“Connor! Thank the stars, you’re alive!” Dargan said as soon as Connor landed on the far side of the wall to find they were in what could only be described as a park full of green grass and manicured trees. In the distance, there twinkled the magical blue-green lights of lanterns.

“We thought they got you—the soldiers?” It was Olanna, returning from where she had taken a few more steps ahead to the eaves of the trees.

Connor remembered the dead man on the other side of the wall, and his face blanched in panic. Olanna, his friend, ever sharper than he was, registered that something terrible had happened. She looked at him with recognition in her eyes. But the sounds of whistles and rising voices behind them as soldiers spilled into the brickyard threw aside any questions.

“We have to move,” she hissed, nodding forwards. “This is some kind of temple. Hopefully, the priests here will take kindly to us.”

“They think we’re terrorists,” Connor pointed out. And murderers, he could’ve added—but didn’t. There was, after all, no thinking about it. He was a murderer.

“Well, we’re not. But whoever is had the Pettigrew Express already on their hit list,” Olanna was whispering fiercely. “That was a planned attack, and I don’t think a bunch of bigots with clubs are going to believe that we didn’t do it.” Olanna was already reaching for Connor and pulled him forward as they set off between the trees.

“We’ll sort all this out in the morning. The Pettigrews will straighten this out . . .”

“If they survived,” Connor muttered to himself as they heard the shouts of the soldiers behind, clearly having found the dead soldier where Connor had abandoned him.

They ran between the trees, pushing themselves onwards as the sounds of whistles and alarm bells sprang up all over Union City. The sky was obscured with the shadowed forms of the trees, but between them, Connor saw the magical lanterns decorating distant spires and towers of Union City. They left the tree cover to find themselves running across a grassy patch where the statue of a figure in long robes appeared to be gesturing toward the skies as if summoning the stars.

There was a building at the edge of the grassy parkland—a large stone building with peaked wooden eaves and a wooden boardwalk running around it. Its style, from its sharp arched windows and doors, vaguely reminded Connor of the Tokyo dojos or Shinto temples.

There were lights over the main double doors—more of the magical blue-green lanterns—and Connor saw that one of the doors was open. There was a figure already standing on the porch, holding what appeared to be nothing more than a broom.

“Oh, crap!” Connor hissed. “He’s seen us.”

“He might be able to help—and we need to hide!” Olanna urged, already guiding Connor and Dargan toward the man, her hand waving in the air.

The figure on the porch with the broom didn’t greet them but stood with hands folded across the top of the broom and looked down at them skeptically. Connor saw that he was bald with long baggy robes that were dark as the night. Two long scars crossed his head, reaching all the way from the top of his bald skull to his temples.

“Can you help us!?” Olanna asked, stumbling to a halt on the gravel path around the building. In the distance behind them, Connor could hear the sounds of whistles and grunting voices as the soldiers of Union City clearly knew where they had gone.

“That depends.” The monk, for that was what he clearly appeared to be, didn’t budge. “That depends on whether those gentlemen over there have a reason to want to talk to you.”

“I . . .” Connor stuttered, but Olanna was quicker.

“No! Our airship was blown up, and they’re blaming us—just because we’re elves! Please, you have to listen to us,” Olanna was saying. “We’re on an important mission.”

Are we? Connor thought to himself.

“Elves have been attacking towns and settlements up and down the Lack. Everyone knows that.” The monk refused to budge, but he nodded directly at Olanna. “They even look exactly like you. White hair, sometimes pale, sometimes dark skin.”

Fey, Connor thought, remembering the warriors he had faced in the Aviatrix Tower. The servants of Lord Pwyll.

“Well, it’s not me, nor any of us us! We’re here from SkyBridge. We’re supposed to bring word from Ranger Marshal Fenwalker. He wanted the council to hear our testimony regarding the Sleeper King and Annwn,” Olanna insisted.

“Annwn? You have heard of this?” the monk asked seriously.

Behind them, Connor heard the thumps of the human soldiers of Union City dropping to the temple grounds.

“Fan out! They must have gone this way!” he distantly heard.

“Yes.” Olanna nodded. “Fenwalker was investigating Annwn, and we . . .” Her voice broke as grief threatened to choke her. “We know a little of it, too. But—but Gustav died,” Olanna whispered. “We were his companions . . .”

We were? Connor thought with another jolt of shame. Maybe Olanna was. Connor had always thought that the Ranger Marshal hadn’t approved of him, had even sensed that Connor was a no-good rogue.

“Ranger Marshal Fenwalker is dead?” the monk asked gravely, finally moving from his stance to offer Olanna a hand, ushering them up to the boardwalk before the door.

“Yes, sir, at the gates of SkyBridge. He saved us,” Olanna said bitterly, and Connor suddenly remembered the Ranger Marshal’s chain in his pocket.

“I almost forgot about this.” Connor fished it out, revealing the gold chain glinting in the light with the small feather shape of blue crystal at its end. “He wanted you to have this, Olanna,” Connor urged. “He said it was yours . . .”

He also said to keep you safe . . . Connor was thinking as Olanna took the pendant and held it up before them.

