The trio trudged out of the Fort Duran crypts with a slightly more complete story of the Ancient Heroes of Yore, a significant roadblock to their next planned dungeon heist, and the overbearing weight of dozens of pilfered armors filling up Calaf’s inventory. Another fight with reanimated spearman-armor left him with a rare status for the endurance-focused tank class:

  Overencumbered. The sheer number of enemies in the Fort Duran gauntlet left Calaf inching along, scarcely able to move one foot in front of the other. That Zilara’s constitution was relatively low given her custom class and that their third companion possessed no Interface to carry items at all left the team tank as the designated dire-mule. Jelena gave him a push on a winding stairwell up to the ground floor.

  Fort Duran plate mail clanked as Calaf moved along. It would be thirty minutes before they even reached the front gate. It was a comical sight, but one that would rapidly lose its appeal once puppet-armor or a dire-beast started chasing the party.

  “This isn’t working,” Jelena said, bemused at her beau’s inventory-at-capacity travails.

  A more equitable distribution of Inventory space left Zilara holding random mail right up to the edge of overencumbrance herself. Calaf was still packed. There would be no further looting, not until they stashed or sold this small armory they were hauling. But at least everyone could walk.

  Victorious, with a good ten-plus levels garnered since they first braved the eternally recurring gauntlet, the party left out the front gate.

  “There’s a back door that opens once you return out of the tower,” said guard Maurice.

  Guard Miriam nodded. “Indeed. The shortcut should have opened. Did you miss it?”

  “And what was that crashing sound from the tower?” Maurice asked.

  “You might want to call a dungeon engineer,” Jelena said. “Before the pilgrimage. It’s a safety hazard.”

  “Tower supports are looking a little flimsy,” Zilara added with a sly smile.

  “You sure you don’t want to try the back entrance?” Miriam asked.

  Jelena shrugged. “We’re heading north already. ‘Sides, already looted the south side on our way in.”

  The party returned to a treetop hideout for the first time since setting for the desert bazaar many weeks ago in a failed attempt to sell the goods from their last big heist. The hideaway was perfectly camouflaged, and the deeper woods of Autumn’s Redoubt were seldom traveled. If they were to abandon it tomorrow, it would simply disappear into the foliage, never to be found by mortal eyes. And yet…

  A muffled voice wafted through the autumnal brush.

  “Was worried about this,” Jelena said, though she wasn’t frowning.

  There had to be a reason Enkidu had yet to return.

  The party continued onward, growing slower as they approached the hideout.

  “Oh, my savior. Do come out of that tree,” came a soft-spoken voice from just ahead.

  Jelena and Calaf poked their heads out of a bush. There, directly below their hideaway, was…

  Calaf and Zilara relayed this intruder’s name to Jelena.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  “Who Oh, her…” Jelena gave a nod of recognition. “I remember her.”

  She’d gained several levels since they last met.

  Cleric Yonah was a one-time confederate when the party braved the dockside dungeon of the Thief class. While not a thief herself, she’d fallen in with an old alley of Calaf’s. She’d somewhat questionably credited Enkidu with saving her life during the dungeon’s climactic final puzzle-battle. Before they’d ever met, Enkidu and Calaf had inadvertently saved the cleric from being enthralled and collected by a Piper Demon. Jelena warned Yonah away before embarking on the quest for the alternative gospels, knowing that Clerics and heretical tomes seldom mixed. But here she was.

  The trio emerged from cover.

  “Hello there,” Jelena said. She looked up into the tree. “Come on out, Enkidu.”

  A growling voice came from the trees.

  “She’s following us.”

  “I can see that.” Jelena put her hands on her hips.

  Cleric Yonah paid the trio little heed, continuing to call up into the tree.

  “I went on a long quest into the Fellmarsh,” said Yonah. “Braving demonkin and vulcanism, I acquired a forbidden tome of sorcery from the Demon Age just to find you again.”

  Jelena and Calaf both raised an eyebrow each. Up in the tree, Enkidu gave no response.

  “Yes, the fell spell of ‘Find Subject’ – long forgotten since the fall of the Demon King. Heretical and banned by the church, but the temptation was too great! My savior, I must say, it took so long to find you, even with the spell. I did not expect you to be found under that filter—"

  “Send her away,” Enkidu snarled from above.

  “Hey, Yonah.” Jelena took a step forward. “What spell is that again?”

  “Allow me to demonstrate.” Cleric Yonah nodded.

