Timeless: A Drizzt Novel (Forgotten Realms: Drizzt)
Dedication
To Diane and to my family. The rest of this doesn’t matter so much, you know?
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Dramatis Personae
Map
Map
Prologue
Part 1: Echoes of the Past Chapter 1: The Matron’s Web
Chapter 2: The Too-Quiet Charge of House Tr’arach
Chapter 3: No Winners
Chapter 4: Tying Up the Web
Chapter 5: Bartering with Bartered Goods
Chapter 6: Careful Cultivation
Part 2: For Us! Chapter 7: Pater
Chapter 8: The Eyes of Topolino
Chapter 9: A Most Angry Stomp
Chapter 10: A Chain of Whispers
Chapter 11: His Father’s Father
Chapter 12: Weirdly Drunk
Chapter 13: Tendrils of Lolthian Chaos
Part 3: Lessons of the Past Chapter 14: City of Shimmering Webs
Chapter 15: Self-Starter
Chapter 16: The Temptation of Revival
Chapter 17: The Power of Conscience
Part 4: Selflessness? Chapter 18: The Reality of Perception
Chapter 19: Weapon Master
Chapter 20: To the Heart of the Matter
Chapter 21: The Widening Web
Chapter 22: The Strength of Rage
Chapter 23: Diabolical Noose
Chapter 24: Desperate Flight
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by R. A. Salvatore
Copyright
About the Publisher
Dramatis Personae
In the past . . . all of them drow.
House Do’Urden
Matron Malice Do’Urden: The young and ferocious drow leader of House Do’Urden. Ambitious and insatiable, she is determined to climb the hierarchy of Menzoberranzan’s nearly eighty houses to one day gain a seat on the Ruling Council reserved for the top eight houses.
Patron Rizzen Do’Urden: Malice’s open consort, father of Nalfein, he is considered an incredibly mediocre companion by the ambitious Malice.
Nalfein Do’Urden: Malice’s oldest son, elderboy of the house, Nalfein is everything one might expect from the loins of Patron Rizzen.
Briza Do’Urden: Malice’s eldest daughter. Huge and formidable.
Matron Vartha Do’Urden: Malice’s mother, who died a century earlier.
House Xorlarrin
Matron Zeerith Xorlarrin: Powerful leader of the city’s fourth-ranked house.
Horoodissomoth Xorlarrin: House wizard and former master of Sorcere, the drow academy for practitioners of the arcane magic.
Kiriy Xorlarrin: Priestess of Lolth, daughter of Zeerith and Horoodissomoth.
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 Tr’arach: Ruler of the minor house.
Duvon Tr’arach: Son of Matron Hauzz, weapon master of the house, 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 of not only the First House, but 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 eldest child, archmage of Menzoberranzan, the highest-ranking male 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 its own needs.
Arathis Hune: Lieutenant to Jarlaxle and assassin extraordinaire. Taken into Bregan D’aerthe after the fall of his house, like many of the members.
* * *
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, aka Spider Parrafin: Halfling husband of Donnola Topolino. Companion of the Hall.
King Bruenor Battlehammer: Eighth king of Mithral Hall, tenth king of Mithral Hall, thirteenth 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 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: Drizzt’s former nemesis, the human assassin may be the drow warrior’s 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, Drizzt’s companion, summoned to his side from the Astral Plane.
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, leader of the halfling town of Bleeding Vines. She came from Aglarond, in the distant east, where she once headed a thieves’ guild.
Lady Inkeri Margaster: A noblewoman of Waterdeep, she is considered the leader of the Waterdhavian house of Margaster.
Alvilda Margaster: Close associate and cousin of Inkeri. Also a noble lady of Waterdeep.
Brevindon Margaster: Inkeri’s brother, another Waterdhavian noble.
Map
Map
Prologue
The Year of Dwarvenkind Reborn
Dalereckoning 1488
“My lady Zhindia,” the demon said, leaving a trail of bubbling sludge as she slid from the summoning pentagram of House Melarn, the Eighth House of the drow city of Menzoberranzan. The handmaiden Eskavidne was in her natural form now, a misshapen lump of sludge that looked somewhat like a half-burned candle, but with waving tendrils sticking out like leafless branches dancing in a gale. Every word the grotesque creature spoke bubbled with muddy plopping sounds.
