They brought a litter for him in the coach, and the servants took care of everything. As they moved through the streets, the cheering grew louder and more insistent. He wondered why that was happening. He had never heard the people cheer Torm before. It made sense that they should cheer for him when he came back from the dead, but they hadn't cheered his victory over Drelm. And he had never killed anyone, not even the man who had tried to kill him and his family. He was surprised that they were cheering for him.

There was a lot of shouting and cheering as the carriage moved through the streets of the capital. Finally they came to their destination: the palace. His family was waiting on the steps for him. When he saw them, and realized they had been crying, he almost felt embarrassed, even though he knew there was nothing to be done about tears. A woman handed him back his sword belt. He took it and put it on, then dismounted and went to meet his family.

"Welcome home," his father said. "We're glad you're back." The woman beside him put an arm around his wife's shoulder, and they both hugged him.

He kissed his mother and his father. He had missed them very much. Then he kissed the woman beside his father, and she returned the kiss, holding him tight as tears ran down her cheeks.

"My daughter, my beautiful daughter," the woman beside his father said, holding him by the shoulders while she wept and kissed him. "I'm so happy to have you back."

He looked into his father's face. He couldn't believe that the last time he had seen his father there had been anger and disgust in the man's eyes. Now he was smiling broadly, tears running down his cheeks.

And then all the others were hugging him, all the servants, all the children. He wanted to hug them all, but he knew he couldn't, because there were many more people coming down the stairs. He turned to look.

All the city guards, all the army officers, all the generals were there. Even the king was there, dressed in his crown and robes. He was surrounded by advisors, ministers, and the captains of the palace guard, and all were bowing deeply as he walked onto the front steps.

Everyone waited respectfully while the King greeted each one of the generals and the captains of his guard and thanked them for their support. Some saluted him with swords, and he acknowledged them with nods. Once he finished greeting the generals, he looked over at Torm and grinned. "How about it? You think you're ready to take command, don't you?"

Torm could hardly believe his ears. Was the King asking him to lead the army against the demons now?

He looked at his parents. His mother and father were nodding and smiling. That was all the encouragement he needed to give a quick nod. Of course he was ready.

The King nodded in return. "All right, then. I'll leave you in charge of the army, and then we can get back to business."

"Yes," said Torm. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

King Urist gave another quick salute to the men assembled on the steps and left. The officers followed. They saluted him one more time, then bowed.

"Come, let's go inside," said his father. "It's cold out here."

When he entered the palace, the first thing he saw was the banners, the flags that flew from the walls. They had all been changed from the old design, now depicting Torm, and the Dragon. The new designs had already been put up all over the city, and he could see them flapping in the wind as the servants carried the litter through the main hall and into the audience chamber. Once they got to that room, his parents sat him down on a chair, while they stood before him. Everyone else left.

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"Father," he said. "I thought you might want to know that the soldiers are all ready and waiting to march. The people of Caithnard are ready to fight with us."

"Well, that's good news," said his father. "I'll go and tell the officers to get started."

"Father—I mean, King Urist—did I do the right thing? Did I follow the prophecy?"

His father looked at him with love in his eyes. "You did the best thing you could do. But don't ever forget: I still loved your mother more than anything else in my life. I always will."

"But what if…"

His father put a hand on his cheek. "Don't ever forget this: I will always help you, always stand by you, and always love you. No matter what happens. Always remember that."

"I promise," said Torm.

"All right. Now go and prepare yourself. We need to march."

Torm stood, and everyone applauded. He saluted his parents and left the room.

Once outside, it didn't take long to find General Pherris. There was a great commotion going on in the courtyard, and many people were running about. Some of his officers were there, as well as many other generals.

The general who was in charge of training the men was standing off to the side, watching his troops drill, and he came over when he saw Torm approaching.

"Are they ready?" asked Torm.

"As ready as we're ever going to be," Pherris replied. "They've done everything we've asked."

"Good. Let's march."

"March where?"

"Anywhere. I haven't decided yet. All I know is I need to be with the army."

Pherris glanced around, noticing the crowd of people that was growing steadily by the minute. "Where are we going to march that the people can follow us?"

Torm smiled. "That's easy," he said. "We just keep marching forward."

"What?"

"Come on. Let's march out of the castle and see how far we get before anyone tells us otherwise. And when they do, we'll just ignore them."

"Are you sure that'll work?"

Torm nodded. It was the last thing he'd tried, but it seemed like the most logical solution. At least it was better than trying to find a place to meet. "Besides," he added, "they've probably already seen the banners flying from the walls. They know we're here."

By the time the sun set, the army was out on the streets of the city. Every building Torm passed was lit up with candles and lanterns, giving off a warm glow that made the cold weather bearable.

There were so many people out on the streets, too. Everyone wanted to see the army as it marched through the city towards the castle. Some of them waved small flags or held lighted sparklers, while others threw small pieces of paper with verses written on them that the soldiers picked up as they went by. Some of the young women shouted flirtatious remarks at the soldiers in hopes of getting an autograph or a kiss. It was clear, however, that the men were not interested in anything other than the war.

The streets were packed with people, some following the army as it passed and others simply walking alongside and watching. In every direction Torm could see for a hundred miles there were more banners. They were hung from every rooftop, hung from windows and walls, and even on the sides of carts that followed the army. They were everywhere.

Finally, after marching through the whole city, Torm stopped the army and turned around. "Let's go back and start again," he said. "Everyone has to see these banners. Let's get them hung all over the country."

The soldiers cheered. They loved it. Some of them ran ahead, carrying their flags with them as they went back. Others jumped up onto buildings and started hanging them. Torm's men had been drilling all day, and the sight of the banners was enough to make each of them run faster and jump higher.

When Torm reached the edge of the city, he paused and looked around. To his right was the forest and to his left the open farmland. Ahead of him was the road that led to the castle; on both sides were fields full of corn and wheat. On the horizon, far beyond the farmland, were mountains. Beyond those, he guessed, were the lands controlled by the enemy—lands that belonged to the people who hated his father and the people who followed his father. There were a thousand reasons why his father might want him to stay in the city, but Torm only saw one reason why he should leave. He turned and walked away from the road.