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. Maybe I HAVE gone too far. . . .
Forcing a laugh, Palin lifted the mug. "To my
brothers?" he said huskily, and was pleased to see Tanin's
green eyes brighten and Sturm's face break into a broad
grin. Putting the mug to his lips, Palin took a drink of the
infamous brew known as dwarf spirits.
The taste wasn't bad. It was pleasant, in fact, a kind of
dark and earthy flavor that brought visions of the dwarves'
underground home of Thorbardin to his eyes. Rolling it on
his tongue, Palin nodded in pleased surprise and
swallowed. . . .
The young mage wondered suddenly if a fireball had
exploded in his head. Flames shot through his mouth. Fire
burst out his ears and nose, roared down his throat, and
seared his stomach. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't see.
He was going to die, he knew it ... any moment . . . here, in
this filthy, godforsaken tavern. .. .
Someone - Palin had the vague impression it was Sturm -
was pounding him on the back and, at last, he was able to
gasp for air.
"I do enjoy seeing a man enjoy his liquor," said Dougan
seriously. "My turn now. A drink to the young mage!"
Putting his mug to his lips, the dwarf tilted his head back
and drained it in one long swallow. When he reappeared,
his eyes were watery and his large, bulbous nose bright red
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