Web of Past and Future

  Chapter 31: Rebirth

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by R. A. Salvatore

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Dramatis Personae

  In the past . . . all of the drow.

  House Xorlarrin

  Matron Zeerith Xorlarrin: Powerful leader of the city’s fourth-ranked house.

  Horroodissomoth Xorlarrin: Xorlarrin house wizard and former master of Sorcere, the drow academy for practitioners of the arcane magic.

  Kiriy: Priestess of Lolth, daughter of Zeerith and Horroodissomoth.

  House Simfray

  Matron Divine Simfray: Ruler of the minor house.

  Zaknafein Simfray: Young and powerful champion of House Simfray, with a growing reputation putting him among the greatest warriors in the city. Coveted by ambitious Matron Malice, both for the growth of her house and her personal desires.

  House Tr’arach

  Matron Hauzz: Ruler of the minor house.

  Duvon Tr’arach: Son of Matron Hauzz, weapon master of House Tr’arach, determined to prove himself.

  Daungelina Tr’arach: Eldest daughter of Matron Hauzz and first priestess of the minor house.

  Dab’nay Tr’arach: Daughter of Matron Hauzz, currently studying at Arach-Tinilith, the drow academy for Lolthian priestesses.

  House Baenre

  Matron Mother Yvonnel Baenre: Also known as Yvonnel the Eternal, Matron Mother Baenre is the undisputed leader not only of the First House, but of the entire city. While other families might refer to their matron as “matron mother,” all in the city use that title for Yvonnel Baenre. She is the oldest living drow, and has been in a position of great power longer than the longest memory of anyone in the city.

  Gromph Baenre: Matron Mother Baenre’s oldest child, archmage of Menzoberranzan, the highest-ranking man in the city, and most formidable wizard in the entire Underdark, by many estimations.

  Dantrag Baenre: Son of Matron Mother Baenre, weapon master of the great house, considered one of the greatest warriors in the city.

  Triel, Quenthel, and Sos’Umptu Baenre: Three of Matron Mother Baenre’s daughters, priestesses of Lolth.

  Other notables

  K’yorl Odran: Matron of House Oblodra, notable for its use of the strange mind magics called psionics.

  Jarlaxle: A houseless rogue who began Bregan D’aerthe, a mercenary band quietly serving the needs of many drow houses, but mostly serving their own needs.

  Arathis Hune: Drow lieutenant to Jarlaxle and assassin extraordinaire. Taken into the band, as with many of the members, after the fall of his house.

  In the present . . . many races.

  Drizzt Do’Urden: Born in Menzoberranzan and fled the evil ways of the city. Drow warrior, hero of the north, and Companion of the Hall, along with his four dear friends.

  Catti-brie: Human wife of Drizzt, Chosen of the goddess Mielikki, skilled in both arcane and divine magic. Companion of the Hall.

  Regis (Spider Parrafin): Halfling husband of Donnola Topolino, leader of the halfling community of Bleeding Vines. Companion of the Hall.

  King Bruenor Battlehammer: Eight king of Mithral Hall, tenth king of Mithral Hall, now king of Gauntlgrym, an ancient dwarven city he reclaimed with his dwarven kin. Companion of the Hall. Adoptive father of both Wulfgar and Catti-brie.

  Wulfgar: Born to the Tribe of the Elk in Icewind Dale, the giant human was captured by Bruenor in battle and became the adopted son of the dwarf king. Companion of the Hall.

  Artemis Entreri: Former nemesis of Drizzt, the human assassin is the drow warrior’s near equal or equal in battle. Now he runs with Jarlaxle’s Bregan D’aerthe band, and considers Drizzt and the other Companions of the Hall friends.

  Guenhwyvar: Magical panther, companion of Drizzt, summoned to his side from the Astral Plane.

  Andahar: Drizzt’s summoned steed, a magical unicorn. Unlike the living Guenhwyvar, Andahar is a purely magical construct.

  Lord Dagult Neverember: Open lord of Waterdeep and lord protector of Neverwinter. A dashing and ambitious human.

  Penelope Harpell: The leader of the eccentric wizards known as the Harpells, who oversee the town of Longsaddle from their estate, the Ivy Mansion. Penelope is a powerful wizard, mentoring Catti-brie, and has dated Wulfgar on occasion.

  Donnola Topolino: Halfling wife of Regis, and leader of the halfling town of Bleeding Vines. She came from Aglarond, in the distant east, where she once headed a thieves’ guild.

  Inkeri Margaster: A lady of Waterdeep, the noblewoman is considered the leader of the Waterdhavian House of Margaster.

  Alvilda Margaster: Cousin and close associate of Inkeri. Also a noble lady of Waterdeep.

  Brevindon Margaster: Inkeri’s brother, another Waterdhavian noble.

  Grandmaster Kane: A human monk who has transcended his mortal coil and become a being beyond the Material Plane, Kane is the Grandmaster of Flowers of the Monastery of the Yellow Rose in far-off Damara. He is friend and mentor to Drizzt as the drow tries to find peace at last along a turbulent road.

