Spiderlight

by Adrian Tchaikovsky

“HAVE IT, YOU TURD!” the thief yelled as he struck. It was, Cyrene considered, a battle cry unlikely to make the sagas. The bravado of the shout was also belied by the fact that Lief got as far away from Darvezian as possible the moment after, leaving the fang embedded in the Dark Lord’s back. Darvezian dropped to his knees with a gurgling choke, and the seething silvery power that had wreathed his fingers a moment before was abruptly dissipating into the gloomy air. Cyrene loosed, sending her shaft thudding into the Dark Lord’s shadowy chest, rocking him back and eliciting a hollow gasp. “What have you done?” Darvezian choked. “What is this sorcery? My wards, my protections—! How have you done this to me?” He clutched at his throat, choking and gurgling horribly. “This fate you brought down on yourself . . . ,” Dion started, but uncertainly, because the character of the Dark Lord’s garglings was changing even as she spoke. From rasping and gasping, Darvezian veered inexorably into laughter. In context, it was the least pleasant and welcome sound Cyrene had ever heard. “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 ca...