Already battered by recent events, Matron Zhindia Melarn could not hide her surprise and trepidation as a second handmaiden appeared within the summoning circle, this one in th
e form of a beautiful drow woman, scantily dressed and grinning wickedly. They were always grinning wickedly, Zhindia knew. That was part of the reason she liked these yochlol demons.
“Yiccardaria?” Zhindia asked. “Why are you here?”
“You summoned,” the demon in drow disguise replied.
“I summoned Eskavidne,” Matron Zhindia insisted. “Why would you—”
“You have no doubt heard of Yiccardaria’s . . . misadventure,” Eskavidne answered for her sister yochlol. These were two of the Handmaidens of Lolth, the Demon Queen of Spiders, the goddess of the drow.
Zhindia nodded tentatively—she had heard some rumors of Yiccardaria being defeated on the surface world.
But if that was true, then how was she here? And why had two answered her summons for just one, Zhindia had to wonder—and worry. Particularly in light of her own misadventures, Matron Zhindia and her house had to be wary of . . . everything. They had lost standing, and Zhindia had become a bit of a mockery, something that simmered within the prideful woman’s entire body, leading her to fits of rage-filled trembling. She knew that she was clinging to a very slippery ledge here. The matrons of the eight highest-ranked houses—and only eight—sat on Menzoberranzan’s Ruling Council, and now, because of her own disastrous miscalculations and failure against the sinister workings of the matron mother of the city, her house had been demoted to the least of those ruling eight, with other ambitious houses right behind and looking for ways they might usurp her in this time of Melarni vulnerability. For all the matrons of Menzoberranzan’s dozens of houses, the goal was singular: to sit on the Ruling Council.
It was a position Matron Zhindia did not intend to relinquish.
And now not one but two powerful demons stood before her in her summoning chambers, one of them unbidden, and she had to wonder if she would have a choice in maintaining her position.
“Pray tell, what have you heard, Matron Zhindia?” Yiccardaria asked.
As her sister spoke, Eskavidne waved her tentacles, black light of demonic magic flashing, and changed into drow form, sending abyssal mud flying about the chamber.
Zhindia spun away, thinking she had been attacked, but then wiped the dots of mud from her face and regarded the mischievous yochlol, standing quite naked and unabashed with a hand on one hip.
“What is this about?” Zhindia dared demand.
“What have you heard of my sister’s troubles?” Eskavidne asked again.
“Yes, I am saddened that you did not summon me directly,” Yiccardaria said, moving to stand beside the other and draping her hand on Eskavidne’s wonderfully delicate shoulder.
“I had heard that you were defeated and so banished to the Abyss for a century,” Zhindia replied.
Yiccardaria sighed, just a hint of that gurgling mud in her exhale.
Eskavidne giggled. “Defeated,” she said. “Pummeled. Pounded into a pile of excrement by the fists of a mere human.”
Yiccardaria sighed again and slapped her sister demon on the shoulder. “No mere human,” she insisted. “A monk, the celebrated Grandmaster of Flowers of the Monastery of the Yellow Rose in a land called Damara. Mere human? This man, Kane, has transcended the mortal coil that marked him once as human. He is now—”
“Oh, you know all about him . . . now,” Eskavidne teased.
“Because I intend to pay him back, with great care and patience.”
“This does not concern me,” Matron Zhindia declared, taking back control of the situation. She reminded herself repeatedly that the key to dealing with demons, even the very handmaidens of her goddess, was to maintain confidence. “Why are you here?”
“Does not concern you?” Yiccardaria replied with a huff. “The circumstances of Drizzt Do’Urden do not concern you?”
The flash in Matron Zhindia’s eyes betrayed her calm visage at the mere mention of the heretic drow, the same one who had led the attack on her house that had killed her daughter. Zhindia, too, had almost fallen to the blades of Drizzt, only to have been humbled, slapped and thrown about by one of his allies.
And this very same Yiccardaria had been there, in her room, when she had been humiliated. Watched . . . and did nothing.
“Why are you here?” Zhindia asked for the third time, her stare hateful and fixed on Yiccardaria as she recalled that terrible day.
“Because you summoned me,” Eskavidne explained. “The barrier between the Underdark and the Abyss has thinned, and so our Spider Queen determined that my sister could subvert the century of banishment, but only by first accompanying another handmaiden to this place.”
“In summoning Eskavidne, you freed me,” Yiccardaria added, and she bowed gracefully. “And thus, I am in your debt.”
