Sweetwater and his friends made it all the more pleasurable to Drago.
William remembered too late to close his fist around the magic coin, for it was suddenly gone. Drago held it aloft in his scaly paw, leering. 'A magic coin, is it?' he barked to nobody in particular, for there were only a couple of other customers and they were studiously avoiding his gaze. 'It looks like a beggar's token to me,' he said. Drago bit down on the coin with his yellow, mucousy teeth.
Pale with shame, William was staring at his shoes.
'That's right,' said Sintk weakly. 'It's just a common, worthless…' His voice trailed off. His eyes, too, were lowered.
Drago was rubbing the coin against one of his grease-stained sleeves. 'I wish… I wish…' he uttered grandly, 'I wish I had a one-year vacation from stinking Port Balifor, and two wives to shine my boots, and… and… a mountain of gold coins to last a lifetime of ale and mutton.'
Everybody in the Pig and Whistle looked up just a little bit, hoping maybe the coin truly was magic. Drago might have his wishes granted, and disappear.
'Bah!' snorted Drago. He reached across the bar and grabbed William by the collar, squeezing until the innkeeper turned pink.
'It was given to him by Raistlin the mage!' blurted Sintk.
Drago squeezed harder.
'He was a faker,' gulped William, gasping for breath. 'But I am worse. A fool. I took the coin as payment in kind, because I believed him when he told me it was magic, but it is… nought. You may…' He stared directly into Drago's blazing eyes. 'You may have it, my friend.'
'Bah!' said Drago, and let William go. With a flick of his hand, he sent the coin spinning across the bar. Around and around it spun, sending off glints of light. William grabbed for it and clasped it dearly, feeling its warmth. But Drago had already turned away and settled his bulk at a table.
'Bring me ale and the usual rotten stew!' shouted Drago, without a backward glance. 'And be quick about it. Pig-face!'
William bustled about fulfilling Drago's edict, while Sintk unhappily drained two more tankards.
Later, as the sun was setting, William locked up the Pig and Whistle. It was not unusual for the innkeeper to close early these days. Few honest wayfarers visited Port Balifor. The ominous presence of the Highlords' troops made everyone uneasy.
Besides, William liked to spend the sunset hour walking with Sintk along the harbor. The stroll was the highlight of his day. This particular evening was warm. The sky was cloudless and a light breeze blew in from the bay. The dimming light had that peculiar quality found only in twilight time along the seacoast.
As William and Sintk walked along a street that led to the harbor, they were surprised to see a large sailing vessel tied up at the pier. They stood in the center of the street, looking down toward the wharf, as dracon-ian troops crowded the deck of the unfamiliar ship.
'A supply ship?' asked Sintk.
William shook his head. 'Their regular ship was here last week. This must be the patrol boat I heard about. The Highlords are upset because so many citizens are deserting the town and fleeing to the hills.'
Draconian crewmen were moving swiftly across the deck of the ship. Then, a door opened and several humans were shoved out of a cabin. The prisoners were linked together with leg chains. Their hands were manacled. They huddled together as the troops pushed them toward the gangplank, which was lowered to the wharf. Several heavily armed draconian guards under the command of a hobgoblin officer waited on the wharf.
Sintk whispered, 'Look, the old man in the back. That's Thomas the tailor. Why would Old Tom be in chains? He's a good tailor who wouldn't harm a bug.'
Clawed feet on cobblestones sounded behind the two friends. William looked back and saw a group of draconians marching down the street. William and Sintk kept their eyes to the ground. They walked to the front of the Missionary's Downfall, a waterfront bar with a garish facade, where they sat down on a weathered bench in front of the establishment. The tavern was the most notorious dive in eastern Ansa-lon, not a respectable place like the Pig and Whistle.
They watched as the prisoners shuffled down the gangplank. Faces bruised, shoulders slumped, the manacled men and women moved with a listless step. They were ordered about by a muscular draconian, who carried a short, metal-tipped whip.
Their thoughts were interrupted by a loud creaking noise behind them. A moment later, Harum El-HaIup stepped out of the Missionary's Downfall. The mino-taur was owner of the tavern, a rugged individual with a bestial face, a massive chest, thick arms and legs.
A fugitive from a sentence of death in his minotaur homeland, Harum El-Halop had found sanctuary in Port Balifor. He had quick wits, fighting ability, and the nerve of someone with nothing to lose. He had quickly gained a reputation as the toughest fighter on the brawling waterfront.
A high-stakes gambler, the minotaur had won the Missionary's Downfall in a card game with the previous owner. Nowadays the tavern was patronized by thieves, cut-throats, and troops from the dragonarmy. It was also the favorite drinking spot for off-duty hobgoblins, who stole supplies from the quartermaster and exchanged the contraband for drinks.
'Why is Thomas being held prisoner?' William asked the minotaur, who stood there, observing the scene with them.
'I told them the plan wouldn't work,' sneered Harum. His bestial face looked horrible in the shadowed light. 'Thomas and the others wanted to escape by sea. They paid a hobgoblin to steal a boat for them to use at dawn. But hobgoblins are informers, and this one was a low-life who plays everyone off the dragon-army. As soon as the boat was launched, the hobgoblin made his report to the draconians.'
William protested. 'But Thomas is an honest man. He is no thief.'
'He was on the boat,' said the minotaur. 'Likely he'll end up in the dungeons with the others. The drag- onarmy can't allow people to come and go as they please, without permission. Bad for their reputation. Old Tom knew that.' The minotaur made a clucking sound with his tongue. 'Thomas will be lucky to last a month in that slime pit under the castle.'
William shuddered. He had heard tales of the torture of prisoners in the dungeon. Knowing Drago's cruelty as he did, he didn't find the tales hard to believe. Poor Tom. He had always been a good friend to everyone in Port Balifor.
Sintk asked in a forlorn tone, 'What can we do?'
'Meat for the dungeon,' replied Harum. 'Stay out of it.'
William looked down, ashamed. If only he had the courage… if only he had some idea of how to fight back… if only…
'Now, William,' said Harum, 'what the people of Balifor need is a leader. Someone to lead a rebellion against these creatures. You're liked and respected. People will do what you ask of them.'
Harum's ugly face took on a quizzical look, and William had the idea he was burrowing into his private thoughts. Or was he teasing him?
'Why don't you do it?' William asked the minotaur, thinking, if he were as big and strong as Harum, certainly he'd have little hesitation.
'Oh, I am not a native of Port Balifor,' Harum replied nonchalantly, 'and I am not sure I care so very much. And people know I serve thieves and scoundrels at the Missionary's Downfall, so they would suspect my motivation. Also, I am a fugitive from my own kind, and people don't follow leaders with such flaws. But they would stand behind someone like you, someone responsible and upstanding. You would have their trust.'
'I couldn't do it.' William felt weak. He didn't want to look at the minotaur. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the harbor.
The prisoners were being marched off the wharf by the troops and the hobgoblin officer. The last prisoner in the coffle was the tailor, a gray-haired, elderly man with a wrinkled face. His eyes were dull with fatigue. Thin and tall, about six feet in height, thetailor had stooped shoulders from years of leaning over his nee dles.
The guards may have been careless, for the leg irons around Old Tom's ankles were loose.
Suddenly, without attracting attention, the tailor stepped out of the leg irons and bolted from the shuffling line of prisoners. His escape would have been successful, if he had not stumbled over a rope and fallen to his
