Thistle stroked the feather brooch, causing the sky to flash as if with heat lightning. Something hissed in the darkness behind her, and Thistle turned around slowly, more curious than startled.
Dragonbait stepped out of the shadow of the tower battlement. He had been hiding there since Thistle and Victor had arrived at the castle. He had seen how Victor had played on Thistle’s affections and had watched as she had demonstrated how to use the feather brooch to reach Verovan’s hold. Thistle had arrived with Victor giddy and carefree, but now she was solemn and melancholy. The saurial hoped that meant he could now convince her to come away from the tower—for he was growing nervous for her safety—for the safety of all of Westgate.
Each time Thistle stroked the feather brooch, cracking open the portal, the paladin’s shen sight sensed a bolt of lightning and went momentarily blind, leaving him with a stabbing pain in the back of his head and a throbbing sensation in his teeth. His shen sight was being overloaded by some great evil that lay beyond the portal—within Verovan’s hoard. Whatever it was, Dragonbait did not want to risk its release over the city.
The paladin motioned for Thistle to come away from the battlement and go with him down the tower stairs.
“I can’t,” Thistle replied. “I promised Victor that I would wait here for his return.”
Dragonbait made the sign for danger in the thieves’ hand cant.
“I know all about the dangers,” the girl said. “Grandmother first told me the tale of Verovan’s hoard when I was six, just in case she died suddenly and I became the keeper of the key.”
Thistle turned away to look over the tower battlement as she explained the history of the key to the paladin. “King Verovan’s greed is legend,” she said. “He was so obsessed with hanging on to his treasure that he exchanged a piece of his soul with a lord of the Abyss to create a planar pocket to hold his treasure hoard. When Verovan died, the lord of the Abyss ordered his minions to loot the king’s hoard. Their lord gave them the piece of Verovan’s soul encased in amber so they could use it with the key to open the portal.
“My grandmother’s grandfather, Gen, was the king’s third cousin. Gen was an adventurer, a paladin, like you. Luckily, he was in Westgate when Verovan died. He sensed the evil things swarming to the royal castle and followed them. He waited until they had opened the portal and had rushed inside. The minions of the Abyss left the key and the piece of Verovan’s soul on the battlement with a single guard, a true tanar’ri. Gen battled the tanar’ri and destroyed it. Then he smashed the amber, freeing the piece of his cousin Verovan’s soul, but the piece of soul flew to what it loved most—the treasure. Once the soul was separated from the key, the portal closed. Gen fashioned the key into a brooch, hiding it in plain sight, making a green feather the trading badge of our family’s house.”
Dragonbait shook his head at the girl’s foolishness. If her ancestor had seen fit to leave the portal closed, why couldn’t she do likewise. A lifetime of city dwelling, even in so dangerous a city as Westgate, had left Thistle innocent of the greater powers of evil.
“Grandmother warned that the treasure might not be worth the price to be paid for opening the portal, but I believe Victor should have the treasure. He will do good things with it,” Thistle insisted.
Dragonbait shook his head again and wished this girl understood Saurial, so that he could lecture her on Victor Dhostar. He considered dragging her from the tower, but with the battle raging downstairs, the noblewoman was probably safer up here.
Thistle stroked the feather brooch again, releasing a streak of light from the portal and delivering another momentarily blinding blow to the paladin’s shen sight. The saurial snatched Thistle’s hand and pulled it away from the brooch.
The girl looked puzzled. She hadn’t a clue as to the source of the paladin’s anxiety.
There was nothing left to do, Dragonbait realized, but guard Thistle until Alias came to the roof. The swordswoman could tell Thistle about Victor’s crimes. He leaned back against the battlement and waited patiently.
The paladin was taken unawares by the sudden appearance of Victor Dhostar. The nobleman manifested on the roof with some magical spell. His robes were torn, and he was bruised and bleeding.
Catching sight of him, Thistle ran to his side before Dragonbait could hold her back. “Victor, you’re hurt!” the girl exclaimed. “What happened?” she asked as she tenderly touched a bruise on his face.
“There’s a battle going on downstairs,” the nobleman explained. “Night Masks and Durgar’s men. Kimbel has framed me. You must open the portal so I can hide from my enemies.”
“Victor, you did not give me a chance to explain fully before. There are evil things trapped inside with Verovan’s treasure.”
“Thistle, there are evil things in the castle down below, coming after me. If you loved me, you would not argue. Now open the bloody portal!”
Dragonbait stepped forward and hissed, but Victor had grabbed Thistle by the waist and aimed a dagger at her belly. “Don’t try anything foolish, lizardman,” the nobleman said. “Open the portal, Thistle, quickly.”
Thistle’s face colored with anger, and for a moment Dragonbait thought she might argue with Victor. The moment passed. Thistle collected what was left of her dignity. Giving the nobleman a chill look of disdain, she touched her hand to her brooch. Light spilled out on the tower as the portal grew. A crystal bridge, as dark as the sky, arced over the battlement.
Victor clasped his hand about Thistle’s so that she could not remove it from the brooch. “You first,” the nobleman ordered Dragonbait.
The paladin looked aghast at the portal. The waves of evil spilling out sickened him, but now he sensed something worse. Hunger. Something within Verovan’s hoard was eager to devour whatever came its way.
“Move it!” Victor screamed, poking his dagger into Thistle’s side until she whimpered. “I haven’t got anything to lose by killing her,” he snarled.
Dragonbait climbed up the bridge and made his way toward the portal. Victor followed, dragging Thistle after him. Just as he reached the other side of the bridge, the paladin drew his sword. He was not going to be devoured without a fight. Victor did not seem to object. The nobleman’s eyes had the look of frightened prey, and his mind seemed to be occupied with other thoughts.
Alias dashed up the stairs three at a time and burst out on the roof of the tower just in time to see Victor pull Thistle into a magical portal hanging in the sky beside the tower. The swordswoman leaped up on the battlement and stepped onto the bridge leading to the portal. At that moment the bridge began to retract, knocking Alias from her feet. She grabbed hold of the end of the bridge and hung on for dear life, knowing better than to look at the ground hundreds of feet down.
When the end of the bridge came within a yard of the portal, Alias swung herself backward into the planar pocket with only moments to spare before the bridge vanished. The portal snapped shut behind her tumbling form.
The swordswoman gasped and choked as she breathed in the mists drifting along the floor. The vapors shone with a yellow radiance and smelled like sulfur. They swirled so thickly, they obscured the floor. Alias could see no walls, and overhead there was only darkness.
A few feet away, Dragonbait stood as alert as a hunting cat. The tip of his tail and the tip of his sword twitched in nervous apprehension. Alias noticed that the mists, which swirled about her legs, seemed to swerve away from the paladin.