So, Storwolos fallen. The enemy approaching. For if Storwolos’ forces had failed to eliminate them, so had Smrtan’s. But he, Borleg, would be ready, and prove the Dunlendings worthy of the aid of Saruman the Wise. If a few mutes belonging to Saruman’s service happened to die along the way, that could be chalked up to the misfortunes of war. It was the winning that was important. If death was unjust, so was life. So was the fact that Dunlending land was now in the hands of others. The time for peace was after victory. Let the strawheads put down their weapons and go, if they wanted peace ... or let them die. As long as Borleg no longer had to look on them, it mattered not.
Borleg tossed aside the bone of roasted goat leg he’d been sucking the last bits of meat from, wiped greasy hands on a creased tunic, belched, and stood. Striding to the midst of the encampment, he shouted to rally his fighting men. Making sure to turn his head so that none of the mutes could read his lips, Borleg began:
"Mighty Dunlending Warriors, I salute you. The forgoil approach. Storwolos lies viciously slain. Smrtan comes, but he won’t find us idle. We will set an ambush to greet the forgoil. Our orders come from Saruman the Wise. Observe, yes. But observe unseen. Then strike. For Storwolos! For Dunland!" As Borleg went into his battle cry, he made a salute in the Dunland fashion: Making a fist with his right hand, palm down, he beat his heart with a resounding tap and then lifted his fist high into the air.
A troupe of stalwart voices rang out echoing "For Storwolos! For Dunland!" and saluted in response.
"You there!" Borleg grabbed a scruffy man who was getting a little old for battle but had much talent with sign language. "Tell the mutes to stay and observe from here, as Saruman wishes. Tell them, the rest of us have much time to wait, with nothing happening, and so we go now to practice our fighting skills. Tell them, we will return soon." As the interpreter went off to do his leader’s bidding, Borleg smiled grimly. The mutes had camped here overnight, the crebain had only been sent today. The mutes could have no way of knowing what message had been sent. Borleg crumpled up the note, stuffed it down his shirt.
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