  Dahlia Syn’dalay (Dahlia Sin’felle): A tall and beautiful blue-eyed elf, Dahlia strives to surprise as much with her appearance as with her brilliant fighting techniques. Once the lover of Drizzt, she is now the companion of Artemis Entreri, the two finding a better way together than either ever paved alone.

  Thibbledorf Pwent: A walking weapon in his spiked and sharp-ridged armor, Pwent is a battle-hardened dwarf whose loyalty is as strong as the aroma emanating from him. He led every seemingly suicidal charge with a cry of “Me King!” and gave his life saving King Brueno
r in the bowels of Gauntlgrym. His death was not the end of Pwent, though, for he was slain by a vampire, and now continues as one—a cursed and miserable thing, haunting the lowest tunnels of Gauntlgrym and satisfying his insatiable hunger by feeding on the goblins beyond the dwarven realm.

  The Brothers Bouldershoulder, Ivan and Pikel: Ivan Bouldershoulder is a grizzled old veteran of many battles, mundane and magical. He’s risen to a position of great trust as a commander in Bruenor’s Gauntlgrym guard. More eccentric and extreme than Ivan, the green-haired Pikel fancies himself a druid, or “doo-dad,” and helped Donnola Topolino create wonderful vineyards in Bleeding Vines. His limited and stilted vocabulary only adds to the deceptive innocence of this quite powerful dwarf.

  Kimmuriel Oblodra: A powerful drow psionicist, Kimmuriel serves as coleader of Bregan D’aerthe beside Jarlaxle. He is the logical foil to the emotional Jarlaxle, and Jarlaxle knows it.

  Eternal Beings

  Lolth, the Lady of Chaos, the Demon Queen of Spiders, the Queen of the Demonweb Pits: The mighty demon Lolth reigns as the most influential goddess of the drow, particularly in the greatest drow city, Menzoberranzan, known as the City of Spiders for the devotion of its inhabitants. True to her name, the Lady of Chaos constantly shocks her followers, keeping her true plans buried beneath the webbing of other more obvious and understandable schemes. Her end goal, above all, is chaos.

  Eskavidne and Yiccardaria: Lesser demons known as yochlol, they serve as two of the handmaidens of Lolth. The pair have proven so resourceful and skilled that Lolth gives them great rein in walking the ways of the drow and making a glorious mess of everything.

  Maps

  Prologue

  The Year of Dwarvenkind Reborn

  Dalereckoning 1488

  Brother Afafrenfere repeatedly told himself not to be taken in by the old man’s appearance. He seemed so . . . withered, so frail, a wisp of a human whose shrunken features would have most people guessing him to be over a century old.

  They’d be right, although a guess of a century would be about half of the man’s actual age.

  Afafrenfere spun to the left, rolling fast around and around, keeping away from his opponent. He made it to the weapon rack and pulled forth a long sword, its blade thin and curving. Afafrenfere whirled about, presenting the weapon suddenly, as if he expected the old man to be standing right behind him, ready to strike.

  But Kane, Grandmaster of Flowers, remained on the raised circular platform in the center of the large round room. He stood at seeming peace, relaxed and empty-handed. He hadn’t chased Afafrenfere after their last open-handed exchange of blows, and neither had he moved to any of the other weapon racks spaced about the curving walls, to answer Afafrenfere’s katana.

  Brother Afafrenfere stalked back toward the dais, then stepped up to stand across from his opponent, who still did not react. The tip of his sword held steady, pointed right at Kane as the younger monk stalked in, carefully turning his feet and shifting his weight to remain in perfect balance, standing in such a way as to allow him a sudden retreat or to dart out to the side.

  “You were doing well with your open palm,” Kane said to him in a tone so very soothing.

  Magically soothing, Afafrenfere realized only when he noted the dip in his sword tip under his drooping eyelids.

  “Bah!” he cried, shaking himself from the fog, and he leaped forward, sword stabbing—but Kane’s left arm shot up vertically and slapped out just a bit, backhanding the blade on its side and pushing the stab harmlessly to the left.

  Retract and stab!

  The same hand came back to center, forearm hitting the blade and pushing it to the old monk’s right.

  Retract and stab!

  The left arm vertically swept another backhand, and brought another near miss. So close! So tempting.

  Afafrenfere executed three more sudden and powerful stabs, and each time he thought he had a hit right up until the very moment the blade slid to the side of the Grandmaster of Flowers, close enough to shave him if he had a beard of any length or volume.

  Another thrust went for the old monk’s gut, and Afafrenfere cleverly added a left-footed kick for Kane’s hip.

  But now it was Kane’s right hand coming across to turn the blade, combined with a sudden movement into a stork-like pose, his right leg snapping up to intercept Afafrenfere’s kick. Afafrenfere’s foot struck Kane’s shin hard, but Kane’s bent leg only bent more, absorbing the impact, stealing the sharpness of the blow.

