“sojourn” robert anthony salvatore

Sojourn
Robert Anthony Salvatore

Forgotten Realms: Dark Elf, #3
Annotation

The third in a series of premiere hardcover editions of Salvatore’s classic dark elf tales.
This new release of the classic R. A. Salvatore novel continues the tale of the origins of Salvatore’s signature dark elf character Drizzt Do’Urden and is the first-ever release of this Forgotten Realms novel title in hardcover. Each title in “The Legend of Drizzt” series showcases the classic dark elf novels in new, deluxe hardcover editions. Each title will feature all new cover art, in addition to excerpts from an exclusive author interview in which R. A. Salvatore answers questions posed by readers.
R. A. Salvatore
Prelude
Part 1.
1. Poignant Lessons
2. Questions of Conscience
3. The Whelps
4. Worries
5. The Stalk of Doom
Part 2.
6. Sundabar
7. Simmering Rage
8. Clues and Riddles
9. The Chase
10. A Question of Honor
Part 3.
11. Winter
12. To Know Your Enemies
13. Montolio
14. Montolio’s Test
15. A Shadow over Sanctuary
Part 4.
16. Of Gods and Purpose
17. Outnumbered
18. The Battle of Mooshie’s Grove
19. Separate Ways
Part 5.
20. Years and Miles
21. Hephaestus
22. Homeward Bound
23. A Memory Come to Life
24. Revelations
25. Dwarven Banter
Epilogue
R. A. Salvatore
Sojourn
Prelude
The dark elf sat on the barren mountainside, watching anxiously as the line of red grew above the eastern horizon. This would be perhaps his hundredth dawn, and he knew well the sting the searing light would bring to his lavender eyes – eyes that had known only the darkness of the Underdark for more than four decades.
The drow did not turn away, though, when the upper rim of the flaming sun crested the horizon. He accepted

the light as his purgatory, a pain necessary if he was to follow his chosen path, to become a creature of the surface world.
Gray smoke wafted up before the drow’s dark-skinned face. He knew what it meant without even looking down. His piwafwi, the magical drow-made cloak that had so many times in the Underdark shielded him from probing enemy eyes, had finally succumbed to the daylight. The magic in the cloak had begun fading weeks before, and the fabric itself was simply melting away. Wide holes appeared as patches of the garment dissolved, and the drow pulled his arms in tightly to salvage as much as he could.
It wouldn’t make any difference, he knew; the cloak was doomed to waste away in this world so different from where it had been created. The drow clung to it desperately, somehow viewing it as an analogy to his own fate.
The sun climbed higher and tears rolled out of the drow’s squinting lavender eyes. He could not see the smoke anymore, could see nothing beyond the blinding glare of that terrible ball of fire. Still he sat and watched, right through the dawn.
To survive, he had to adapt.
He pushed his toe painfully down against a jag in the stone and focused his attention away from his eyes, from the dizziness that threatened to overcome him. He thought of how thin his finely woven boots had become and knew that they, too, would soon dissipate into nothingness.
Then his scimitars, perhaps? Would those magnificent drow weapons, which had sustained him through so many trials, be no more? What fate awaited Guenhwyvar, his magical panther companion? Unconsciously the drow dropped a hand into his pouch to feel the marvelous figurine, so perfect in every detail, which he used to summon the cat.