Despite their short stature, there was a brute solidity about them, their large, thick-fingered hands those of stonecutters and labourers, their tough, weathered skin that of a people toughened by the elements. To a man they were thick-bearded, big-boned, and tough and muscular as old oak.
Nylandor spoke awhile with their leader, and returned to the company. "They number some two-thousands," he said for the benefit of those riding in his company. "Many more are coming."
"That is glad tidings indeed!" said Julina.
"So many!" breathed Rhia. "Why, only twice that many live in all Hollind."
Nylandor smiled wryly at that. "Many times many more we will be sending north and east to meet the enemy. Yet even they will not be enough."
"But this is what happened to my people centuries ago!" said Rhia, appalled that such might would not suffice. "What hope can there be?"
"Morlock and the Demon King were cast down before," Nylandor reminded her. "We do not know how this was accomplished, but some suspect they wrought ruin upon each other after conquering the known world. And it is a hopeful sign for us that there are signs of unrest between our two ancient foemen once again. Their mutual enmity may yet work to our advantage.
"My own opinion where the fate of ancient Morag is concerned, is that, in the minds of both Morlock and the Demon King, for either to successfully prevail, we must first be dealt with. This means that both must be and remain equally committed to our ruin, in order to preserve as much of their main strength as possible for the final confrontation."