“Storeroom,” he murmured, “weapons rack, some sort of tool cupboard. Oh…” He backed up rapidly from one door, no grander than the others. “Oh, that’s the one.”

“You’re sure?” Harathes demanded.

Lief gave him a look. “Well, I’m no expert, but it’s a big old room, most of the rest of the bottom floor, and it’s pretty much empty, but there’s the biggest seat I ever saw at the far end with a robed bloke sitting on it. Maybe they just went overboard with the dunnies here, but somehow I don’t think it’s that sort of throne.”

“Well, then,” Dion stated, drawing their attention. “You know the prophecy. Bring out the Tooth.”

For a horrible moment she could not remember who had the thing, and would not have been remotely surprised if the vital artifact foretold in omens had been left in an inn room somewhere. Then Cyrene drew it out, the curved, wicked-looking fang of Enth’s bloated mother.

“Let me have it,” Harathes demanded.

“No,” Dion said. “We will not defeat the Dark Lord by challenging him to single combat. His powers would destroy you, or any of us. Not Penthos nor I could stand against the full strength of Darvezian.” Or why would we go through this remarkable charade? “We will hold his attention, though. We will draw him into a fight, and we will stay alive, and hold him off—even keep him talking—just long enough for Lief.”

“Me?” The thief flinched. “You’re…?”

“You are no great hero, Lief,” Dion told him kindly, “and you are no virtuous paragon of the Light. But you are a subtle and soft-footed rogue, and in a fight you’re best placed at the enemy’s back. So there you will go, while Darvezian focuses on us. Go and be the man who strikes down the Dark Lord. Take your place in history.”

Lief’s eyes were wide as moons. “You’d… trust me with this?”

And Dion smiled fondly. “None better.”

“This is a travesty,” Harathes muttered, but nobody dignified him with an answer.

“All right, okay,” Lief said, visibly mustering his courage. “In that case the main obstacle is furniture, because I wasn’t exaggerating, that chair is huge. I need him out of it so I can get a good stab in.”

“I would hope that even the Dark Lord would dignify our presence by standing up,” Dion shrugged. “You hang back, Lief. Everyone else?” Her gaze took in Harathes, Cyrene, Penthos, even Enth. “I bless you all. I give you the strength of the Light, the fortitude of Armes.” Her gestures pointedly excluded Enth—because he would sully her religion, or because her religion would burn him? She made no attempt to answer the question. “Let’s go.”