“What’s this?” the Dark Lord cried, springing to his feet nimbly. “Someone’s done their homework! Is this really…?” Ignoring them, he reached back and, after some awkward twisting and fumbling, yanked the spider fang from his back with a ripping sound. “Don’t tell me… It is!” He brandished the gory memento aloft. “Well done, you, look what you brought me. An actual tooth from a spider matron! I can’t believe it, how did you ever get this? I thought this would keep your lot on their toes for another two decades at least. What tribulations you must have gone through.” He shook his shrouded head in a kind of wonder. “I’d ask you to tell me all about it, but I suspect that it’s probably not that interesting. Better preserve the mystique, say I.”

“You…” Harathes was the only one of them who could speak. “You fiend! You wanted us to bring you the tooth? You’ve… it’s part of your evil schemes…?”

“What, this?” Darvezian cocked his head at the fang. “Nasty-looking thing, isn’t it,” and he threw it casually over his shoulder. “You’ve no idea how hard it is to put together a properly foreboding prophecy—and believe me, I’ve been doing it for a while! No, don’t worry, you’ve not fulfilled my evil scheme by bringing me a piece of a spider. Why would I want that? You’ve fulfilled it mostly by just storming my tower. But you have to have a prophecy, don’t you? To keep you hero-types on your toes. And it gets so dull, otherwise. Next time I’ll have to set some really challenging conditions. I honestly thought the whole spider business would keep people busy longer.”

“Enough!” and Harathes launched himself at the dark figure, and a heartbeat later they were all in motion. Lief struck from behind again, with just a regular blade, and Cyrene sent an arrow right between those glowing red eyes. Dion ran forward, calling on the Light, and Penthos’s fingers spat arcing darts of fire.

And perhaps the fire singed Darvezian’s dark robes slightly, but the rest did nothing. The arrow vanished tracelessly into his hood. Lief’s blade snapped, and Harathes’s sword rebounded, each feat of magic accomplished with but a word from the Dark Lord. Dion practically thrust her disc of Armes into that unseen face, the symbol blazing like daylight. Darvezian took it off her.

She stumbled back from him, aghast. They were all aghast, right then. Even as powerful as he was, the Dark Lord should have suffered something from the power that was his nemesis. Instead, he turned the disc over in his gauntleted hands as the golden fire died on it.