The Legend of Drizzt Anthology

285 Pages·2011·2.19 MB·English

by  Salvatore R A

NEVERWINTER
Gauntlgrym
Neverwinter Wood
(October 2011)
Icewind Dale
(October 2012)
THE LEGEND OF DRIZZT®
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
TRANSITIONS
The Orc King
The Pirate King
The Ghost King
THE HUNTER’S BLADES TRILOGY
The Thousand Orcs
The Lone Drow
The Two Swords
THE SELLSWORDS
Servant of the Shard
Promise of the Witch-King
Road of the Patriarch
THE CLERIC QUINTET
Canticle
In Sylvan Shadows
Night Masks
The Fallen Fortress
The Chaos Curse

THE LEGEND OF DRIZZT® ANTHOLOGY
The Collected Stories
©2011 Wizards of the Coast LLC
All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is
purely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any
reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited
without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.
Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC.
FORGOTTEN REALMS, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, DUNGEONS & DRAGONS, D&D, their respective logos,
THE LEGEND OF DRIZZT, and DRAGON are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and
other countries.
Cover art by Raymond Swanland
eISBN: 978-0-78696145-0
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v3.1
T C
ABLE OF ONTENTS
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
T F N
HE IRST OTCH
D M
ARK IRROR
T T L
HE HIRD EVEL
G
UENHWYVAR
T C S
HAT URIOUS WORD
W N
ICKLESS IN THE ETHER
T D
HE OWERY
C O
OMRADES AT DDS
I E T H U M L
F VER HEY APPENED PON Y AIR
B S
ONES AND TONES
I
RULADOON
T L H G
O EGEND E OES
his was my first published short story, written in the heady days soon
after I had become a professional author and while I was still working
in the finance field for a high-tech company. The first two Drizzt novels,
The Crystal Shard and Streams of Silver were on the shelves and doing
well, and I was writing the third of the series when the opportunity to do
a short story for Dragon magazine came up. Of course I said yes. (I loved
Dragon magazine and wanted to work with then editor Barb Young.) And
I was a new writer, finally getting the chance to let all of these stories
pour out of me. Honestly, I couldn’t stop writing!
And that, more than anything else, was the point of “The First Notch.”
I got to tell a story that featured Bruenor, whom I had come to love, and
who was increasingly taking a back seat to Drizzt in the novels. The
added hook for me was that always-enjoyable tease for readers. At the
end of Streams of Silver, Bruenor had seemingly met his demise, so this
story (intentionally) appeared as a sort of tribute to our lost friend.
The other hook for me going into this was my continuing fascination
with dwarven culture, and the cockney accent I had slapped upon them.
I was reading Brian Jacques at the time, marveling at his use of dialect,
and honestly, I wanted to play. In this story, I certainly got that
opportunity. It’s all dwarves, talking, arguing, cheering other dwarves in
a way only dwarves can.
Beyond that, the key line of the story is near the end: “Honor above
anger.” I didn’t realize it at the time, but this became a critical piece of
the Bruenor puzzle as the Legend of Drizzt books went along,
particularly when it came to the Treaty of Garumn’s Gorge and the
reasonable way Bruenor was forced to deal with King Obould. Honor
above anger, pragmatism above passion—when it involved the clan for
which he cared. Re-reading this story now, it amazes me how the
individual characteristics of these Companions of the Hall became so
deeply embedded in my subconscious that they remained so consistent
over more than twenty years.
e got it all?” asked the stocky young dwarf, his hand stroking his still
hairless cheeks and chin.
The two smaller dwarves, Khardrin and Yorik, nodded and dropped
their large sacks, the clanging as the bundles struck the stone floor
echoing through the stillness of the deep caverns.
“Quiet, will ye!” snapped Feldegar, the fourth member of the
conspiracy. “Garumn’d have our heads if he knew!”
“Garumn’ll know well enough when we’re done,” said Bruenor, the
stocky dwarf, with a sly wink and a smile that eased the sudden tension.
“Sort it out, then. No time for wastin’!”
Khardrin and Yorik began fishing through the assorted pieces of armor
and weapons in the sacks. “Got ye the foaming mug,” Khardrin said
proudly, handing Bruenor a shining shield.
“Me father’s own!” Bruenor laughed, marveling at the stealth and
nerve his younger cousins had shown. He slid the heavy shield onto his
arm and took up the newly crafted axe that he had brought, wondering
in sudden seriousness if he was worthy to bear the shield emblazoned
with the foaming mug, the standard of Clan Battlehammer. He had
passed the midpoint of his third decade, nearly into his threens, yet truly
he felt a child when he thought of his hairless face, not a single whisker
showing. He turned away to hide his blush.
“Four sets?” said Feldegar, looking at the piles of battle gear. “Nay!
The two o’ ye are to stay. Ye’re too young for such fightin’!”
Khardrin and Yorik looked helplessly to Bruenor.
Feldegar’s observation made sense, Bruenor knew, but he couldn’t
ignore the crestfallen looks on the faces of his younger cousins, nor the
pains the two had taken to get them all this far. “Four sets’ll be needed,”
he said at length. Feldegar snapped an angry glare at him.
“Yorik’s comin’ with us,” Bruenor said to him, holding the look with
his own. “But I’ve a more important job for Khardrin.” He winked at the
littlest of the four. “The door’s to be closed an’ locked behind us,” he
explained. “We be needin’ a guard who’s quick to open, and quicker still
with his tongue. Ye’re the only one o’ us sneaky enough to dodge the
askin’s o’ any who might wander down here. Think ye can do it?”
Khardrin nodded with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, feeling
important once again, though he still would have preferred to go along.
But Feldegar wasn’t appeased. “Yorik’s too young,” he growled at
Bruenor.
“By yer measure, not mine,” Bruenor retorted.
“I be leadin’!” said Feldegar.
“Bruenor’s the leader,” Yorik and Khardrin said together. Feldegar’s
glare turned dangerous.
“His grandfather’s the king,” reasoned Khardrin.
Feldegar stuck his chin out. “Ye see this?” he asked, pointing to the
patches of hair on his face. “Whiskers! I am the leader!”
“Ah, yer no older than Bruenor,” said Yorik. “And he’s a Battlehammer,
second behind the throne. And Battlehammers rule in Mithral Hall!”
“That tunnel’s not yet claimed,” Feldegar said wryly. “Outside o’
Mithral Hall, it is, and beyond Garumn’s domain. In there, the one with
the beard leads.”
Bruenor shrugged the comment away, despite yet another reminder of
his hairless face. He understood the danger and daring of their adventure
and wasn’t about to see it all unravel over a title that would mean little
when the fighting began. “Ye’re right, Feldegar,” he conceded, to the
amazement and disappointment of Khardrin and Yorik. “In the tunnel,
ye be leadin’. But by me figuring, we’re still in Mithral Hall, and me
word holds. Khardrin guards the door, and Yorik goes.”
Despite his bravado, Feldegar was smart enough to give a concession
to get a concession. He could snort and holler and stick out his beard all
he wanted, but if Bruenor opposed him, he knew, none of the others
would follow him. “Then let’s get the business done,” he grunted, and he
lifted the iron bar off the heavy stone door.
Bruenor grasped the iron ring on the door and reconsidered (and not
for the first time) the path he was about to take. Of the five adult
dwarves who had recently gone down to explore this tunnel, only one
had returned, and his tale had shot shivers up the spines of the hardiest
of Clan Battlehammer’s warriors.