“Trinkets,” he said, and cast the disc ringing at Dion’s feet. “Now, have I established my credentials? Yes, I am the Dark Lord. No, you cannot harm me. Yes, I will tell you my evil plan. No, you will not live to tell anyone else. But I will tell you, you see. It’s the highlight of my life, each time we get to this point. I want to see your faces, when I let you in on the joke. I get surprisingly few laughs, in my line of work.”

“Joke?” Dion demanded, but Cyrene was already butting in.

“What do you mean, ‘each time’?”

“Each time some pack of would-be heroes comes to defeat the Dark Lord, of course. I’d thought that was obvious,” Darvezian told her conversationally. “Do you not study your own histories anymore? You should—I’m in them. Don’t you recall Sargos the Light-Herald when he took down the Dark Lord Morticleer? Or, wait, what about the Three Companions and their epic defeat of Dreadnoth the Unspeakable? Or—”

“But that wasn’t you, it was… there were other Dark Lords,” Dion said weakly.

“It’s the throne,” Lief put in. “The throne’s the Dark Lord. Or the robe, or the hat, or… something.”

“No, no, it’s me,” Darvezian corrected him. “It was always me. I was the first Dark Lord. I was all the Dark Lords. And in between, I’ve been most of the heroes of the Light, as well. When Sargos came to defeat me, it was I who walked out of here in his shape. And—oh!—such a shame that only one of the Three Companions survived that grand battle, hm? So many different shapes and faces. And I suppose I need to decide which of you lot will return the triumphant, yet grieving, hero. Not the weasel thief, not the women, and being a magician would be too much like the regular job, don’t you think? And…” The red orbs fixed on Enth briefly. “Well, not that. Nobody’d mistake that for a hero of the Light. So congratulations, son,” he concluded to Harathes, “you get to be the hero. Or I do, anyway, but your face goes on the statues. Preferably not with the expression that’s on it now, of course. I’ll try to be more dignified.”

“You,” Dion hissed. “You could never pass for one of the Light. They would scent the reek of the Dark on you from a hundred miles away.”

“Oh, really?” Darvezian steepled his metal-sheathed fingers. “And you’re such an expert, are you? Then tell me, oh, Champion of the Light, can you see the Dark in me?”

Cyrene watched as Dion frowned furiously at the Dark Lord, seeing the priestess go ashen. “I… there’s nothing. Dark, Light, nothing at all.”