Relentless: A Drizzt Novel Novels & Stories

Prologue II: Pyre, 3113 Pyre Av 5, 3113 Stephan Caliphus, King Everything was on fire the night he finished the book in the back room of a borrowed house. He laid his glasses down on the desk in front of him and rubbed his tired eyes. The crackling of flames could be heard as the city burned all around them. The blood curdling screams of the men in the streets where they died was enough to make the blood of the fiercest warrior run cold, but he was a man of empathy and it hurt him more than it did the others.

Outside, the blizzard howled against the reinforced glass, sounding like a horde of starving beasts trying to claw their way inside. 48 hours. A hard, uncompromising deadline had just been coded into our immediate future. I turned my back on the tactical table and walked slowly toward the frosted windows. The malicious blue ice was still creeping, seeking out weakness. The cold radiating from the glass tried to sink its teeth into my skin, but beneath my ribs, a profound, ancient heat began to stir. The molten gold in my veins—the dormant, terrifying legacy of the Phantom Dragons—began to accelerate, instinctively rejecting the hostile environment.

Cyryl is rising to mate. **This story will continue in The Dragon Rider: Book Two of The Dragon Thief Trilogy.

And when Cassy asked her if she knew what the power stones were and if she knew about the golden dragon, Carol shook her head negatively and said, "Don't worry, the visions you had are not going to happen right away, even you said that you looked older in your visions. By then you will have become extremely powerful I can guarantee you, and I promise you that we will help you find the golden dragon." Carol pondered, but she could see no other logical explanation for Cassy's soul transmigrating to their world, "The fact that your soul transmigrated here instead of Spartia probably means that the golden dragon is here as well. Maybe it is still dormant at the moment, and by that I mean that th

The other witch was purposely peeing on dead mortals and resurrecting them without blood to be her army. When they fought, both mother and father suffered equal and sufficient damage to die. But a witch is a witch. I guess it had always been their nature to be smart, always adaptive and using wit. Mother made sure that I shall be born alive, even if she’s not. She casted la resurrezione – a spell to resurrect a dead body – in this case, she casted it upon me. This spell, however, requires more than two sacrifices. My mother, in the last minute of her life, sacrificed hers, the witch’s, and father’s life.

The acrid sting of wolfsbane still burned his nose, mixing with blood and ash as Rhett stalked through the battlefield, claws still wet. The monsters had finally retreated, or rather, been pulled back, but Rhett wasn’t fooled. Drayce Malor was still here and Rhett had had enough of shadows and secrets. He followed the bond, the thread of anger humming through Mira, and the steel-sharp tension in Jace, to where Drayce stood near the edge of the pack chambers, robes immaculate despite the carnage. That smug, detached calm was fuel to the fire roaring in Rhett’s chest.

They crashed violently, stone cracking from impact. “You don’t get to touch her!” Ronan roared. The spirit laughed even as Ronan’s claws tore through flesh. “You think you’re saving her?” it hissed. “You brought yourself straight into my trap.” The ground beneath them began to glow red. Symbols ignited. Ronan tried to pull back but invisible chains shot from the floor, wrapping around his arms, legs, chest and making the book to tumble away from his grip. He struggled violently. “Fuck!” he roared.