by Nic Weissman
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It was almost noon and Vargarr was infuriated. During the night and the hours of that day they hadn't seen a sign of a single orc. He had sent a few scouts to visit the border posts and they were expected to return at any time before noon. He tried not to worry. Perhaps it was only a short delay.
He had just returned from a brief visit to the tower where Urlabus had assured and reassured him that the orb was certainly active and pointing in the right direction. With this information, but not much more tranquil, Vargarr had gone back to the front trying to be patient. The situation made him uneasy. Perhaps the orcs were more distant from the border than they expected; it may take them longer to get there than they thought. Or maybe something was wrong, badly wrong.
The direct subordinates of the major knew that he was in a bad mood and tried to avoid him as much as possible. Vargarr couldn't find a place to calm down and went back and forth between the command tent and different positions on the hill. Finally, he could see in the distance the first of the messengers coming back from the northeast, followed shortly by the other messenger that was distinguished farther to the northwest.
When they reached the top of the hill they went to him directly and told him the news of the border. None of the posts had been attacked; they hadn't even seen any enemy trying to cross the river. This was unheard of! His plan was starting to water. He returned to the command tent without a word, opened a bottle of his best brandy and poured a long drink. He drank. He should calm down. They still had time and things may change at any moment. He decided to sit and wait.