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stoves back in Thraag.” He snorted. “No good for eating, but good for cooking. Just be sure and shave their beards first. Smell bad burning. Awful bad.”
    “No one shaves my beard! And I’m not a lump of coal for baking loaves!” Pilpin charged. He hopped between two jabbing spears and brought his axe and mace around full circle.
    Whack! Chop!
    A gnoll barked out and fell to the ground. The soldiers piled on Pilpin, crushing him into the ground with their superior weight.
    Brenwar raised his hammer over his head.
    The knife-like spears licked out and cut his wrists. More spears pressed at his throat and neck.
    “Don’t even think about it, Dwarf,” the orc said. “Drop it, and we’ll let the little one live.”
    Gnolls had Pilpin’s arms locked behind his back and his feet kicking above the ground. A knife was on his throat.
    “Bring it down, Brenwar!” Pilpin said. “They’ll kill us anyway! Gorla Mon Chok! Gorla Mon Chok!” The words were dwarven. Death before surrender.
    Pilpin was young for a dwarf. Only a couple hundred years old. He didn’t understand the burden that Brenwar carried. That Brenwar had to survive, and that sometimes in order to survive, you had to surrender.
    Brenwar lowered his hammer and set it on the ground.
    “Brenwar?” Pilpin said, blinking.
    The soldiers chuckled.
    “Seems the dwarves are no longer stubborn as stumps in the ground, as they used to be,” the orc said with his nostrils flaring. “Like I said, they’re nothing but bearded halflings anymore.”
    “Why you―” Brenwar started.
    The butt of a spear clocked him in the back of the head.
    “Settle yourself, Dwarf. Else we cut the little one’s throat.”
    “Why don’t you anyway?” Pilpin said.
    “Because the dragons like their meals live and kicking. It does their bellies well.”
    Three six-legged bluu dragons crawled out of the flames of the ruined assembly building. A man in dark armor stood outside with a bright amulet on his neck, waving the dragons toward him. There was no sign of Nath. Brenwar felt his belly churn.
    “Hark!” the orc soldier yelled over to the man with the amulet. “We’ve dwarves! Shall we toss them in the fire or feed them to the dragons?”
    The man walked over, cutting through the ranks, and looked down on Brenwar. He wore the mark of an Overseer. His slung his greasy hair over his shoulder. He had a sharp nose, sagging chin and dark features.
    “My,” he said, “is this Brenwar Bolderguild?”
    “Yes!” Pilpin said, struggling. “And you better think twice if you think you can stop him.”
    “Well, if I can stop Nath Dragon, I’m pretty sure I can stop his friends.” He looked over at the orc commander. “Just kill them.”
    The orc pulled out a knife and said, “Can I keep his beard?”
    “You can keep his toes for all I care,” Overseer Dormus said, walking away. “Just get it over with. I need Nath Dragon’s bones recovered once this fire is out.”

    Gorlee stood alongside a storehouse nearby. He’d seen most of everything but not all. The soldiers had Brenwar and Pilpin surrounded but the roar of the fire drowned out their words.
    What to do? Think, Gorlee. Think!
    Gorlee was a chameleon. A gifted and powerful race. He could change himself to look like any of the races. He could even turn his skin into stone or metal. But he couldn’t always think of the right thing to do at the right time. He watched the dragons drag their tails out of the flames and begin to prowl around the building, with their great tails sweeping the muddy streets. He clutched his chest.
    Is Nath in there? Is that what they’re looking for? Is he buried in the timber and flames?
    An idea struck him. He changed form. Black scales and sharp claws formed over his hands.
    Nothing brave about being a fool and nothing foolish about being brave.
    He ran out into the streets, waving his scaly arms high. His red hair was blowing in the wind.
    “Here! Over here, dragons! Hah! Hah! Hah!”