Morrígan turned to the mage. “What did he do?”

The mage stood up straight and proud. “We caught him spying on our drills. He was taking notes on ’em, collecting intelligence on the size of our battalion and such. We found another assortment of maps, too, when we captured him.”

He pointed a finger at the prisoner. “You were mapping out them tunnels, weren’t ye! Looking for a way to sneak in with the other rats from Penance while we’re all asleep!”

Morrígan gasped. The catacombs! Her heart pounded. If they find out that Roseán sits upon the Lost Catacombs of Móráin’s Conquest, every scholar and historian in the kingdom will be flooding those tunnels before summer’s end.

She eyed the mage as he scratched his head and stared off into space, unaware of the storm that raged through Morrígan’s mind.

If he questions the Simian any further, and if they send even one solider down there to investigate, then….

She turned her attention to the Simian. He hung from his chains, sobbing and wiping his face into his shoulder.

If he really is a spy, then the Simians would know about those caves already.

She took a step to leave. “I’m sorry I disturbed you. I was just looking for the colonel. Is he about?”

The Hydromancer shook his head. Wasting no more time, Morrígan bolted for the door.

The Square outside was empty, and Morrígan frantically examined her surroundings, praying for sudden inspiration. The sun descended over the hills to the west, throwing a fiery glow over the wattle-and-daub buildings across the way, further down the Low Road. She turned towards the chapel and saw vague outlines of mourners in the distance. The trees and bushes along the High Road basked in the sunset too. On seeing this, a smile crept across Morrígan’s lips.

She checked that nobody was looking, and flicked her wrist, causing the flint-rings on her middle and fourth finger to form a spark. Then, she pulled the power of her soul into the spark, turning it into a flame that burned in her fist. With a well-guided throw, the foliage by the chapel caught fire. It took a moment for the villagers to notice, but when they did, their cries of fright joined the sounds of crackling and burning as smoke filled the sky. Morrígan ran back inside the inn.

“Fire!” she cried. “Firrrre!”

The Hydromancer stumbled out from the back room, stopping to straighten the blue cloak on his back. Before he had a chance to ask, Morrígan pointed in the direction of the raging inferno and he staggered out past her, eyes widened in fright. The fire now threatened every building on the eastern side of the Square.

He’s a Hydromancer. She watched the mage hobble as fast as he could towards the flames. Putting out fires is just about all he’s useful for.

More blue mages appeared on the scene as Morrígan reached the back of the bar. The trees outside had been much dryer than she’d expected, but she still had no idea how much time she had left.

The Simian stared up at her as she opened the door.

“Is there a fire?” he said. “Am I in danger?”

“What did you see in the caves?” said Morrígan. “How much have you explored?”

“Excuse me?”

Morrígan slammed the door closed behind her. “Tell me now or I’ll burn this building to the ground.”

“Ah yes, the caves!” The Simian smiled nervously. “Oh, queer formations, those are. The paths change shape and size, you know. Strange magic going on too. There are dead bodies down there. Corpses and skeletons and….”

He leaned towards Morrígan, as close as his restraints would allow. “I’ve seen ’em walking around too,” he whispered.

“What!”

“Well, I haven’t seen them walking, but I know they do. They’ve changed places. You see a big stone sarcophagus there one day, and the next, the lid’s open, and it’s empty!”

Morrígan sighed. “Does anybody else know of this?”

“Of course not! Those dumb brutes caught me just as I finished revising my maps. I’ve had nobody to tell ‘til you asked!”

Morrígan stole a glance out through the far window; the fire still raged on. She considered the Simian again.

It would be easiest to just kill him.

She could use her magic to pull the chains from the wall, and maybe carry his corpse back to the caves, but it would be hard to do so without getting caught. She eyed the Simian; he looked strong, but it would be easy enough to overwhelm him if he remained restrained.

“What do you think they’ll do to you?” she asked. “The soldiers, I mean.”

The Simian laughed nervously. “Haven’t you heard? I’m a prisoner of war! There’s not much I can hope for until the war’s over. I’ll be waiting a while, then, considering there isn’t one.”

“What if I let you go?”

“Well, if you let me go, sure, I’ll run, but you’ll be hung as a traitor once the ’mancers get back.” His brow furrowed. “But why on earth would you do something like that?”

Morrígan flicked her wrist; another ball of fire appeared in her palm. The Simian recoiled, his widened eyes reflecting the glow of the flame.

“Don’t hurt me! Please, please! I’ve nothing to do with anything!”

Morrígan slowly brought the flame closer to his face. “Listen carefully. I’m going to let you go if you give me your word that nobody, I mean nobody, finds out what you saw in those caves.” The fire was close enough to singe his hair, but Morrígan had full control over the flame and kept it at a barely safe distance. “On the other hand, it would be easier to just silence you myself.…”

“No!” the Simian wailed. “Wait! Please! I’ve got a better idea! A better idea! Just get that thing away from me!”

The flame vanished, and the two stared at one another in silence.

The Simian’s eyes were still tightly closed. “In my pack. The soldiers left it under the bar. Bring it here. It’ll benefit both of us, trust me.”

He nodded towards the bar, and Morrígan did as she was told. She carefully considered every word he said, suspicious that it might be a trap of some sort. She was well aware that in the old stories, Simians were often depicted as thieves and rogues. With another glance through the window, she saw that the fire was almost quelled outside: four Hydromancers worked together, pulling water out from the well and spraying it over the burning trees.

“Hurry!” called the Simian. “Bring it in here!”

Morrígan brought the pack to him, placing it on the ground. Fashioned to be strapped over two shoulders, the bag was designed to carry a heavy load. Despite its weight, however, there was little inside.

“No, no. Don’t open it that way!” The Simian pointed a heavy traveling boot towards the pack. “There’s a false opening on the bottom, see?”

Morrígan pulled all the contents out: several rolls of parchment and a dozen or so inkpens of different colours. Once empty, she turned it upside down, but saw no way to open it. She looked up at the Simian.

“Like this?”

“No, there’s… see those things that look like steel teeth along the bottom? On the other side, there’s a tag you can pull across to open it.”

Morrígan’s fingers found a piece of metal, hidden under a flap of fabric. With a gentle tug, it ran smoothly along the bottom of the bag, opening it up like a gaping mouth.

“Now, there you’ll find some lock-picks. Just take one and bring it here. Quickly!”

There was another strange object in the compartment that Morrígan hadn’t seen before, but she ignored it and grabbed what she assumed was a lock-pick. It looked like the needle Sorcha had given her before, but shorter and heavier.