The Magic Of Krynn

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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

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