Page 36 of Level Up for Love

The interior of the chapel is bustling.

To Sindra’s left, the pews are shoved against the wall to make space for a makeshift clinic, where priests and priestesses in daisy-yellow habits tend to tired-looking villagers. To the right, two tiefling men argue over the best route to take to deliver the sacks of supplies stacked in the corner of the entryway. Vera leads the party past them all and toward the altar, and Sindra notes the way each head springs upward as they pass to offer a nod of respect to Antoni and his daughter.

At the altar, an orcish priest greets Antoni with a palm clasped to his shoulder. A small golden circlet fashioned with metallic sunrays sits upon his thinning gray hair, and his frayed habit looks to be more intricately embroidered than those of the other priests.

“Good to see you back, Captain,” he says, not a small amount of relief in his tone.

“Always a pleasure, Zevor,” Antoni says gruffly. “Any news?”

Zevor shakes his head. “Not from me, but a friend of yours is here to see you. Been waiting since this morning.”

Antoni’s bushy brows lower over his eyes. “Which friend?”

“I’ll take you to him now.”

Zevor leads them to a small door behind the altar. As he drums out a pattern of knocks different from the one Vera used to gain entry, Sindra finds her gaze drawn again to the stained-glass window on the chapel’s east-facing wall. She can only imagine how gorgeous it must have been in years past, when daylight would have brightened every facet of its red-, orange-, and gold-stained glass.

When the door opens, Zevor magically summons a small sphere of light to guide their way down a winding staircase. Strangely, music echoes hauntingly along the stone walls, growing louder as the party descends. Sindra smells the room before she sees it—the air grows thick with the scent of hearty mushroom and potato soup and mulled cider.

Finally, the space opens to reveal a room that Sindra would have expected to find in a tavern, not underneath a church. Several rows of tables and benches stretch from wall to wall, crowded with priests, volunteers, and even a handful of armed warriors. A bard sits on a stool in the corner, tempting the notes of a soothing melody from the strings of her harp.

Zevor squints at the array of faces and finally nods toward a table at the back. “Ah. There he is.” He smiles before returning to the stairwell. “Let me know if you need anything, Captain.”

Antoni nods, and they make their way to the corner of the room, where a hooded traveler sits hunched over one of five steaming mugs arranged on the table. He turns around at their approach and grins, removing his hood to reveal a bald head with excellent facial hair.

Vera and Moss inhale sharply, and Antoni’s and Sindra’s hands dart toward their blades.

Behind his spectacles, the man’s violet eyes widen in alarm, and his pale skin flushes pink. He holds his hands out before him, far away from the shiny spellbook holstered on a leather strap at his side.

The dripping candle flickering at the table’s center illuminates his profile.

He looks exactly like Mortimer.

“Please, there’s no need to be worried,” he soothes. “I’ve been waiting for you.”