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  “The whole world’s gone mad,” Jarlaxle said, standing alone on the field, hands on hips once more. He noted a glimmer to the side and laughed, then walked over and plucked the jeweled dagger from where it had stuck in the ground.

  “This could be fun,” the rogue said, following the path Entreri had taken. “And profitable.”

  Jarlaxle regarded Entreri again, carrying the heavy Pwent, almost staggering under the weight but determinedly pressing on. Jarlaxle had several magical items that could lessen that burden, or could indeed cart Thibbledorf all the way. He shook his head at the thought, though.

  Artemis Entreri needed to do this.

  Led by Mal’a’voselle Amvas Tol, as most of them had been in the Abyss for many years, the vast army of reformed drow elves—driders returned from the grave and the many driders who had come to the surface in the service of the various houses—marched as one behind the banners of House Baenre. None had pledged allegiance yet, but the course seemed obvious to all of them—they understood the truth of Lolth because they had seen the awfulness of her worst wrath. The unspeakable torment had burned into them a hopelessness that only now lifted to see a glimmer of hope.

  That glimmer shone from the woman who should have been among the most hated of the group, but it was indeed the very same Matron Mother Baenre who had given them hope and who now promised them a very different future.

  Baenre soldiers and Mal’a’voselle’s closest advisors filtered among the long lines, identifying the new recruits and organizing them into battle groups in case they encountered another drow house on the long journey.

  One former drider watched with trepidation as a trio of soldiers approached.

  “Welcome,” one greeted him. “Are you returned from the Abyss or have you come from another house?”

  “Or from House Baenre?” a second asked.

  The man shrugged. “I was dead, long dead.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Dini . . .” he started, and quickly added, “nae.”

  “Dini Nay?” the Baenre soldier asked.

  “Dininae,” he corrected, trying to hide his nervousness, for he had heard enough of the events that had precipitated this still-unfathomable event to understand that his real name, Dinin Do’Urden, might bring him a fair amount of grief and trouble.

  “Of what house?”

  “No house,” he lied. “I lived in the Stenchstreets.”

  The soldiers noted his name and moved on. Dinin didn’t know what to think or what to do.

  Their spirits shared in knowledge. Catti-brie’s message was delivered.

  Again the knot of magical lights hopped across the courtyard, and this time coalesced, and the naked man scooped up the robes and donned them, then used those memories to go inside the keep of Thornhold, to a crack in one wall.

  Fishing fingers found a chain.

  He held it in his hand, staring at the whistle, the summoning call to the unicorn that had carried Drizzt Do’Urden for many years.

  Epilogue

  They were all gathered there, for Catti-brie had promised them the name of the child: Bruenor and his queens Tannabritches and Mallabritches, Regis and Donnola, Wulfgar, Penelope Harpell, Athrogate, Jarlaxle, and Zaknafein and Artemis Entreri. Even Guenhwyvar was there, for Entreri had thought it fitting to bring the panther forth for this event.

  And Thibbledorf Pwent, fast recovering from his ordeal, alive once more, hungry for mutton and thirsty for beer, ready to serve his beloved king Bruenor. He kept glancing at Entreri, tossing him a nod and hoisting his flagon. Entreri had carried him all the way to this very room, where the clerics of Gauntlgrym had found enough remaining magic to bring his ravaged body through the ordeal of shrugging off his vampiric curse.

  So much had been cleansed or healed. Or contained! The magic of the Host Tower had arrived, finally, the primordial caught fast once more, and they had even managed to reopen the portals to Luskan and Longsaddle, and now those to the Silver Marches and the other dwarven strongholds.

  Indeed, Queen Dagnabet Waybeard of Mithral Hall sat beside Bruenor. Her army was out in the grand entry hall now, finishing the cleansing beside the ferocious dwarves of Clan Battlehammer and the determined halflings of Bleeding Vines. The armies of Citadel Adbar and Citadel Felbarr awaited a call should they be needed, but no one expected that they would. Not now. The drow were gone, the demons destroyed or dispersed.

  Finally, the door to the private chamber opened and Catti-brie entered, carrying her daughter, the priestess Copetta beside her, as she had been the three days since the child had come into the world. The baby’s eyes were more open now, and as Penny had said, she had her father’s eyes—somewhat.

  They were purple, yes, but not the light lavender of Drizzt’s eyes. They were purple, as rich and deep as Catti-brie’s blue eyes, so striking against her skin, which carried the hue of a pink rose at twilight, and peeking out below her somewhat startling shock of reddish hair, so much like her mother’s thick auburn mane.

