“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 how peaceful 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.
William withdrew the sword, expecting the jailer to fall. The burly draconian's clawed
hands grabbed the table for support and, with a low guttural cry, kicked out at William.
The innkeeper moved swiftly out of danger, then slashed his blade against his opponent's
throat. He tried to pull back his weapon, but the blade seemed stuck into gristle or bone.
“Quick!” snapped Sintk. “Pull it out! He'll turn to stone.”
William mustered all his strength with both hands on the hilt and pulled the sword free.
Green blood spurted out onto the draconian's tunic. A sidelong glance showed William that
the minotaur and Sintk had the other jailer on the floor. The dwarf's blade was buried
deep into the draconian's belly.
The draconians made feeble dying motions. William stepped over his victim and grabbed a
large ring of keys off a wooden peg on the wall.
“The prisoners are over here!” hissed the dwarf. “Come quick! Bring the keys.”
At the end of one of the corridors they found a large cell carved out of solid stone with
heavy metal bars and a large locked door.
Dozens of prisoners were crowded up against the front of the cell. Gaunt and skeletal,
ragged and hungry, they were the living dead, marked for torture or execution. Their
crimes had been petty: pickpocket-ing, insulting a draconian, trying to escape Port
Bali-for. Now they
stretched out raw, bony fingers, pleading for help. “Hurry, lads, hurry!” said Tom the
tailor, pushing to the
front. “Bless you,” husked another prisoner. “Shut up!” growled the minotaur. "You'll have
the whole
army down on us." Everyone was silent as William fumbled with the ring,
fitting one, then another of the large metal keys into the lock. Just as he began to think
none of the keys would fit, the heavy door swung free. William stepped back as the first
prisoner stepped out on wobbly legs into the smoky passageway.
Altogether, there were maybe fifty of them, lucky to be still alive. They bunched
together, pathetically, waiting for a command from William.
Old Tom the tailor squinted through the dimness at his masked rescuers. He pointed his
finger at William and raised his voice so the others could hear. “That's William of the
Pig and Whistle. He had the courage to help us. And Sintk the cobbler. And no one can
mistake Halum the minotaur over there.”
“Keep moving,” snapped Halum, “and save your jabber.”
The stone floor of the main guardroom was slippery with green blood from the dead
draconians. William almost slipped in the sticky blood, then righted himself and took the
lead. Pressing his fingers against his lips for silence, William started up the staircase.
Then he lurched to a halt. Directly above him, coming down, was Drago and three hobgoblin
lieutenants. They were armed with swords and battle-axes, which they waved ominously in
anticipation of blood-letting. Drago was eagerly walking ahead of his three wary pals. He
glared directly at William, but in his eyes was no recognition.
“Come on! Come on!” sneered Drago, his mouth twisted viciously. “We don't often have
visitors here. We would like to make your stay a memorable-and long-one.”
Hastily, William and the prisoner horde retreated backward into the central guardroom,
where they huddled at the bottom of the stairwell. They were trapped. Sintk raised his
weapon.
From above, William could hear the troops of the dragonarmy being roused into action. A
horn blew in the distance. The thud of heavy boots sounded on stone steps and corridors.
Doors slammed, shouts blared and echoed as troops came hurrying into the entry
room above. Harum motioned the others to stay back and crept up to stand by the door to
the guardroom, his back pressed against the wall.
The first to poke his head in through the doorway was the fierce, eager Drago. The captain
of the prison guards held his battle-axe at shoulder height, ready to strike out at anyone
who came into view.
As Drago reached the lower stairway, the mino-taur's arm shot out with a quick movement,
and his strong fingers fastened on Drago's neck. Harum's powerful arms propelled the
draconian brute across the room. Led by Sintk, the prisoners leaped on the draconian,
pummeling him with their bare hands. Sintk finished the brute with a swift dagger stroke.
Hearing nothing from their leader, the three hobgoblins hesitated on the stairs, then came
to an abrupt halt. The soldiers behind them were bottled up in the stairwell, but they too
were not anxious to enter the guardroom and face the aroused minotaur. But it would only
be a matter of time . . .
Meanwhile, William had noticed that the torches on the wall of the guardroom were
flickering-and always in the same direction and it wasn't coming from the door! Crawling
along the wall, he discovered a draft whistling around a huge block of stone. Pushing
against it, he found it opened into a dark passage.
“This way!” he yelled.
Everyone scrambled after him. The passageway was dark and spooky. Maintaining a fast pace,
William led them for several hundred yards, until he saw a silver fingernail of moonlight.
He gestured for them to pull up.
William crept up to a barred outlet that looked out onto a moonlit landscape. The tunnel
exit was near the sea and the wind was directed into the tunnel by a curving stone sea
wall. Across the flat plain could be seen the winking lights of Port Balifor, no more than
half a mile in the distance.
Unfortunately, their escape was barred by a heavy metal grating that covered the end of
the tunnel.
“We're trapped,” said Sintk. Tom the tailor began to moan. “They're following,” warned a
kender among the prisoners. The
firm voice of the commander could be heard ordering his troops into the tunnels.
“Let me see those bars,” said Harum, pushing forward.
The minotaur came up alongside William, and his massive hands began to test the metal
barrier. Finally he said, “Stand back.”
Harum placed his shoulder against one side of the bars. The moonlight gave a thin, gray
cast to the top of the minotaur's face. Then, he sucked in a deep breath through his mask.
Harum's shoulder put mighty pressure on the bars. He grunted and strained to tear the
metal away from the stone sockets. Once, twice, Harum threw every ounce of his strength
against the barrier.
“They're coming this way!” cried Sintk.
Everyone looked back and saw the flare of torches moving into the tunnel.
“To the rear!” exclaimed William bravely to Sintk. He took the dwarf's arm, and they
pressed through the prisoners, swords ready for defense.
Now, the minotaur tried the other side of the bars. They were also unyielding. He made
several mighty lunges and, once, the metal bent-but still remained fast in the stone.
Exasperated, the minotaur told everyone to get back. “Give me some running room,” he spat.
Harum ran back through the tunnel, stopping within sight of the forward line of searching
troops. The soldiers sent up a mighty roar of yells and curses. Unmindful of them, Harum
El-Halop dropped down into a sprinter's position. Giving of roar of his own, he ran
forward, gaining speed with each step. Then, just before he reached the iron barrier,
Harum twisted his body and leaped into the air. He flew backward and struck the bars with
a sickening thud.
The bars gave a metallic screech and jerked loose from their sockets in the walls.
Everyone cheered as the barrier fell out onto the ground. Harum went rolling across the
ground, kicking up dust in the pale moonlight. He came up on his feet with a snort.
“Get the bars back in place,” William yelled as the fleeing prisoners streamed out of the
tunnel.
Sintk led the others in raising the bars, while William and the minotaur raced to grab the
end of a large piece of old timber. Everyone helped to wedge the timber so it would hold
the bars tight.
Seconds later, the dragonarmy troops came rushing up to the barred exit. They howled and
roared, pounding against the bars, as the companions sped off into the night.