“As you were in my debt when you allowed that abomination to beat me in my own chambers?” Zhindia said impulsively, before she could think better of it. She was referring, after all, to Yvonnel, a drow woman whom many believed to be the avatar of Lolth herself on the world of Toril.
“You are versed well enough in the ways of Lolth to understand my place in that moment” was all that Yiccardaria bothered to say in reply. “I was merely observing, as the goddess wished, and protecting . . . you.”
“You stood by Yvonnel,” Zhindia insisted.
“I tempered her.”
“She—”
“—is none of your concern,” Eskavidne interjected, ending the argument.
Matron Zhindia licked her suddenly dry lips. Who was this creature, Yvonnel Baenre, after all? She knew Yvonnel was the daughter of Gromph Baenre, the former archmage of Menzoberranzan, and a worthless fool named Minolin Fey, and there had been great fanfare and wild rumors that Lolth herself had gone to the pregnant Minolin and blessed the child.
Yet Zhindia didn’t believe a word of it, though she could not deny the unusualness of Yvonnel Baenre. Named after the greatest matron mother Menzoberranzan had ever known, this child—and she was just a child, barely four years old—had somehow grown into a full adult woman, and with undeniable sophistication and magical powers.
Certainly, Zhindia’s curiosity had been piqued—no more so than her hatred for Yvonnel, but she didn’t dare press the issue at that time.
“I summoned you to speak with you about my daughter,” Zhindia told Eskavidne.
“You are certain of this?” Matron Mother Quenthel Baenre asked for the third time.
Her brother Gromph didn’t bother to answer this time, and instead just huffed indignantly.
“Zaknafein Do’Urden, the father of Drizzt, has been stolen from the grave and returned to life,” Quenthel said, her gaze down, for she was speaking more to herself than to her brother. “If it was Lolth who freed Zaknafein Do’Urden from death, then why? And if not Lolth, then who?” She looked up at Gromph and asked, “The false goddess Mielikki?”
Gromph could barely contain his chuckle at the way his sister had felt the need to include the word “false.” Mielikki was no less a deity than Lolth, of course, and these little bits of servile delusion always amused Gromph, who considered himself above all the squabbling about which god was bigger than which.
“I have found no indication either way,” he finally replied. “Though I really didn’t look very hard. In the end, it seems such a minor thing.”
“Yet you felt the need to come to my throne room and inform me,” Quenthel replied, her lips curling into a snarl.
“You asked me about the goings-on on the surface. That is a going-on. Fourth in a list of four, you will note, behind the construction of the Hosttower, the empowered teleportation gates of the dwarven cities, and the progress of the halfling village and its connection to the dwarf fortress of Gauntlgrym. I would not have placed the news of Zaknafein’s return last if I thought it of great importance.”
“Yet of the four, that piece of news is the one most important to Lolth,” the matron mother scolded. “That is the one offering us clues as to Lolth’s will, likely, and to what she will expect of us in this matter.” r />
Gromph shrugged as if it hardly mattered . . . because to him, it did not. On the surface, he was witnessing a godlike creation in the rebirth of the Hosttower of the Arcane, but it didn’t involve the Demon Queen of Spiders or any other deity. Using the fire primordial trapped in the pit of Gauntlgrym, Gromph and others were growing a living tower, a magical hollow stone tree of enormous dimensions and supernatural beauty that resonated with the eldritch powers of a beast that was as old as, and in many ways as formidable as, any god.
He would lead the research and study at the Hosttower, expanding his mind and his power. Once, he had believed that being the archmage of Menzoberranzan would be the pinnacle of his achievements, but now he had discovered farther horizons.
What did he care, really, for a mere swordsman named Zaknafein Do’Urden?
“It is good that Tsabrak Xorlarrin is archmage of Menzoberranzan now,” Quenthel was saying as all that went through his mind.
Apparently to sting him.
But Gromph silently agreed with that assessment. The less time he spent here, the better for him. In truth, he wouldn’t come here at all, except that he knew if he didn’t studiously report to Matron Mother Quenthel, she’d likely cause trouble for him and his growing Hosttower.
The grand doors of the Baenre throne room swung open then, and from the far side of the long and narrow chamber entered three drow women, all fabulously attired in garb signaling their high stations within the city.
“Well?” an impatient Quenthel demanded as the trio approached.
The middle drow, who looked very much like a taller version of the matron mother, snorted and shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “There is no explanation for the return of Zaknafein Do’Urden to be spoken by the handmaidens or any other demon we have contacted. It simply is, with no hint of why that might be.”