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emptiness had only widened with the battle. Now, the thrill of battle spent, he simply wanted to be home.
    While the others secured the big house, he sat on the damp ground and sharpened his sword. Once the masters were subdued, Leinjar, Vishghu, the Tredjards, and the archers led the prisoners strong enough to march to the main camp where Crushaw waited. Molgheon remained behind to watch the older and feebler orcs who would be left at the plantation. After securing them to the porch, she sat beside Roskin and watched him run the blade along the whetstone.
    “You fought well,” she said. “Not much impresses me, but you have skill.”
    Roskin nodded his thanks.
    “But as the leader on this raid, I can’t ignore two things.”
    Roskin looked her in the eyes, and for just a moment, her expression melted from cold and distant to warm and almost motherly. He quickly looked away.
    “First, you were daydreaming when the orcs came out. You can’t lose focus like that. If they’d been a more dangerous lot, you guys would’ve been in trouble.”
    “I’m sorry,” Roskin said, flipping his sword to sharpen the other side. “I’ll do better.”
    “Second, you charged before Leinjar gave the signal. Again, if they’d been better, you might’ve been overwhelmed. Be more disciplined.”
    As heir to the throne, Roskin listened with amazement. He had rarely heard such forthright criticism. While his teachers had taught him well and had attempted to correct his poor behavior, their critiques had usually been gilded with praise, for none wanted to incite the ire of the king or the heir. At first, Roskin’s temper flared at her brazen speech, but instead of lambasting her in return, he held his tongue and let her words sink in. After a few minutes, he looked back at her, wanting to say something kind in return, but her face had already returned to its distant mask, shutting him out completely.
    ***
    Using the orcish he had known as a childhood slave, Crushaw spoke to the newly freed slaves, most of whom were, like him, slaves from birth. He explained the overall situation, how the makeshift army from the Slithsythe Plantation was marching towards the Pass of Hard Hope to enter the lands of the Marshwoggs. They would probably be met by a massive army and needed as many soldiers as possible to have any chance of victory. Any who wanted to join were free, he told them, but they would be bound to follow his leadership. Any who chose to follow the army but not fight would be bound to provide whatever hard labor was necessary to prepare for battle. Any who chose not to join them at all would be left at the plantation with the orc masters too feeble to travel.
    En masse, the freed slaves joined Crushaw and took an oath to do their part in reaching the Marshwoggs. Most wanted to battle, even those much too old and frail for warfare, and Crushaw had to force more than one to accept a more passive role. As a slave, Crushaw had seen slaves snitch on others and keep themselves under orcish rule out of fear and low self-esteem. He was both surprised and pleased by the spirit these people showed.
    At once, he put them to work. Another mobile forge was assembled, and new blacksmiths went to work refitting armor and weapons for the freed dwarves, elves, and humans. New archers joined the hunting party, and the daily drills became even more raucous.
    Over the next two weeks, the basic scenario of capturing the plantation was repeated ten times, and the number of freed slaves grew from just over a hundred to around fifteen hundred. The ones healthy enough to fight numbered nearly a thousand, and as the number got larger and larger, Crushaw’s leadership became more and more evident. When necessary, he delegated authority to Molgheon and Leinjar, who were his captains, and allowed them to handle small problems and maintain routine activities. But like any good leader, every major decision and each unusual endeavor was handled directly by Crushaw