Images of her youth flashed through her mind, suddenly replaced with the sights and sounds of ancient Angragar. She remembered her first journey into the Sakova with her friends Syman and Antello, who had grown to become full-fledged Sakovans. Visions of her entire life passed through her head, but her thoughts always returned to Marak. No matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind and concentrate on other things, his smiling face always ended up stuck in her mind.

“You are going to wear those boots out,” came a friendly voice from the shadow. “Can’t sleep?”

“Uncle Temiker,” smiled Lyra. “I guess there is too much on my mind to sleep this night.”

“Uncle?” chuckled the old mage. “I haven’t been called that in a while. I thought you would be thinking about the coming battle, but it sounds like your mind is in the past. What is bothering you?”

“I’m not sure,” Lyra admitted. “My mind has been wandering all night, but it always comes back to Marak.”

“You like him a lot, don’t you?” asked Temiker.

“I love him,” smiled Lyra, “but that hardly matters. It is a love that can never be. Perhaps if we had met in another place or another time, we would have a happy life together, but this war will tear us apart.”

“The odds are against any of us living through this war,” shrugged Temiker, “but those are just odds. People have beaten the odds before. Besides, you have Kaltara. You haven’t lost your faith, have you?”

“Certainly not,” Lyra shook her head vigorously.

“Well,” smiled the mage, “you are special in Kaltara’s eyes. If anyone survives this war it will be you and Marak.”

“That is where you are wrong,” frowned Lyra. “We have been chosen by Kaltara and given positions of great responsibility, but we are merely tools of Kaltara. We are the instruments to revive the people’s faith in God. Our task is almost over.”

“You think Kaltara is using you?” frowned Temiker.