R.A. Salvatore - Gauntlgrym: Neverwinter, Book I

The Neverwinter Trilogy, Book I
GAUNTLGRYM

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All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC

F ORGOTTEN R EALMS , N EVERWINTER N IGHTS , D UNGEONS & D RAGONS , D&D, W IZARDS OF THE C OAST , and their respective logos are trademarks of Wizards of the Coast LLC in the U.S.A. and other countries.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Salvatore, R. A., 1959
Gauntlgrym / R.A. Salvatore.
p. cm. (The neverwinter trilogy ; bk. 1)
eISBN: 978-0-7869-5804-7
I. Title.
PS3569.A462345G38 2010
813.54dc22

2010028403

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v3.1

W elcome to Faern, a land of magic and intrigue, brutal violence and divine compassion, where gods have ascended and died, and mighty heroes have risen to fight terrifying monsters. Here, millennia of warfare and conquest have shaped dozens of unique cultures, raised and leveled shining kingdoms and tyrannical empires alike, and left long forgotten, horror-infested ruins in their wake.

A LAND OF MAGIC

When the goddess of magic was murdered, a magical plague of blue firethe Spellplagueswept across the face of Faern, killing some, mutilating many, and imbuing a rare few with amazing supernatural abilities. The Spellplague forever changed the nature of magic itself, and seeded the land with hidden wonders and bloodcurdling monstrosities.

A LAND OF DARKNESS

The threats Faern faces are legion. Armies of undead mass in Thay under the brilliant but mad lich king Szass Tam. Treacherous dark elves plot in the Underdark in the service of their cruel and fickle goddess, Lolth. The Abolethic Sovereignty, a terrifying hive of inhuman slave masters, floats above the Sea of Fallen Stars, spreading chaos and destruction. And the Empire of Netheril, armed with magic of unimaginable power, prowls Faern in flying fortresses, sowing discord to their own incalculable ends.

A LAND OF HEROES

But Faern is not without hope. Heroes have emerged to fight the growing tide of darkness. Battle-scarred rangers bring their notched blades to bear against marauding hordes of orcs. Lowly street rats match wits with demons for the fate of cities. Inscrutable tiefling warlocks unite with fierce elf warriors to rain fire and steel upon monstrous enemies. And valiant servants of merciful gods forever struggle against the darkness.

A LAND OF UNTOLD ADVENTURE

PROLOGUE

A LOT COULD BE SAID OF K ING B RUENOR B ATTLEHAMMER OF M ITHRAL Hall, and many titles could be rightfully bestowed upon him: warrior, diplomat, adventurer, and leader among dwarves, men, and even elves. Bruenor had been instrumental in reshaping the Silver Marches into one of the most peaceful and prosperous regions in all Faern. Add visionary to his title, fittingly, for what other dwarf might have forged a truce with King Obould of the orc kingdom of Many-Arrows? And that truce had held through the death of Obould and the succession to his son, Urlgen, Obould II.

It was truly a remarkable feat, and one that had secured Bruenors place in dwarven legend, though many of the dwarves in Mithral Hall still grumbled about dealing with orcs in any way other than war. In truth, Bruenor was often heard second-guessing himself on the matter, year in and year out. However, in the end, the simple fact remained that not only had King Bruenor reclaimed Mithral Hall for his stout clan, but through his wisdom, he had changed the face of the North.

But of all the titles Bruenor Battlehammer could claim as earned, the ones that had always sat most comfortably on his strong shoulders were those of father and friend. Of the latter, Bruenor knew no peer, and all who called him friend knew without doubt that the dwarf king would gladly throw himself in front of a volley of arrows or a charging umber hulk, without hesitation, without regret, in the service of friendship. But of the former.

Bruenor had never wed, never sired children of his own, but had come to claim two humans as his adoptive children.

Two children since lost to him.

I tried me best, the dwarf said to Drizzt DoUrden, the unlikely drow advisor to the throne of Mithral Hallon those increasingly rare occasions when Drizzt was actually present in Mithral Hall. I teached them as me father teached me.

No one could ever say different, Drizzt assured him.

The drow rested back in a comfortable chair near the hearth in a small side room of Bruenors chambers, and took a long look at his oldest friend. Bruenors great beard was less red, even less orange, as more gray wound among the fiery locks, and his shaggy scalp had receded just a bit. On most days, though, the fire in his gray eyes sparkled as intensely as it had those decades before on the slopes of Kelvins Cairn in Icewind Dale.

But not that day, and understandably so.

The melancholy so plain in his eyes was not reflected in the dwarfs movements, though. He moved swiftly and surely, rocking in his chair and hopping to his feet to grab another log, which he pitched perfectly onto the fire. It crackled and smoldered in protest and failed to erupt in flames.

Damn wet wood, the dwarf grumbled. He stomped on the foot-bellows he had built into the hearth, sending a long, steady stream of air rushing across the coals and low-burning logs. He worked diligently at the fire for a long while, adjusting the logs, pumping the bellows, and Drizzt thought the display fitting for Bruenor. For that was how the dwarf did everything, from holding strong the tentative peace with Many-Arrows to keeping his clan operating in efficient harmony. Everything just right, and so too was the fire, at last, and Bruenor settled back in his chair and picked up his great mug of mead.

The king shook his head, his face a mask of regret. Should o killed that smelly orc.

Drizzt was all too familiar with the lament that had plagued Bruenor since the day hed signed the Treaty of Garumns Gorge.

No, the drow replied, less than convincing.

Bruenor scoffed at him, somewhat viciously. Yerself vowed to kill im, elf, and ye let him die o old age, didnt ye?

Take care, Bruenor.

Ah, but he cleaved yer elf friend in half, now, didnt he? And his spearmen bringed down yer dear elf lass, and the winged horse she rode.