"It was a gift from someone special," said William.
Sintk the Dwarf chimed in. "William thinks the coin has magical powers."
The minotaur cocked his head and held the coin up to the light of an oil lamp on the wall. "What does it do?"
"It helps my mind go off to other places." William was pleased that the minotaur had not ridiculed his beliefs about the coin.
Harum asked, "You mean soul-travel?"
William looked startled. "What's that?"
Harum grinned. "Back home, I was given a sentence of supreme shunning. Solitary confinement without contact with anyone. You can't imagine the terrible loneliness. You get crazed from the need for companionship. My mind was becoming quirky and dull, un til I taught myself to take mental trips. Flights of the imagination. It helped me keep my sanity."
Sintk asked dubiously, "This was all in your mind?"
"Who knows for sure?" The minotaur shrugged his thick shoulders. "But if you can escape this life now and then with such a magic coin, then you are a lucky man, William."
William beamed. "I told you it was magic," he said to Sintk.
Just then, a shout came from the far end of the bar. One man slammed down his tankard, then drove a fist into the stomach of a loud, argumentative drinking companion. The unexpected blow knocked the loudmouth backward; he crashed into the table where the half-elves were sitting. Their table was upended against the wall.
With wine coursing through their veins, the half-elves leaped up to defend themselves. One fell over the slumbering hobgoblin; another was knocked down by a long-bearded dwarf. The hobgoblin on the floor roused himself, opened his eyes, and rose to a sitting position. A booted foot slammed into his head; he promptly lapsed back into an unconscious state.
Customers rushed from every side of the Missionary's Downfall for a better view of the ruckus. Another half-elf stumbled into a human, who slugged the offender on the chin. Within moments, most of the tavern's patrons were throwing punches, kicking, biting, howling, and exchanging blows in a loud and violent manner.
"Pardon me," growled the minotaur. He handed the coin to William, walked over, and grabbed a half-elf by the neck and trousers. He heaved the elf against a wall of the tavern. Then, Harum grasped the end of a beard and propelled a screaming dwarf into the wall.
William's terror was mixed with awe of Harum.
"Let's get out of here," he said in a quavering voice. "You go" The dwarf was rubbing his hands in glee. "I've never been to a wall-banging before." Sintk dashed into the fight. William pocketed the coin and dashed for the door.
William was sitting behind the bar of the Pig and Whistle. He had been alone most of the evening, turning the coin over and over in his hand. He was thinking about Old Tom the tailor, and howpeaceful and carefree life had been before the draconians had over run Port Balifor. The coin shone in the lamplight as William pondered it. It IS an unusual and beautiful coin after all, thought William.
"William… come quickly!"
The voice was a whispered hiss followed by a light, discreet knocking on the back door of the inn.
He got off his bartender's stool, picked up an oil lamp, and walked to the back of the inn. He unfastened the latch on the door, opened it, and noticed shadowy forms in the gloomy darkness. William stepped back as Sintk and Harum El-Halop entered the room. They stank of too much ale.
"We're going to rescue Tom," said Sintk with unaccustomed fervor. "You'll go with us, won't you?"
"You are drunk," said William.
"We have been drinking," said the minotaur, "but we are not drunk. There is a difference, which you, as a tavern owner, ought to know."
William considered this. "What is your plan?"
"Not much of one," admitted the minotaur.
But he looked at the faces of Sintk and Harum, and decided they were serious. He held the coin very tightly in his hand.
Well, why not?
"I've got a mask and sword for you." The minotaur opened a small cloth bag and pulled out a long piece of black cloth.
William took the short, curved sword and scabbard offered by the minotaur, tied the belt around his waist and the mask around his head. He was feeling… positively… different. He gazed proudly at his reflection in the curved glass behind the bar and thought to himself, William Sweetwater, you do not need any magic coins to be a hero tonight.
The town was dark and quiet as the three companions slipped out the back door of the Pig and Whistle. Noiselessly, they moved through the back lanes of Port Balifor. They halted on the outskirts of town. Moonlight outlined the dark stone castle a short distance away on the flat plain. There was a grotesque, evil eeriness about the ancient structure. The castle had been abandoned for as long as anyone in Port Balifor could remember.
The companions crept closer to the castle without seeing a single sentry. The draconians were too arrogant; they could not anticipate that anyone would dare storm their fortress. The only light came through a partly open gate leading to the inside of the perimeter. The courtyard was dimly lit by a torch that burned low and cast a glow on a guard sprawled sleeping inside the gate.
"We're lucky," Harum whispered. "They're careless. Stay here. I'll take care of the guard."
The minotaur moved carefully onto a small wooden bridge that spanned the moat. He tested each plank to be certain the old wood did not squeak. Then, Harum entered the courtyard and crept silently into the shadows. Next, the minotaur pulled a strangling rope from his trousers. The short rope had a wooden peg on each end. The strangling rope stretched tautly between thick hands, the minotaur moved close and tapped the guard s arm with his toe.
The guard awakened instantly, fumbling for the sword in its scabbard. The minotaur dropped the rope around the draconian's neck, then wrapped the pegs into a strangler's knot.
The guard clawed at its throat, making tiny strangled gasps. Its mouth went wide open to suck air into its lungs. Its head twisted to and fro, then Harum's heavy boot smashed into the sentry's midsection.
The guard went down on its face. The minotaur looked on without emotion as the draconian died. Then, he motioned for William and Sintk to join him.
William held tightly to the coin as they crossed the bridge. They moved rapidly past the guard, through the courtyard, and then up three massive flights of stone steps at the castle entrance. William pulled on the iron handle of a massive black door, which opened with a loud squeaking sound. His heart was racing, his head pounding with excitement. Emboldened, he drew his sword as he went through the portals, ready for whatever was inside.
They entered an empty room at least fifty paces square, a cold and uninviting area barren of furniture or other decorations. The walls and floor were stone. The room was ill-lit by torches resting in metal holders fastened to the smoke-smeared marble walls. A maze of corridors branched off from this entryroom. The companions moved swiftly and quietly, searching for a stairway leading down into the dungeon.
William discovered a set of stone steps winding down into the bowels of the castle. He made a tiny oinking sound to alert his friends. Sintk and Harum hurried to his side. William grabbed a torch and led the way down the narrow passageway.
The stairs led to a central guardroom that was brightly lit by several flickering torches. Two draconians sat at a battered old table playing a game of blackjack. The two jailers did not look up until William's shadow fell over the cards.
"Who in the Abyss are you?" growled the nearest jailer. It dropped its cards and grabbed the hilt of its sword. The other jailer started to rise out of its chair.
William threw his torch on the floor. He grasped his sword with both hands and rammed the blade deep into the draconian's chest. The ease with which the steel pierced flesh and bone amazed William.