To protect his friends, Drizzt Do’Urden returns to the City of Spiders in the second book of The Legacy of the Drow series and the eighth book in the greater Legend of Drizzt. Though Drizzt Do’Urden is still reeling from an unexpected death, he is allowed little time to grieve. Dark elves hell-bent on destruction are gathering in the caverns deep under Mithral Hall. To keep his adopted home and family safe, Drizzt must now return to the dreadful city of his birth. Nicknamed the City of Spiders, Menzoberranzan is one of the most dangerous places in the already perilous Underdark. For Drizzt, a rogue elf with a price on his head, setting foot inside the city is no small risk—it’s certain death. But he and his companions are no strangers to such dire circumstances. Driven by their love for and loyalty to the dwarves of Mithral Hall, they will engage the dark elves in combat and willingly lay down their lives. Starless Night is the second book in the Legacy of the Drow series and the eighth book in the Legend of Drizzt series. R. A. Salvatore 's books have sold more than thirty-five million copies, have landed on many bestseller lists, and have been translated into numerous foreign languages. When he isn't writing, Bob, his wife Diane and their Japanese Chin Spaniels Dexter and Pikel bounce coast-to-coast to see their grandchildren. Bob hits the gym and coaches/plays on Clan Battlehammer, his softball team that includes most of his family. His gaming group still meets on Sundays to play DND or DemonWars or whatever the Sadist... err, Game Master, decides. 1 The Ambitious One The mercenary leaned against the pillar anchoring the wide stairway of Tier Breche, on the northern side of the great cavern that housed Menzoberranzan, the city of drow. Jarlaxle removed his wide-­brimmed hat and ran a hand over the smooth skin of his bald head as he muttered a few curses under his breath. Many lights were on in the city. Torches flickered in the high windows of houses carved from natural stalagmite formations. Lights in the drow city! Many of the elaborate structures had long been decorated by the soft glow of faerie fire, mostly purple and blue hues, but this was different. Jarlaxle shifted to the side and winced as his weight came upon his recently wounded leg. Triel Baenre herself, the matron mistress of Arach-­Tinilith, among the highest-­ranking priestesses in the city, had tended the wound, but Jarlaxle suspected that the wicked priestess had purposely left the job unfinished, had left a bit of the pain to remind the mercenary of his failure in recapturing the renegade Drizzt Do’Urden. “The glow wounds my eyes,” came a sarcastic remark from behind. Jarlaxle turned to see Matron Baenre’s oldest daughter, that same Triel. She was shorter than most drow, nearly a foot shorter than Jarlaxle, but she carried herself with undeniable dignity and poise. Jarlaxle understood her powers—­and her volatile temperament—­better than most, and he certainly treated the diminutive female with the greatest caution. Staring, glaring, out over the city with squinting eyes, she moved beside him. “Curse the glow,” she muttered. “It is by your matron’s command,” Jarlaxle reminded her. His one good eye avoided her gaze; the other lay beneath a patch of shadow, which was tied behind his head. He replaced his great hat, pulling it low in front as he tried to hide his smirk at her resulting grimace. Triel was not happy with her mother. Jarlaxle had known that since the moment Matron Baenre had begun to hint at her plans. Triel was possibly the most fanatic of the Spider Queen’s priestesses and would not go against Matron Baenre, the first matron mother of the city—­not unless Lolth instructed her to. “Come along,” the priestess growled. She turned and made her way across Tier Breche to the largest and most ornate of the drow Academy’s three buildings, a huge structure shaped to resemble a gigantic spider. Jarlaxle pointedly groaned as he moved, and lost ground with every limping step. His attempt to solicit a bit more healing magic was not successful, though, for Triel merely paused at the doorway to the great structure and waited for him with a patience that was more than a bit out of character, Jarlaxle knew, for Triel never waited for anything. As soon as he entered the temple, the mercenary was assaulted by myriad aromas, everything from incense to the drying blood of the latest sacrifices, and chants rolled out of every side portal. Triel took note of none of it; she shrugged past the few disciples who bowed to her as they saw her walking the corridors. The single-­minded Baenre daughter moved into the higher levels, to the private quarters of the school’s mistresses, and walked down one small hallway, its floor alive with crawling spiders—­including a few that stood as tall as Jarlaxle’s knee. Triel stopped between two equally decorated doors and motioned for Jarlaxle to enter the one on the right. The mercenary paus