  Suddenly vulnerable, Afafrenfere couldn’t even wait for his kicking leg to return to the ground, instead pivoting on his right foot, rotating his heel in quickly, pushing forward his kicking leg, and punching out with his left hand.

  But Kane’s hands were quicker.

  His left looped over the angled sword, pushing it out wider as his right hand disengaged the blade and snapped out suddenly, viperlike, striking first, slamming Afafrenfere’s ribs just under his left breast. It wasn’t a typically sharp strike, crunching at the point of impact, and instead felt more like a sudden, immovable brace, as if Afafrenfere had crashed into a stone wall.

  A moving stone wall, as Kane’s hand kept driving forward, undeniably.

  Afafrenfere felt the monk’s ki releasing through that strike, shoving him with tremendous force.

  He felt as if he should be able to resist that combination of physical and spiritual blows. He was twice this withered old monk’s weight. He had to be stronger—much stronger. He had to resist, but he could not.

  His left hook came around, but was short of the mark. So very far short of the mark, and only when seeing the pathetic strike—missing by feet, not inches—did Afafrenfere understand that he was flying backward, finally stumbling to a stop but nearly tumbling end-over-end on the lower part of the floor, a dozen feet and more from Grandmaster Kane.

  Afafrenfere brought his hands up and out to either side, one clinched tightly about the sword, the other balled into a tight fist. He tightened his jaw, too, and flexed his muscles in a sudden and powerful movement, forcing blood to flow through him with power and the healing power of his own ki. Down came his arms, and the powerful young monk called upon more of his energy pool, physical and spiritual, to enact a sudden and powerful leap, landing in a roll just before Grandmaster Kane.

  He came to his feet with a powerful stab, and bore in with kicks, cuts, and punches, a whirling machine of devastation.

  Kane picked off every strike, but Afafrenfere moved with such startling power and precision that he felt no counters from the mighty opponent.

  Across went the sword, missing (though whether Kane had ducked it or jumped it, Afafrenfere didn’t even know, and didn’t even care as he executed the sudden, also futile backhand).

  He didn’t mind the second miss at all, for the backhand was for nothing more than to properly align his blade. As it came back out to the right, Afafrenfere rolled the sword with a flip of his wrist and rolled his arm with a flip of his shoulder, lifting the blade up high with startling suddenness.

  Down and across he swung.

  Again, he missed.

  And again, he knew he would miss, even shortening the swing.

  For this, too, was a feint, and Afafrenfere continued his follow-through, bringing the sword and his arm down and around, using the momentum in a sudden flip, up and over, ending with the perfect execution of his sword coming around in an overhead swing, second hand joining the first on its long hilt, bringing more weight to the downward stroke, a cut thrumming with lethality.

  Even though the blade was blunted for practice, Afafrenfere felt a pang of guilt for the headache he would bring to Kane when the old monk awakened!

  But no, his downward chop was met by Kane’s arms, uplifted above him in a cross, and as the sword connected—the very moment it connected, the eyeblink of its touching flesh—Kane’s arms uncrossed.

  Even had the blade been sharp enough to cut stone, the impact with the old monk’s arms was too short for any serio
us bite, and Afafrenfere doubted that any steel in the land would have been strong enough to withstand Kane’s scissor.

  Out went Kane’s arms, out flew the broken half of the sword blade, and before Afafrenfere could even register the movement, Kane’s right hand swooped down and in, then shot straight up, wrist cocked, palm up and rising, slamming the sword hilt under Afafrenfere’s hands.

  Up went Kane’s hand, driving, driving, pushing the half sword right from Afafrenfere’s grasp and sending it flying.

  Afafrenfere went into a desperate flurry, striking and kicking, left and right, up high and down low.

  So did Kane, the monastic brothers exchanging a blur of heavy strikes and kicks, too many to count, too many for Afafrenfere to even take note of any individually. He didn’t know how he was blocking Kane’s barrage just as he didn’t know how Kane was blocking his. For he was past his own consciousness then, into a zone of pure reaction, muscle memory overwhelming any notion of planned sequence.

  But then a miss—a missed block by Kane! Afafrenfere’s right cross straightened. It didn’t connect, but he had Kane dodging awkwardly down to his left.

  Or so Afafrenfere thought until he jabbed out with his left, for at that moment, he felt Grandmaster Kane’s right foot sweeping out and around his own planted right leg, and when Kane’s right palm snapped up to intercept, Afafrenfere felt an immovable object there, one that forced him backward over Kane’s tripping leg as he extended.

  Kane completed his move by driving that blocking palm forward and driving his right leg powerfully back, dumping Afafrenfere to the ground.

  A desperate backward roll brought Afafrenfere to his feet, and he was amazed at how quickly he had executed that escape, even though Kane was right there before him, hand flowing in a blur of chops and punches. Working hard and brilliantly, Afafrenfere deflected or absorbed those blows, putting him in what seemed a clench with the grandmaster, the two only a foot apart, their arms interlocked out and down to either side.