While assassin Artemis Entreri wrestles with his past, dark elf Jarlaxle continues to fight for his place in the surface world in the final book of the Sellswords trilogy.

Ilnezhara and Tazmikella are ancient dragons of great power, accustomed to easily manipulating the humans around them. But not all humans are so easily led. When they pushed Entreri and Jarlaxle into the heart of the Bloodstone Lands, not even they could have imagined the strength of the human assassin’s resolve, or the limitless expanse of the drow mercenary’s ambition.

Artemis Entreri and Jarlaxle have begun to make a home for themselves in the rugged Bloodstone Lands, though not everyone is ready to trust men who''ve spent their lives killing for coin—much less one who is also an ex-devotee of a demon goddess. If they want to survive the Bloodstone Lands, they''ll have to learn to trust their enemies... and be suspicious of their friends.

<Road of the Patriarch is the third book in the Sellswords trilogy and the sixteenth book in the Legend of Drizzt series.<

Autorentext
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.

Leseprobe
1

Life As Usual?

It wasn’t much of a door, actually, just a few planks thrown together and tied with frayed rope, old cloth, and vines. So when the ferocious dwarf hit it in full charge, it exploded into its component parts. Wood, rope, and vine went flying into the small cave, trailed by ribbons of cloth.

No fury summoned from the Nine Hells could have brought more tumult and chaos in the instants that followed. The dwarf, thick black hair flying wildly, long beard parted in the middle into two long braids flopping across his chest and shoulders, lunged at the poor goblins, twin morningstars spinning with deadly precision.

The dwarf veered for the largest group, a collection of four of the goblins. He barreled into their midst without heed for the crude weapons they brandished, blowing past their defenses, kicking, stomping, and smashing away with his devastating morningstars, their spiked metal heads whipping at the ends of adamantine chains. He hit one goblin square in the chest, crushing its lungs and lifting it into a ten-­foot flight. A turn and duck put him under the thrust of a spear that was no more than a pointed stick, and as he rolled around, the dwarf brought his trailing arm up and across, hooking the goblin’s arm and throwing it aside. The dwarf squared before the goblin, and two overhead swings crushed its shoulder and its skull. He kicked the creature hard under the chin as it dropped to the stone, shattering its jaw, though it was already so far gone from life that it didn’t even scream.

The dwarf’s braids whipped as he leaped and turned to face the two remaining goblins. They could not match that ferocity, could not seem to even comprehend it, and they hesitated just an instant.

An instant more than the dwarf needed.

Forward he raced, and each arm struck at the goblins. One hit squarely, the other a glancing blow, but even that second goblin stumbled under the weight of the assault. The dwarf rolled over the goblin, driving it down with kicks and chops.

He rushed past and broke for the door, leaping into a sidelong spin and coming around with a double swing that took one goblin in the back as it tried to retreat through the door and back to the mountain slopes. Indeed, it got through the door, and much more quickly than it ever would have believed possible if it had been thinking of such things.

Its shattered spine took precedence, though, and as it crumbled to the dirt and stone, it felt . . . nothing.

The dwarf landed in front of the door, feet wide and steady. He went into a defensive crouch, eyes wild, braids bouncing, and arms out to his sides with the morningstar’s heads dropping down low.

There had been at least ten of the creatures in the cave, he was certain, but with five down, he found only two facing him.

Well, at least one was facing him. The other banged frantically on a second door at the back of the cave, one more substantial and made of iron-­bound hardwood.

The second goblin shrank against its companion, not daring to take its gaze from the furious intruder.

“Ah, but ye got yerself a safer room,” the dwarf said, and took a step forward.

The goblin recoiled, small and pathetic sounds escaping its chattering teeth. The other pounded more furiously.

“Come on, then,” the dwarf chided. “Pick up a stick and fight back. Don’t ya be takin’ all the fun out of it!”

The goblin straightened just a little bit, and the dwarf had seen enough of battle to catch the clue. He whirled around, launching a high-­flying backhand that got nowhere close to hitting the sneaky goblin that slipped in the blasted door behind him. But it wasn’t supposed to hit the creature, of course, merely distract it.

So it did, and as the dwarf strode forward and came around with his second swing, he found a clean opening. The goblin’s face shattered under the weight of the morningstar, and the creature would have flown far indeed had not the jamb of the door caught it.

When the dwarf turned back, both goblins were pounding on the unyielding door with desperate abandon.

The dwarf sighed and relaxed, shaking his head in dismay. He walked across the room, and one, two, caved in the backs of the creatures’ skulls.

He took up his morningstars in one hand and grabbed one of the fallen creatures by the back of the neck with his other. With the strength of a giant, he flung that goblin aside, throwing it the ten feet to the side wall with ease. The second then went for a similar flight.

The dwarf adjusted his girdle, a thick leather enchanted affair that bestowed upon him that great strength—­even more than his powerful frame carried on its own.

“Nice work,” he remarked, studying the craftsmanship of the portal.

No goblin doors those; the creatures had likely pillaged them from the ruins of some castle or another in the bogs of Vaasa. He had to give the goblins credit, though, for they had fit the portal quite well into the wall.

The dwarf knocked, and called out in the goblin tongue, in which he was quite fluent, “Hey there, ye flat-­headed walking snot balls. Now ye don’t be wantin’ me to ruin such a fine door as this, do ye? So just open it up and make it easy. I might even let ye live, though I’m suren to be takin’ yer ears.”

He put his own ear to the door as he finished, and heard a quiet whimper, followed by a louder “Shhhh!”

He sighed and knocked again. “Come on, then. Last chance for ye.”

As he spoke, he stepped back and rolled his fingers around the leather-­wrapped handles of the twin morningstars, willing forth their magic. Liquid oozed from the spikes of each ball, clear and oily on the right-­hand one, and reddish and chalky on the other. He sized up the door, recognizing the center cross of perpendicular metal bands as the most important structural point.

He counted to three—­he had to give the goblins an honest chance, didn’t he?—­then launched into a ferocious leap and swing, left morningstar leading, and conne…