Drizzt Do’Urden sets out to destroy the Crystal Shard in the first book of the Paths of Darkness trilogy and the eleventh book in the greater Legend of Drizzt. With Errtu defeated, Crenshinibon has been recovered. Wulfgar has been saved from his torment. Regis has gotten his three breakfasts. The Companions of the Hall should stand reunited and victorious—but all is not well for Drizzt and his friends. Wulfgar, while free, struggles with anger and bloodlust. Regis’s ruby pendant—once the property of his old master—seems to be a magnet for all things evil. And on Drizzt’s quest to finally destroy the evil Crystal Shard, the artifact instead falls into the hands of the dark elf mercenary Jarlaxle and his unlikely ally: Artemis Entreri. Follow the adventures of Drizzt and the Companions in the electrifying Paths of Darkness trilogy: THE SILENT BLADE • THE SPINE OF THE WORLD • SEA OF SWORDS 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 A Stranger at Home Artemis Entreri stood on a rocky hill overlooking the vast, dusty city, trying to sort through the myriad feelings that swirled within him. He reached up to wipe the blowing dust and sand from his lips and from the hairs of his newly grown goatee. Only as he wiped it did he realize that he hadn’t shaved the rest of his face in several days, for now the small beard, instead of standing distinct upon his face, fell to ragged edges across his cheeks. Entreri didn’t care. The wind pulled many strands of his long hair from the tie at the back of his head, the wayward lengths slapping across his face, stinging his dark eyes. Entreri didn’t care. He just stared down at Calimport and tried hard to stare inside himself. The man had lived nearly two-­thirds of his life in the sprawling city on the southern coast, had come to prominence as a warrior and a killer there. It was the only place that he could ever really call home. Looking down on it now, brown and dusty, the relentless desert sun flashed brilliantly off the white marble of the greater homes. It also illuminated the many hovels, shacks, and torn tents set along roads—­muddy roads only because they had no proper sewers for drainage. Looking down on Calimport now, the returning assassin didn’t know how to feel. Once, he had known his place in the world. He had reached the pinnacle of his nefarious profession, and any who spoke his name did so with reverence and fear. When a pasha hired Artemis Entreri to kill a man, that man was soon dead. Without exception. And despite the many enemies he had obviously made, the assassin had been able to walk the streets of Calimport openly, not from shadow to shadow, in all confidence that none would be bold enough to act against him. No one would dare shoot an arrow at Artemis Entreri, for they would know that the single shot must be perfect, must finish this man who seemed above the antics of mere mortals, else he would then come looking for them. And he would find them, and he would kill them. A movement to the side, the slight shift of a shadow, caught Entreri’s attention. He shook his head and sighed, not really surprised, when a cloaked figure leaped out from the rocks, some twenty feet ahead of him, and stood blocking the path, arms crossed over his burly chest. “Going to Calimport?” the man asked, his voice thick with a southern accent. Entreri didn’t answer, just kept his head straight ahead, though his eyes darted to the many rocks lining both sides of the trail. “You must pay for the passage,” the burly man went on. “I am your guide.” With that he bowed and came up showing a toothless grin. Entreri had heard many tales of this common game of money through intimidation, though never before had one been bold enough to block his way. Yes, indeed, he realized, he had been gone a long time. Still he didn’t answer, and the burly man shifted, throwing wide his cloak to reveal a sword under his belt. “How many coins do you offer?” the man asked. Entreri started to tell him to move aside, but changed his mind and only sighed again. “Deaf?” said the man, and he drew out his sword and advanced yet another step. “You pay me, or me and my friends will take the coins from your torn body.” Entreri didn’t reply, didn’t move, didn’t draw his jeweled dagger, his only weapon. He just stood there, and his ambivalence seemed to anger the burly man all the more. The man glanced to the side—­to Entreri’s left—­just slightly, but the assassin caught the look clearly. He fo