  “Drizzt and I spoke of this for a long while soon after we learned I was with child,” Catti-brie told them, her voice somewhat shaky but holding strong. “We knew from the beginning that this child belonged to more than we two parents, that it . . . she was a child born into love from many who would help us make sure that her life was blessed.”

  “I’ll harden her head!” Pwent promised, and all laughed.

  “She was conceived in love and in the spirit of tolerance and trust,” Catti-brie went on. “It could not have been—none of this could have been, had not her grandfather looked past the color of my beloved Drizzt’s skin and looked instead to the man he was.” She turned to Wulfgar. “You would not be here if not for that same generous spirit and belief in the goodness of all.”

  “That’s something Bruenor will never admit,” Wulfgar agreed.

  All eyes went to the dwarf king, who was blushing fiercely, tears welling in his eyes.

  “And so, in the spirit of what blessed us and in the hopes of what might come, four names did we pick. Two if it was a boy and two if it, if she, was a girl. First, I tell you my own name. It was not always Catti-brie.”

  “You were given a different name in your rebirth from Mielikki’s garden,” Wulfgar remarked.

  Catti-brie shook her head. “That is true, but I speak of my first name, my name as a child before I came to be the daughter of Bruenor Battlehammer.”

  That brought curious looks, particularly from Wulfgar, but Regis smiled knowingly and Bruenor could only nod.

  “Cataline,” Catti-brie went on, “though I know not my first surname. It was changed to Catti, and the name Brienne added.”

  “Brienne, or Briennelle, is the woman’s version of Bruenor,” Dagnabet explained, for a certain dwarf king was not able to speak at that moment.

  “Catti-brie,” Catti-brie said. “And so I give to you, my dearest friends, Briennelle.”

  They started to cheer, but Catti-brie stopped them short with an upraised hand. “Brienne in the spirt of that which blessed us, and Zaharina in the hopes of what might be.”

  Zaknafein nearly fell off his chair.

  “Zaharina is the feminine of Zaknafein,” Jarlaxle explained. “Brie-Zara, then!”

  “Breezy!” Thibbledorf Pwent shouted.

  They all cheered, or started to, but then the other door to the room burst open and a man rushed in.

  All in the room recognized the robes of a master of St. Sollars and the Monastery of the Yellow Rose, and recognized even more the man wearing them.

  The lavender-eyed, white-haired drow ranger wearing them.

  About the Author

  Thirty years ago, R. A. SALVATORE created the character of Drizzt Do’Urden, the dark elf who has withstood the test of time to stand today as an icon in the fantasy genre. With his work in the Forgotten Realms, the Crimson Shadow, the DemonWars Saga, and other series, Salvatore has sold more than thirty million books worldwide and has appeared on the New York Times
bestseller list more than two dozen times. He considers writing to be his personal journey, but still, he’s quite pleased that so many are walking the road beside him! R.A. lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Diane, and their three dogs, Ivan, Pikel, and Dexter. He still plays softball for his team, Clan Battlehammer, and enjoys his weekly DemonWars: Reformation RPG game. Salvatore can be found on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/RA-Salvatore-54142479810/, on Twitter at @r_a_salvatore, and at RASalvaStore.com.

  Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.

  Also by R. A. Salvatore

  The Legend of Drizzt Books

  Homeland

  Exile

  Sojourn

  The Crystal Shard

  Streams of Silver

  The Halfling’s Gem

  The Legacy

  Starless Night

  Siege of Darkness

  Passage to Dawn

  The Silent Blade

  The Spine of the World

  Sea of Swords

  Servant of the Shard

  Promise of the Witch King

  Road of the Patriarch

  The Thousand Orcs

  The Lone Drow

  The Two Swords

  The Orc King

  The Pirate King

  The Ghost King

  Gauntlgrym

  Neverwinter

  Charon’s Claw

  The Last Threshold

  The Companions

  Night of the Hunter

  Rise of the King

  Vengeance of the Iron Dwarf

  Archmage

  Maestro

  Hero

  Timeless

  Boundless

  Saga of the First King

  The Highwayman

  The Ancient

  The Dame

  Tales of the Coven

  Child of a Mad God

  Reckoning of Fallen Gods

  Song of the Risen God

  Copyright

  Wizards of the Coast, its logo, The Legend of Drizzt, Forgotten Realms, and the dragon ampersand are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  relentless. Copyright © 2020 by Wizards of the Coast LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  Harper Voyager and design are trademarks of HarperCollins Publishers LLC.

  first edition

  Cover design by Richard L. Aquan

  Cover art by Aleksi Briclot

  Maps courtesy of Wizards of the Coast

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

  Digital Edition July 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-268866-8

  Print ISBN: 978-0-06-268867-5

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