Page 37 of Level Up for Love

Chapter

Ten

“Who are you?” Antoni demands.

The paladin’s gauntlet shakes where he holds his sword leveled at the halfling’s neck. Several people at the table next to theirs gasp and jerk away from the captain, and the bard fumbles one of her chords. There’s an uncertain rustling as other hands reach for their weapons.

Drops of dewy sweat dot the halfling’s head. “Mortimer, of course.”

“Impossible,” Vera breathes. “We saw you die. We buried your body.”

“Cut your head off, too,” Sindra adds helpfully.

Moss bites the inside of her cheek even as she flashes Sindra a warning look. Not funny.

“This is dark magic,” Antoni says through clenched teeth.

“I—well, maybe it is,” Mortimer concedes. “But please, let me explain.”

“First, prove it,” the captain demands. “Prove that you are him.”

Mortimer taps his fingers delicately on the tabletop, narrowing his eyes slightly as he considers. Finally, he smiles. “It took you three proposals and four years before Mrs. Ward agreed to marry you.”

The captain’s lips twitch before he schools them into a scowl. “She shares that story often enough.” His voice is gruff, but there’s an unmistakable thread of fondness in his tone. “Plenty of people you could have learned that from.” There’s a rumble of nervous laughter from the nearby tables.

Mortimer’s eyes sparkle. He glances to Vera before shrugging and continuing, this time in a voice pitched for their party’s ears only. “It was my own Master Kaelenas who officiated it in secret at your request, months before your wedding at this very chapel.”

Color creeps up the side of Antoni’s neck as Vera’s brows fly upward. He looks to her sheepishly. “I couldn’t wait any longer,” he admits. And then, simple as that, he sinks down into one of the chairs and takes a sip from a mug. He claps a hand on Mortimer’s shoulder, a gesture that shakes the small halfling’s frame. “It’s good to see you, friend.” His gauntlets creak as his grip tightens. “But we still need to know how you’ve returned to us.”

Following Antoni’s lead, each of the party members sinks into their own chair, their attention focused on Mortimer. The bard resumes her song, and the others gathered in the dining room return to their drinks, soups, and business. Sindra takes a curious drink from her mug and is delighted to realize it’s a mulled cider. The comfort of it nearly makes her eyes prick with emotion; she hasn’t had a proper rest since setting foot in this damned kingdom, where the cold has a way of seeping into your bones.

“Antoni brings up a good point,” Sindra says after taking another sip. “How can we know that you’re not undead? That you’re not under Vadrien’s control?”

Mortimer laughs. “If I were, I couldn’t be here.”

Moss frowns. “What do you mean?”

Antoni gestures up toward where the chapel looms above them. “The chapel of Garren sits on hallowed ground. Undead cannot enter, and the bodies interred in the catacombs and the graveyard cannot be raised by Vadrien’s curse, or”—his attention returns to the necromancer—“necromantic magic. Which brings me back to my point. What happened to you?”

Mortimer scoots forward in his chair, practically vibrating with enthusiasm to tell his tale. But then his gaze shifts to Sindra and Moss, and he deflates. “How much may I share?” he asks Antoni.

Antoni takes a long, deep drink from his mug before he raises his head to meet Sindra’s gaze evenly. “All of it,” he finally says. “If it weren’t for this one, we’d be dead. And we certainly don’t have your tricks, wizard, of coming back to life. If she and her friend are so keen to see this through, well. I’ll not turn them away now.”

Mortimer nods. “Very well.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turns to Moss and Sindra. “Master Kaelenas is one of Moros’s great wizards, and I traveled from far away to be his apprentice. Nowadays, due to a series of intriguing but unfortunate circumstances, he is no longer able to leave the confines of his tower.” The halfling’s expression brightens at that, his eyes shining behind his spectacles. “That’s where I come in, see? While advancing my own studies, I also serve to conduct the master’s business across the realm and further his research. It is why I accompany the captain and his daughter on their quest.”

“Not simply for the good of the realm?” Sindra asks wryly.

“Well, that, too,” he says absently. “But you must understand, the issue of Prince Vadrien is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! The necromantic power he wields, it’s beyond anything we’ve studied before, and—” As Antoni’s and Vera’s expressions begin to darken, Mortimer pauses and clears his throat. “Anyway. My master is well aware of the dangers of this mission, and of the fact that I am not nearly as powerful as he. Compared to him, I am still very much a novice. So, unbeknownst to me, he ensured a few fail-safes.”

Mortimer straightens a little and leans back, gesturing down to his body. When he grins, his teeth are very white—too white. “He cloned me,” he announces happily.

Sindra exchanges wary glances with the others around the table. She breaks the silence that follows with an expression that encapsulates what they’re all thinking:

“What the fuck?”

Moss lets out a shallow laugh. “Could you elaborate?”

“There exists a very complicated, very time-consuming spell wherein you can clone a mortal’s body so that if they die, their soul is transferred to the clone, not to whatever afterlife lies beyond. For months, Master Kaelenas has been growing a new vessel for me in the depths of his tower, should I perish.” Mortimer’s voice is thick with admiration and wonder. “It is a very great gift.”