The sounds of soldiers behind were getting louder. They were getting closer, spreading out through the trees. When Connor turned, he thought he could even see the distant glint of light against the metal of their helmets.

“The Balance,” the monk whispered, reaching out to touch the blue jewel feather on the golden chain that Olanna held.

“It was what Fenwalker served, as do we,” the monk said quickly. “And he would never give up such a thing lightly.” The monk appeared to have come to a decision. He stepped aside to let the dwarf, elf, and half-elf into the temple itself.

“Get inside and hide. I’ll be with you shortly.”

Olanna led the way through the arched doors, finding that they went past a set of storerooms to a small internal square in the middle, open to the sky. The entire building was built like a square around this small garden, where tiny shrub trees stood in gravel baskets next to a trickling fountain. There were doors and windows on every side, but Connor and the others selected the darkest corner of the garden in between flowering shrubs to hunker down. They could hear the soldiers approaching outside.

“We should keep going,” Connor hissed to the others as he heard the muffled sound of angered voices outside. He couldn’t make out what the soldiers were saying, but he was sure that when this monk—no matter how well he thought of the Ranger Marshal—heard about the dead body outside his temple grounds, he would give them up.

“We stay! The monk knew Fenwalker! They’ll help us!” Olanna insisted.

I’m not so sure about that, Connor thought but didn’t verbalize. The voices grew louder outside, bursts of anger and exasperation, then there was a thunk on the wooden boards followed by silence.

Connor, Dargan, and Olanna held their breath, but a moment later, the monk returned, casually sweeping the ground in front of him before carefully closing the door behind and setting the latch closed.

“It’s alright. You can come out now,” the monk whispered into the night-lit garden. “They’re gone now, continuing their search for the terrorists.”

Connor was the last to leave his hiding place, but he joined his friends as they stepped forward before the monk. Connor was aware of the man’s eyes on him. Did they linger a little longer than on the others?

“First. I believe you,” the monk said sagely, nodding at Olanna. “Your grief is clear, and for that reason alone, I believe what you said about Fenwalker, that you were friends and that he chose you as his companions.”

Did he? Connor was thinking.

“Second, I have met a great many types of people in my time, from humans to dwarves to elves and more,” the monk said. “I do not believe that any should be persecuted just for the points of their ears.”

“I questioned the soldiers, who said that you destroyed your own airship after leaving it.” The monk made a face. “That fails to make any sense. Why would you do such a thing?”

“We didn’t!” Dargan burst out, throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. “Finally, someone believes us!”

“You were intending to come to Union City with the Ranger Marshal’s information about Annwn, but it appears others have already been working against you,” the monk said.

“There have been threats and rumors of this Annwn place, and mysterious attacks happening throughout the First Realm,” the monk continued. “Do you know of any moving against you? Other elves, perhaps, on your trail?”

“We were attacked in SkyBridge,” Dargan pointed out. “The muggers, before we got to the lodgings.”

Mae-tsu! Connor realized with a start. Of course. It all made sense now, didn’t it? She had come into the game after him, after the Ring of Tantor—and she had promised that no one that he knew would survive and that they would kill everyone involved with Connor.

With a sudden certainty, Connor knew that he was right. He looked up to see Olanna’s eyes already upon him. Connor nodded, and Olanna’s face fell.

“Well, it seems that you have your culprit, whomever they may be,” the monk said out loud.

“Union City is on high alert at the moment, and there has been talk of expelling all elves from the city. The entire council is in uproar about these attacks,” the monk went on. “I can give you sanctuary for the night, but I fear that you will have to find a way to convince the council of your innocence before they will listen to you.”

“Why would they believe us?” Dargan muttered, eyes downcast.

“I will speak on your behalf,” the monk said simply. “It has been a long time since the Temple of the Wave has spoken at the city council. Perhaps that will count for something.”

“Temple of the Wave?” Olanna asked.

“Yes,” the monk gave a brief smile. “I am Brother Yuri, and here at the temple, we strive to understand the way of the Balance, just as your Ranger Marshal did in his own way. Here, we do that through the art of the mind and the body, seeking the equilibrium that allows us to ride the storms of life. I believe that the Ranger Marshal found a similar grace in his wanderings and studying of the outside world, the ways of beasts and trees . . .”

Olanna nodded. “It is the Ranger’s way,” she whispered. “That is why Gustav must have been so worried about word of this Annwn. It appears to upset everything.”

“It could completely undo the Balance of the Six Worlds,” Brother Yuri said heavily, “especially if it has the power to raise Lich Kings and Undead.” A cold breeze passed over the garden, and Connor instinctively pulled his cloak tighter.

“But enough of this dark talk! Rest here the night.” The monk spread his arms then extended an arm toward a door on the wall opposite where they had entered. “There is a guest hall through that door. In the morning, we will discuss what happens next.”

You mean the council throwing us in jail? Connor thought darkly. He let Olanna and Dargan lead the way through the gravel paths to where a wooden door slid open, revealing a small wood-paneled hall with blankets and mats arranged at one end. Connor hadn’t realized how exhausted he was until he nearly collapsed onto the mat and fell into a fitful sleep full of shouting voices and dead faces.