  The lusty cleric cast:

  No change occurred from Calaf, Jelena, or Zilara’s view. But Yonah looked up, Enkidu’s location marked in her Interface.

  What purpose this ‘Find’ spell served in the ancient age of Demons, Calaf dared not guess. Considering recent revelations, it could have been used by demonic slave catchers to find and Brand innocent humans.

  “So you’re saying we can use this to find the Archpope while he’s sitting on his latrine atop that big demon head thing?” Zilara asked, bemused.

  “Why, I suppose if that information would prove useful.” Yonah nodded. “The caster can sort by dire-beast, human, Branded or not. Why, my beloved and benevolent savior was in a most unexpected—"

  “Down, girl.” Jelena barely contained her mirth. “I can have him come down if you insist. But he’s not much of a conversationalist.”

  Jelena ordered Enkidu out of the tree, if only to placate their surprise tracker. Everyone was fortunate that this Find spell was a lost art from before the church age; otherwise, they’d be hounded by arbiters at all hours of the day. While Enkidu listened to a vaguely poetic spiel from Cleric Yonah, Calaf climbed to the treetop redoubt and offloaded their Fort Duran haul into various Interface-compatible chests. Then, he traded Zilara for her haul and repeated the climb.

  High above, Calaf overheard the cleric’s peans.

  “Do not try to follow us,” Enkidu warned. “It is mere chance that you didn’t pursue your tracking spell into the Hinterlands, where death surely awaited.”

  “Oh, I’d only just found the forbidden tome,” Yonah said. “Saw you move in an instant from some hundreds of leagues far to the south to Autumn’s Redoubt. It was only by happenstance that I was within range to reach you so soon.”

  “About what the child said. Tracking the archpope…” Enkidu’s voice was strangely calm.

  “Oh, you haven’t heard?” Yonah asked, sounding innocent. “Mayhaps you have been away from the pilgrim's route for overlong. Where will you go?”

  Jelena interrupted. “Heading to an outpost a half-day away to pawn off some things, after which we’ll plan our next move. Mostly just live on the road.”

  They were going to travel to the Shrine of Shamana, buried deep under the Olde Capital, in search of the final testament. With that testament locked away deep in the Demon Lord’s Fall their journey was cut short.

  “Aye. I… will travel south for a time,” said Yonah. “If ever you have need of me, oh savior, I would do anything for you.”

  “Oh, by the old desert spirits,” Jelena said. “There’s a natural spring and some falls a half-league north if you need a cold dunk.”

  The group stayed the night in their treetop hidden fortress. Yonah reluctantly parted ways, returning to an inn closer to the roadside. Come morning, Calaf trudged once more, his carrying capacity at its limit, as he carried most of the Duran haul to the closest pilgrimage-side outside. Zilara helped with her own Inventory, and Enkidu carried a few items manually.

  It was there, after earning a cool fifty thousand gold from pawning off a militia’s worth of spears and armor, that Jelena received a surprise guest. A messenger approached with the maximum possible agility, positively flying up to the outpost.

  “Jelena, daughter of Turin?” asked the courier. “Of Japella?”

  “It’s been years since someone called me by that naming convention.” Jelena frowned. “Think I put it on my baptism and nunnery records. Anyway, say your message.”

  Instead, the courier handed Jelena a non-Interface-compatible note. She read it, squinting with her good eye. Her lips murmured as she poured over the information.

  “Who sent this?”

  “Signed: An Anonymous Benefactor, ma’am.” The courier stood at attention as if waiting for something.

  “Very well.” Jelena tossed him some gold from her personal stash.

  The coin flew through the air with a flick of her thumb. The courier caught it one-handed before it even reached the apex of its arc.

  “Many thanks, madam,” the courier said, and he was off once more.

  Multiple cities and thousands of letters could make up a courier’s daily rounds. It was the lucrative and above-board peacetime Scout profession.

  “What’s the news, Hoss?” Zilara asked.

  Calaf joined them, having just sold all the common items.

  “Keep those relics handy, dear,” Jelena told Calaf. “Got a new destination.”

  “We’re not heading north?” Zilara asked.

  “Not yet.” Jelena hid a smile. “Someone’s got a business proposition. And it’s a doozy. Y’see, the Thieves’ Guild is being rebuilt. And Mister or Misses ‘Anonymous Benefactor’ is inviting all the big-name burglars for… well, I’ll explain on the road...”