Legacy of the Drow: Passage to Dawn by R. A. Salvatore

Author:R. A. Salvatore [Salvatore, R. A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Forgotten Realms
ISBN: 9780786954100
Google: TRgZqWRA1pcC
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast
Published: 2009-06-23T22:10:10+00:00

here’s Deudermont?” Catti-brie asked of Harkle when the wizard stumbled into a small side room where the young woman was sitting with Drizzt.

“Oh, out and about, out and about,” the distracted Harpell replied. There were two chairs in the room, both set before a large window that looked out over the majestic Snowflakes. Drizzt and Catti-brie occupied these, half-facing each other and half-looking out to the beautiful view. The dark elf reclined, his feet up on the window’s wide sill. Harkle considered the scene for just a moment, then seemed to collect his wits and moved right between the two. He motioned Drizzt to take his feet away, then hopped up to sit on the window sill.

“Do join us,” Catti-brie said with obvious sarcasm—obvious to Drizzt at least, for Harkle smiled dumbly.

“You were discussing the poem, of course,” the wizard reasoned. It was partially true. Drizzt and Catti-brie were talking as much about the news that Bruenor had left Mithral Hall as about the all-important poem.

“Of course you were,” Harkle said. “That is why I have come.”

“Have you deciphered any more of the verse?” Drizzt asked, not too hopeful. The drow liked Harkle, but had learned not to expect too much from the wizard. Above all else, Harkle and his kin were unpredictable sorts, oftentimes of great help, as in the fight for Mithral Hall, and at other times more a detriment than an advantage.

Harkle recognized the drow’s ambivalent tone, and he found that he wanted to prove himself at that moment, wanted to tell the drow all of the information in his magical journal, to recite the poem word by word, exactly as the seer had told it. Harkle bit back the words, though, fearful of the limitations of his spell and the potential consequences.

“We’re thinking it’s Baenre,” Catti-brie said. “Whoever’s holding the Baenre throne, I mean. ‘Given to Lolth and by Lolth given,’ is what she said, and who better than the one sitting on Baenre’s throne for the Spider Queen to give such a gift?”

Harkle nodded, letting Drizzt take up the thought, but believing that they were slipping off track.

“Catti-brie thinks that it is Baenre, but the seer spoke of the Abyss, and that makes me believe that Lolth has engaged a handmaiden,” said Drizzt.

Harkle bit hard on his lip and nodded unconvincingly.

“Cadderly has an informant in the Abyss,” Catti-brie added. “An imp, or something akin to that. He’ll summon the beastie and try to find us a name.”

“But I fear that my road …” Drizzt began.

“Our road,” Catti-brie corrected, so firmly that Drizzt had to concede the point.

“I fear that our road will once again lead to Menzoberranzan,” Drizzt said with a sigh. He didn’t want to go back there, that much was obvious, but it was clear also that the ranger would charge headlong into the accursed city for the sake of a friend.

“Why there?” Harkle asked, his voice almost frantic. The wizard saw where the seer’s poem had guided Drizzt, and knew that the

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