[The X Phial]

Borgand watched as the rubble and mess was slowly extinguished and the clean up began. Fueled by anger, he had driven the surviving men of the settlement hard this morning. Maybe a bit too hard, he suddenly realised, watching the men stuggle with the roof they had just erected the day before. His anger gave way to despair, briefly. All these people, relying on him, and he had failed.

The ex-soldier clamped down his self-pity firmly, there would be time for mulling over his failings later. Borgand was a firm believer in work as the antidote to sorrow, and only wished his body would allow him to throw himself into the clean up physically as well as mentally. He had hauled water with the rest of them earlier, but could not do the heavy lifting required now.

Turning his back on the rubble, he slowly hobbled to the makeshift camp kitchen where the younger boys and walking wounded he had put in charge of making sure there was food while the women were away had already nearly finished preparing the noon meal. A message had been sent after the women, telling them they could return in a few days when the clean up was mostly complete and the problem of the hillmen would, hopefully, have been dealt with. In the meantime, it would be military camp conditions. He spoke his encouragement to the men there. None liked this duty, women's work, but he reminded them that each had comported himself bravely and that they were doing vital work even now.

He sent one of the youngest boys to run the village and announce time for a meal and a rest. Even fueled by their anger and hurt, the men would have to take a break soon. Borgand had no use for a soldier who drove himself blindly to exhaustion.

Sighing, he took a bowl of stew for himself and decided to walk the perimeter of the settlement once again. Despite his feelings about exhaustion in his men, he could not, himself, rest. Paranoia and a nagging sense of loss kept him from sitting still while the hillmen were still out there, free. For the hundredth time he wondered how things fared with Tane and the rangers and stifled his eager hope for their destruction. It was an unworthy thought, and he knew it. Hiding behind this idea of a trial lurked his darker need for revenge. A part of Borgand hoped he would not be in control of it by the time the rangers returned. The dominant part, however, knew that he would be haunted by his actions if he acted rashly. Maybe the missing leg was a good thing after all, he mused angrily, forcing him to come to grips with his fury before the next confrontation.

Borgand paced the camp, eyes and ears wide open. When he reached the southeast border he stopped. Something was on the horizon, and coming toward them slowly. He squinted at the figures, trying to quell the instant feelings of panic that arose in his throat. He could hear them but they seemed to be too far away for that...but...no..they were closer than he had thought, but shorter than he had expected. The dwarves! A sigh of relief escaped him and he was glad there was no one around to hear it. These were not enemies, but his own contracted workers returning. He glanced over his shoulder at the mess that was his village, wondering what the dwarves would have to say about the battle.

Standing tall and squaring his shoulders he called a greeting and waved. Maybe, with the right explanation, they would be willing to join his revenge. He knew, at least, that he could not allow them to get in his way.