decay, the venom, the evil. The laughter of the maiden had become hysterical,
gibberish, smothering rage. Waves of chillbumps cascaded over poor William's shivering
body.
William inched backward toward sanctuary, choking, gasping, sobbing for deliverance.
Encircling him was the mist and the dreadful black pit. Moving with him, glowing in the
darkness, were the serpent's five heads. The maiden's screaming was so painful he had to
put his hands over his ears.
THE CHAIN LEASH SNAPPED. A hard, tightening force fastened onto his shoulder. A scream
started deep down in his throat.
“William, wake up!” The voice was loud, guttural. Snorting in terror, William Sweetwater
opened his eyes and stared up into the face of his friend, Sintk the Dwarf. William made
an oinking sound, wrenching himself out of slumber into a moment of confusion before
becoming oriented to reality.
William was sitting on a stool behind the polished bar of the Pig and Whistle. Sintk the
Dwarf leaned across the bar, his hand firmly gripping and shaking William's shoulder. The
dwarf was a muscular man, big in the shoulders, with a blunt, tanned, half-smiling face.
His light gray eyes reflected good humor. His thick brown hair had begun to thin on the
top. The dwarf and William had known each other since childhood; they shared a love of
good conversation and good ale.
“You must've been napping,” said Sintk, who was the cobbler in Port Balifor. “I came in
and heard you snorting like a-” The dwarf paused for dramatic effect “-boar being led to
slaughter.”
William blinked at the familiar surroundings of his beloved Pig and Whistle. The tavern
was a long, wide room with a long mahogany bar and heavy wooden stools.
Numerous tables and chairs were in the back of the room overlooking a small stage.
Everything in the Pig and Whistle was in a neat, carefully maintained condition. Woodwork
was oiled and polished, the brasswork shiny and free of tarnish. The walls and floors were
clean. The neatness of the room was an indication of William's respect and love for his
inn.
Except for Sintk and a couple of strangers at a far table, the bar was deserted. Port
Balifor had been an occupied town for several months-overrun by armies of the Highlords,
whose ships had sailed into the bay and disgorged the hideous draconians and hobgoblins.
The people of Port Balifor, who were mostly human and, like William Sweetwater, mostly
meek and cowardly, felt sorry for themselves. The occupation had come without warning.
Because of their geographical isolation, most of the citizens had little knowledge of the
outside world. They would have counted their blessings if they knew what was happening in
other parts of Ansalon.
Not that the Dragon Highlords were particularly interested in this easternmost territory.
The land was sparsely populated: a few poor scattered communities of humans like Port
Balifor and Kendermore, homeland of the kender. A flight of dragons could have leveled the
countryside, but the Dragon Highlords were concentrating their strength elsewhere. And as
long as ports such as Balifor remained open, the Highlords had use for the region.
Though business had improved at the Pig and Whistle with the arrival of the troops, the
presence of the motley soldiers had caused many of William's old customers to stay away.
The draconians and hobgoblins were well-paid, and strong drink was one of their
weaknesses. But William had opened the Pig and Whistle to enjoy the companionship of his
friends and neighbors. He disliked the repulsive draconian soldiers who snarled and fought
like animals once the alcohol had dulled their tiny brains. The hobgoblins were equally
obnoxious customers. They were self-centered and arrogant, trying to wheedle free drinks
for themselves and their cohorts.
So William had promptly raised the price of his drinks. The Pig and Whistle
gibberish, smothering rage. Waves of chillbumps cascaded over poor William's shivering
body.
William inched backward toward sanctuary, choking, gasping, sobbing for deliverance.
Encircling him was the mist and the dreadful black pit. Moving with him, glowing in the
darkness, were the serpent's five heads. The maiden's screaming was so painful he had to
put his hands over his ears.
THE CHAIN LEASH SNAPPED. A hard, tightening force fastened onto his shoulder. A scream
started deep down in his throat.
“William, wake up!” The voice was loud, guttural. Snorting in terror, William Sweetwater
opened his eyes and stared up into the face of his friend, Sintk the Dwarf. William made
an oinking sound, wrenching himself out of slumber into a moment of confusion before
becoming oriented to reality.
William was sitting on a stool behind the polished bar of the Pig and Whistle. Sintk the
Dwarf leaned across the bar, his hand firmly gripping and shaking William's shoulder. The
dwarf was a muscular man, big in the shoulders, with a blunt, tanned, half-smiling face.
His light gray eyes reflected good humor. His thick brown hair had begun to thin on the
top. The dwarf and William had known each other since childhood; they shared a love of
good conversation and good ale.
“You must've been napping,” said Sintk, who was the cobbler in Port Balifor. “I came in
and heard you snorting like a-” The dwarf paused for dramatic effect “-boar being led to
slaughter.”
William blinked at the familiar surroundings of his beloved Pig and Whistle. The tavern
was a long, wide room with a long mahogany bar and heavy wooden stools.
Numerous tables and chairs were in the back of the room overlooking a small stage.
Everything in the Pig and Whistle was in a neat, carefully maintained condition. Woodwork
was oiled and polished, the brasswork shiny and free of tarnish. The walls and floors were
clean. The neatness of the room was an indication of William's respect and love for his
inn.
Except for Sintk and a couple of strangers at a far table, the bar was deserted. Port
Balifor had been an occupied town for several months-overrun by armies of the Highlords,
whose ships had sailed into the bay and disgorged the hideous draconians and hobgoblins.
The people of Port Balifor, who were mostly human and, like William Sweetwater, mostly
meek and cowardly, felt sorry for themselves. The occupation had come without warning.
Because of their geographical isolation, most of the citizens had little knowledge of the
outside world. They would have counted their blessings if they knew what was happening in
other parts of Ansalon.
Not that the Dragon Highlords were particularly interested in this easternmost territory.
The land was sparsely populated: a few poor scattered communities of humans like Port
Balifor and Kendermore, homeland of the kender. A flight of dragons could have leveled the
countryside, but the Dragon Highlords were concentrating their strength elsewhere. And as
long as ports such as Balifor remained open, the Highlords had use for the region.
Though business had improved at the Pig and Whistle with the arrival of the troops, the
presence of the motley soldiers had caused many of William's old customers to stay away.
The draconians and hobgoblins were well-paid, and strong drink was one of their
weaknesses. But William had opened the Pig and Whistle to enjoy the companionship of his
friends and neighbors. He disliked the repulsive draconian soldiers who snarled and fought
like animals once the alcohol had dulled their tiny brains. The hobgoblins were equally
obnoxious customers. They were self-centered and arrogant, trying to wheedle free drinks
for themselves and their cohorts.
So William had promptly raised the price of his drinks. The Pig and Whistle
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