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It is astonishing how dramatically a person's outlook on life may change with the size of the body; measuring merely a few inches from head to toe all of a sudden can do a lot for your perspective on things. For me, morphing had never held the same fascination as the necromantic spells, so the thought of taking on the physical form of another creature had not occurred to me as long as there had not been the necessity to do so... even though there were several magical scrolls to this effect in my possession.

This necessity, however, had only recently arisen, as I had - by lack of consideration - maneuvered one of my friends into a most difficult situation. The mighty undead warriors I had summoned (in good faith of being able to control them, mind you) had gone on a rampage, as a result of which Scorpio had been captured by a detail of the Old Camp's gate guards.

Cavalorn and I found out the latter in the early hours of the night (day?) of my unfaithful skeletons' excesses. My friend the hunter had proposed to pay his former superior a visit; like most other dissenters Diego had left the Old Camp directly after the murder of the Fire Mages, but unlike most others he had decided to keep an eye on the Camp... as being well-informed was definitely an advantage in the Colony.

And well-informed he was; Diego told us that one of his friends - when returning from taking a leak near the river - had actually seen the guards drag a struggling somebody through the gate the night before. With this knowledge in mind, my course of action was clear. I had caused the unfortunate situation to happen, so it was my duty to correct it - especially since Scorpio (along with Cavalorn) was one of those very few people this side of the barrier I had come to trust enough to let them in on my inconvenient little secret.

So it happened that mere minutes later I was busily scuttling towards the Old Camp's main gate in the not too elegant form of a meatbug. I tell you, each yard of uneven ground that I covered increased my new-found respect for this unimposing species of woodlice! I did not know what impressed me more - the ease with which the short legs carried my flat body through the grassy jungle, or the scintillating beauty of the sunrise watched through the multitude of facets that made up my eyes.

I did not have much time on my hands - or rather, claws - to marvel at the beauty of nature, though, for other beauties of a less spectacular kind came into sight soon. Three tired-out guards stood in front of the main gate and watched the surrounding area from bleary eyes while a fourth man was sweeping the path with a broom; a pile of bones to the left of the gate seemed to confirm Diego's account of things. In all probability this was the place where my mighty undead warriors' riot had come to an end...

I made my way towards the gate along the side of the path, trying to keep out of the threatening broom's reach while keeping my facet-eyes focused on the hairy legs of the giant closest to me. This was the moment when I doubted the wisdom of my decision to turn into an insect for the first time 1), because exactly then did the hairy-legged giant chose to take notice of me. The look on his bearded face implied that he was considering field-testing if I might fit under his sole. Instantly, my green bug blood ran cold - but Adanos be praised, just as he raised his immense foot to bring it down on my small meatbug body a knight in shining armor came to my rescue.

"Quit dreaming, hearty," the Heavy Guard - a pale-skinned, dark-haired thug who was standing close to the gate - addressed the other man, his voice icy. "Keep your syphilitic eyes glued to the path."

The bearded guard spun around. "Damn you, Tico, you're not the one to issue orders here!"

"Did we just ask for a good spanking?" Tico replied, sending the other man a sweet smile, and I decided to use the ensuing discussion about responsibilities to scurry through the Old Camp's main gate... or rather, pass under it, as the huge gate in itself (a contraption of sharpened logs that would swing down if the corresponding winch was turned) was closed. I squeezed through a gap between two of the logs and the dusty path, and then I was finally inside the enemy's stronghold.

*

The Old Camp was silent... very silent. At first I thought it had to do with the early hour of my visit, but after I had scuttled in the direction of the castle for a few minutes 2) I felt an overwhelming sense of dread hang over the whole scenery. Those few diggers who were up early spoke in hushed voices, and in one place a huge pool of dried blood adorned the ground.

Well, despite my enthrallment with 'all things undead', as Cavalorn called it, I have to admit that I despise nothing so much as bloodshed. Attribute this dislike to my gender if you wish, or to my academic nature as a magician, but you need not call me squeamish - that I am not. Yet the huge bloodstain made me very uneasy, as it told a tale of hideous things which had been going on inside the camp.

Suppressing my growing uneasiness, I approached the gate to the castle. This metal portcullis was open, of course, since Gomez feared an attack by the New Camp mercenaries and not one by his own diggers; yet the two guards who regulated the traffic in and out of the keep were far too attentive for my meatbuggy taste. One of the towering men watched me with such an unhealthy level of concern that I was very sure any attempt to pass between those guards would spell my doom, especially since no knight in shining armor was going to save the day should I get into trouble here 3).

Beating a hasty retreat - well, hasty for a meatbug that is -, I quickly formulated a new plan of action. I ran as fast as my multitude of short legs would carry me until I saw a dark recess between a hut and the outer castle wall somewhere to my right. The recess was broad enough to accommodate me in human form and dark enough for the occasional passer-by to overlook me. Closing my eyes, I willed my small beetle body to change back into its true form. For a moment I was worried that the bluish haze accompanying all forms of magical morphing might be widely seen, but luckily the transformation went by without anybody having noticed.

I stuck my head out of the dark niche to rummage through my pack; on top there were my precious summoning scrolls (oh, how I longed to lay hands on a rune of this kind!), three in all, then came a few magical runes and foci, several mana potions and on the bottom of the pack - under a piece of wrapped scavenger meat - my bundle of transformation scrolls. I leafed through the latter and found to my great relief that I had been right. Here was my ticket for admission into the castle...

*

As I had hoped, the gate guards were not able to prevent Shora Garland , Water Mage apprentice, fledgling necromancer and now also a bloodfly, from entering the castle grounds. I saw the eyes of one of the men widen when I zipped past him, wings buzzing, then I was already well into the keep. So far, so good. The guards would never dare to leave their posts just to hunt a gnat - the fear of Gomez I could smell everywhere would see to this.

I shot around a corner where I stopped to hover on the spot, taking in the premises. Not many guards were on the courtyard this early in the day, which in itself was very good. What was disheartening, though, was the activity those few people present were involved in - setting up poles to display the remains of numerous former camp denizens, most probably as a deterrent. I meant to see the rotting carcasses of the Fire Mages dangling there as well; only too good that the olfactory senses of bloodflies were adjusted to the sickly-sweet smell.

The dungeons were under the guard barracks, that much I remembered from my brief time with the Fire Mages. Obviously, that was the place where I needed to go if I wanted to make up for my stupidity and free Scorpio... provided he was still alive. Not that I had a plan about what I would do after I had freed him, mind you.

With a deep bloodfly sigh I darted off into the barracks; nobody walked the corridors yet, which was just perfect. I flew along the hallway that lead down to the dungeons, deeper and deeper, zipping around the final corner- -and with a dull thud bumped into a man who tried to round the very same corner from the other direction.

Bullit.

________________________

1) A meatbug is, of course, quite inconspicuous and as such a very good choice for infiltrating an enemy's fortress, but if you have ever felt the fear that a simple leather boot can instill (provided this boot is twice your size) you will know what I am talking about!

2) True, a meatbug's legs are not exactly suited for running.

3) Thorus, the only person around there who might have qualified for that job, usually was up late...

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