William. Her eyes grew bold and harsh and glitteringly metallic-like. Reflected in them was a pathetic, shrinking William and the deepening fog and mist.
In general she stinks, thought William, as the maiden drew closer. Perhaps she ought to consider bathing or perfuming.
The maiden had set down the quill pen and now her fingers were closing around her staff. As she spoke again, William remembered thinking how suddenly her face had become distorted and grotesque, how loud and grating her voice had become, like..
like metal scraping against the sea bottom.
'So, my dear Pig William,' she remarked, edging forward, 'in other words, you have no relatives, no mate, and nobody fool enough to grieve for you when you are… gone!'
Her voice broke into harsh, strangled laughter which rose in deafening volume. The monstrous five-headed serpent, thrashing at its leash, dove to within an arm's-length of William's face. All five death-heads bared their fangs and slithered closer. William could smell the 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 was three times more expensive than any other inn in Port Balifor. He also watered the ale. As a result, his bar was mostly deserted except for his old friends and the odd traveler, and, once again, William enjoyed being an innkeeper.
Sintk waved a hand in front of William's piggy face.
'Are you dozing off again?' he asked. 'William, I realize sleep is a good way of forgetting about draconians and those nasty hobgoblins. But, sad it is, a person wakes up and those sculpin arestill prowling about town, snooping in everyone's business and act ing like they belong here. Which, as a matter of fact, they don't, and I would be the first to say so, if I were so bold. Now, do you feel like yourself, or should I run to the herbalist's shop for a potion?'
William shook his head vigorously to expel the list-lessness in his mind. 'I'm fine.'
'What happened?' The dwarf looked suspicious.
'Business was slow. I fell asleep.'
'You must have been daydreaming,' the dwarf said. 'You were sleeping when I came in for my afternoon pint. You were heaving and snorting like a man possessed by demons.'
'I have seen demons and all sorts of things.' William opened his hand. A large oval coin was lying in his palm. The polished metal disc glistened in the light. 'Remember that coin the Red Wizard used for his tricks?'
'Raistlin?' Sintk looked surprised. 'I trust that faker and his gang of misfits aren't back in town. And I hope you're not going to start up with that magic coin business again…'
'But there IS something magical about it,' William insisted. 'I traveled from here and had a… a… strange encounter with a beautiful maiden and a fearsome beast. I journeyed through a mysterious fog and almost fell into a black pit containing demons, snakes, ghouls, and all sorts of bad things.'
'Things get confused when you are daydreaming,' said Sintk. 'But being you're yourself again and not grunting like a boar, I'll have a nice tankard of your finest brew.'
'It wasn't a dream,' William said sulkily. 'It felt more like it was reality and this… this… is only the shadow of what my life could be.'
William drew two tankards of ale and set them across from his friend, Sintk. Then he launched into a detailed account of his daydream-er, vision-while Sintk, parched with thirst, diligently quaffed both tankards. But it was William's story, which was vaguely familiar, that had Sintk yawning presently, not the ale, which was delicious.
'Oh,' Sintk rubbed his lips with the back of his hand at a pause in the recounting, 'what's that about a black pit?'
'The abyss at the end of the universe,' replied William.
'Oh, that black pit,' said the dwarf. 'I should have known.' He gazed fondly at the row of tankards behind the bar and licked his lips. 'You're barmy.'
Sighing, William got up from his stool and drew two more tankards of ale.
'I wasn't daydreaming,' he declared, setting the drinks on the bar. 'Look, touch the coin. It became hot in my hand. Like it was pulsating with life.' He held out the large round coin-which truth to tell, looked quite ordinary, resting there in his palm.
'Body heat,' said Sintk, wearily. 'The coin is nothing. A piece of cast metal.'
'Magic!' insisted William.
'Is not,' said Sintk.
'Is!' said William, most uncharacteristically raising his voice.
'Why don't you let me be the judge?' said a surly voice behind them.
William and Sintk whirled to see the fiendish countenance of a barrel-chested draconian in smelly armor. It was Drago, captain of the prison guards, who, despised and friendless even among his fellow dracon-ians, took an occasional meal and tankard alone in the Pig and Whistle. The fact that his presence was so repugnant to William
