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himself.
    One noontime after the eleventh plantation had fallen, Crushaw called Vishghu and Roskin to his wagon. His ankle was healing well, and although it couldn’t quite bear weight, the elfish healer taking care of it was certain it would be fully healed within a couple of weeks. Even so, Crushaw knew that he wouldn’t be his most effective during the coming battle, so he wanted the ogre and dwarf to understand their roles.
    “Roskin, you’ll fight under Leinjar. I’m counting on you to serve him well.”
    The Kiredurk nodded, but his eyes showed his disappointment at not leading a unit.
    “Don’t take it personally, young master. You just lack battlefield experience. Soon, you’ll lead an entire army. Vishghu, you’ll fight near me, helping me hold the center. You’ll have to inspire the others to keep the line.”
    “You’re their inspiration,” Vishghu responded.
    “For now, but once we get to battle, they’ll need someone else.”
    “You’re the leader,” Roskin said. “They’ll fight and die for you.”
    “They want to fight for me today, but I haven’t forced them to march through the night yet. I haven’t made them dig trenches until their hands bleed and their backs ache. Then, we’ll see how badly they want to fight for me.”
    The dwarf and ogre were silent, each showing that they understood his point, and he gave them a brief overview of his plan. They would find suitable terrain that would squeeze the orcs into a narrow formation, one where they couldn’t overwhelm either flank by sheer volume. Then, while Crushaw, Vishghu, and the main force held the front line, Molgheon would use her archers to thin the interior of the orc ranks. Finally, Leinjar would lead a secondary force to the rear, hopefully cutting off any retreat. The two biggest obstacles to the plan were finding the right terrain and suckering the orcs into the disadvantage.
    “Now, I need the two of you to really put these new troops through their drills today. We don’t have much time to get them ready, so work them hard every day.”
    With that, Crushaw dismissed them and quickly ate his lunch of fresh deer and winter berries. There were many preparations to be made, and he had scarce time to have this group ready for battle. His mind swam with thoughts, and he tried to organize each task by priority. Foremost on his list was resuming the march, followed by scouting for good terrain to defend. His needs were so specific that he alone knew what to look for, so he would have to ride ahead, maybe with a couple of elves for protection, to find the right spot. His ankle felt much better, but he didn’t relish the idea of trying to control a horse with it. To prepare himself for the coming pain, he thought about the food troughs from his childhood, how the half-rotten food stank as they scooped it into their mouths by hand. With that image fresh in his mind, he could steel himself against the discomfort of his ankle.

Chapter 4
    The Storm Brews
    The first Ghaldeon blacksmiths had arrived in Dorkhun that morning, and already, King Kraganere had them at work fashioning weapons. Since the proclamation of war with the ogre clans, word had spread through the kingdom rapidly, and willing soldiers were traveling to the capital by the hundreds. The fervor of war had taken hold of the kingdom, and most of the citizens had been swept up by it, a madness that terrified Master Sondious.
    Almost overnight, dwarves who had been peaceful and studious became bloodthirsty and vengeful, especially as news of Roskin’s fate followed the words of war. Master Sondious had expected the Kiredurks to reject the king’s rush to war and Kraganere to realize his rashness before events progressed to actual battle. Now, after seeing the eagerness with which so many had embraced it, he expected a long, tedious campaign that would claim many lives.
    Nonetheless, he had remained in the king’s favor, offering advice that appeared on the surface to be