She beamed at him gratefully. Then was stopped by his serious look.

"I am sending you there with an army," he said, straightening up, fractionally.

She blanched. "An army? But why?"

His responding words, though spoken grimly, and in a stern, commanding voice, bore the purposeful valour and promise of the storybook hero, that speaks universally to all people, young and old alike. To young Rhia's ears, his words were like the resounding call of trumpets. "I will strive to save your people from their fate, even should we be beset with a host of dragons and Demons."

She gazed at him in wonder a long moment, and blurted, before she could catch herself, "I wish I had a father like you!"

"Have you no father?" he asked her, though both knew this to be a statement, even as he uttered the words.

"My parents have been . . . they died a long time ago. I was raised by our neighbours. There are few in Hollind whose lives are . . . unscarred."

"Rhia," he said, sensing that the time was now right to begin asking questions, without intimidating her or making her feel as though she were being interrogated, "how is it the Demons have spoken to your people?"

"Well . . ." she said uncertainly, "it's just that, when the dragons and Demons ravage our farmlands, in the aftermath we find messages burnt into the earth."




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