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funny.” He held one hand in front of his face. It was the one the spider had bitten. There was no skin or muscle, only bone. “Gah!”
    “Easy, Brenwar,” Nath said. “I can explain.”
    “I’m dead, aren’t I! You brought me back from the dead! Why did you do that? I deserve a proper burial. A grand tomb and plenty of rest!”
    “You aren’t dead, Brenwar. Again, let me explain.”
    Brenwar’s eyes studied his one hand beside the other. His left hand was just fine, filled with strong, stubby fingers. The other, his right, was pure bone with big knuckles. He opened and closed it. His eyes filled with astonishment. He tipped his head up toward Nath. “What did you do?”
    “Well,” Nath said, coughing a little, “I may have gotten the potions mixed up a bit. Or perhaps the application was wrong.” He made a remorseful face. “Seems I had you swallow what should have been applied, but it wasn’t easy, and there wasn’t much time. At least you live.”
    Brenwar’s hard eyes filled with surprise. His brows clenched up and down. His eyes fastened on his skeleton hand. He mumbled something.
    “What was that?” Nath asked.
    In a low voice, Brenwar said something again. In Dwarven.
    Nath’s dragon lips turned up. “If I’m not mistaken, I think you said, ‘like it.’”
    Brenwar’s eyes searched the area until they rested on War Hammer. He strolled over and picked it up with his skeleton hand. With a spark in his eye, he held it high in the air and said, “Wait until they see me in Morgdon! There’s not a single dwarf in the great hall with a wound like this. Har!”
    Taken aback a little, Nath said, “So you do like it?”
    “Like it?” Brenwar growled. “I love it!” He brought the weapon’s hammer-like head down, pulverizing some rocks. “Ah, the fear in the eyes that me and War Hammer will bring. Let’s go find some giants!”
    “Sure, but let’s eat first.” Nath eyed War Hammer. Handcrafted by Brenwar himself, it was a magnificent weapon. A hardened oak shaft hosting a burnished head of rune-marked steel. An axe head on one end and a mallet on the other. It was impressive, but something was missing. “You know, Brenwar, don’t you think it’s time that you gave War Hammer a real name?”
    “It has a name: War Hammer. Mrrummaah in Dwarven. It’s a fine name.”
    “I think that cleric of Barnabus was right. Something so exquisite needs a little more original name.”
    Brenwar scratched his head.
    “For example,” Nath continued. “It would be like me calling Fang Sword. Or you calling me Dragon. Er, well, bad example. Or me calling you Dwarf.”
    Brenwar’s brow furrowed. Creativity wasn’t part of his makeup. He found details such as the names of things mundane, not oft so important. Which was odd for a dwarf, because they had many sophisticated names. And some of them were almost as long as dragons’ names for things. “What do you suggest?”
    “Well, how about,” Nath drummed his claws on his chin, “Crusher. It crushes a lot of things, does it not? Is there a word for that in Dwarven?”
    “Hmmm, not really,” Brenwar said, raking his beard. His rigid lips formed a smile. “But I can make it work. Mortuun...” The word went on for hours.
    Finally, Nath said, “How about Mortuun for short?”
    Brenwar grunted. “Aye. Now that you’ve made me go and think on it, Mortuun it is. Mortuun the Crusher.”

 
     
    CHAPTER 8
     
     
    “Do you see anything interesting down there?” Nath yelled down through the portal he had opened. Brenwar had climbed in an hour ago. Now that he’d eaten, he had a bounce in his step and had been eager to head back down. “Brenwar?”
    Brenwar didn’t reply, but Nath could still hear him shuffling through the tomb. There was a lot of scraping of stone over stone and the sounds of stone being bashed in with Mortuun, but apparently Brenwar hadn’t found anything interesting.
    “Watch out for dragon-spider nests!” Nath yelled back