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replied. “Some battles must be lost,” he added cryptically, “for others to be won.”
    She wondered what he meant.
    “Why did you leave me?” she pressed.
    “You were in good hands with your other uncle,” he replied. “You needed time to train.”
    “And now that my training is over?” she asked.
    He shook his head.
    “It is never over,” he replied. “Do not ever imagine that it is. That is when you will begin to fall.”
    Kyra frowned, debating.
    “I am faced with a big decision,” she said, eager for his advice.
    “I know,” he replied.
    She looked at him with surprise.
    “You do?” she asked.
    He nodded.
    “You want to save your father,” he replied.
    Kyra looked him over.
    “He is your brother, after all,” she said. “Why do you not rush to save him?”
    Kolva sighed.
    “I would if I could.”
    “And why can’t you?” she asked.
    “My mission is urgent,” he replied. “I can’t be in both places.”
    “But I can,” she said.
    He slowly shook his head.
    “Did you not listen to Alva?” he asked. “Your mission is urgent, too. Your mother, my sister, awaits you.”
    Kyra felt torn, not knowing what to do.
    “Are you saying then that I should abandon my father?” she asked.
    “I am saying you are lucky to be alive,” he said. “And if you do not achieve the power you need to first, then death will find you. And that will not help anyone.”
    He stepped in and laid a hand on her shoulder, and looked down with approving eyes.
    “I am proud of you, Kyra,” he said.
    She wondered.
    “Will we meet again?” she asked, feeling a pang at the idea of losing him, the only living relative she felt she had left.
    “I hope so,” he replied.
    And then, without another word, he turned and hiked back into the forest, leaving Kyra alone, upset, and more confused than before.
    As she stood there, not knowing how much time had passed, Andor finally snorted and looked right at her. Slowly, she felt a new feeling; it was her destiny rising up within her. Finally blessed with a sense of certainty for the first time, she came to a decision.
    She crossed the clearing, mounted Andor, and sat there for a long time, until finally, she knew there was only one place she could go.
    “Let us go, Andor,” she said. “To the Lost Temple.”
     

CHAPTER ELEVEN
     
     
    Merk slid down the rope so fast he could barely breathe, flying down the side of the Tower of Ur, aiming for the army of waiting trolls below. He knew this plunge was suicidal, yet he no longer cared. With the tower surrounded, his fellow watchers nearly all dead, he was going to go down his way—not cowering at the top, but fighting hand-to-hand, just the way he always had in life, and taking some of them down with him.
    The ground rushed up to meet him, and Merk, breathless, landed on the shoulders of two trolls, knocking them flat on their back and cushioning his own fall. He hit the ground ready, rolling and extracting two daggers from his waist, the same daggers he had used to assassinate his entire life, and he threw himself into the group of trolls.
    He sliced one’s throat with the dagger in his right hand, then reached backwards and stabbed another in the head behind him, fighting his own way. He stabbed one troll in the heart, another in the temple, and another in the gut. As they came at him with their huge halberds, swinging with enough power to chop off his head, he ducked and weaved, much lighter than they were, unencumbered by weapons and armor, then rose and slashed their throats. They all had one disadvantage: they were warriors, but he was an assassin. They were powerful, yet he was quick. None matched his agility.
    Merk’s greatest advantage was his use of distance. They needed to swing mighty weapons, yet he needed only to get close, inches away, to slice their throats. When he was in so close, they could not reach him with their weapons, and his small dagger gave him more advantage than their huge halberds would