Drizzt Do’Urden is hunted by the goddess Lolth in the thrilling first book of The Legacy of the Drow series and the seventh book in the greater Legend of Drizzt. Having found a measure of peace among the dwarves in Mithral Hall, Drizzt Do’Urden begins to know contentment for the first time in his tumultuous life. Bruenor has reclaimed his throne. Regis has been freed from Artemis Entreri. Wulfgar and Catti-brie are to be wed. But for a renegade who hails from the Underdark—where his people, the ruthless drow, are ruled by priestesses of the goddess Lolth—no peace can last forever. It is Lolth herself, the dreaded Queen of the Demonweb Pits, who musters her followers to pour up from the black depths of the Underdark to reclaim the one soul that managed to elude her: Drizzt Do’Urden. The Legacy is the first book in the Legacy of the Drow series and the seventh 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. Spring Dawning Drizzt Do’Urden walked slowly along a trail in the jutting southernmost spur of the Spine of the World Mountains, the sky brightening around him. Far away to the south, across the plain to the Evermoors, he noticed the glow of the last lights of some distant city, Nesmé probably, going down, replaced by the growing dawn. When Drizzt turned another bend in the mountain trail, he saw the small town of Settlestone, far below. The barbarians, Wulfgar’s kin from faraway Icewind Dale, were just beginning their morning routines, trying to put the ruins back in order. Drizzt watched the figures, tiny from this distance, bustle about, and he remembered a time not so long ago when Wulfgar and his proud people roamed the frozen tundra of a land far to the north and west, on the other side of the great mountain range, a thousand miles away. Spring, the trading season, was fast approaching, and the hardy men and women of Settlestone, working as dealers for the dwarves of Mithral Hall, would soon know more wealth and comfort than they ever would have believed possible in their previous day-­by-­day existence. They had come to Wulfgar’s call, fought valiantly beside the dwarves in the ancient halls, and would soon reap the rewards of their labor, leaving behind their desperate nomadic ways as they had left behind the endless, merciless wind of Icewind Dale. “How far we have all come,” Drizzt remarked to the chill emptiness of the morning air, and he chuckled at the double-­meaning of his words, considering that he had just returned from Silverymoon, a magnificent city far to the east, a place where the beleaguered drow ranger never before dared to believe that he would find acceptance. Indeed, when he had accompanied Bruenor and the others in their search for Mithral Hall, barely two years before, Drizzt had been turned away from Silverymoon’s decorated gates. “Ye’ve done a hundred miles in a tenday alone,” came an unexpected answer. Drizzt instinctively dropped his slender black hands to the hilts of his scimitars, but his mind caught up to his reflexes and he relaxed immediately, recognizing the melodic voice with more than a little of a Dwarvish accent. A moment later, Catti-­brie, the adopted human daughter of Bruenor Battlehammer, came skipping around a rocky outcropping, her thick auburn mane dancing in the mountain wind and her deep blue eyes glittering like wet jewels in the fresh morning light. Drizzt could not hide his smile at the joyous spring in the young girl’s steps, a vitality that the often vicious battles she had faced over the last few years could not diminish. Nor could Drizzt deny the wave of warmth that rushed over him whenever he saw Catti-­brie, the young woman who knew him better than any. Catti-­brie had understood Drizzt and accepted him for his heart, and not the color of his skin, since their first meeting in a rocky, windswept vale more than a decade before, when she was but half her present age. The dark elf waited a moment longer, expecting to see Wulfgar, soon to be Catti-­brie’s husband, follow her around the bluff. “You have come out a fair distance without an escort,” Drizzt remarked when the barbarian did not appear. Catti-­brie crossed her arms over her chest and leaned on one foot, tapping impatiently with the other. “And ye’re beginning to sound more like me father than me friend,” she replied. “I see no escort walking the trails beside Drizzt Do’Urden.” “Well spoken,” the drow ranger admitted, his tone respectful