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The North Ride, 1372 DR. 20th day of The Fading.

The bones in his hands, feet, and face were making sickening cracking and popping noises, and his skin felt like someone was trying to pull it off, flaying him alive. It was all he could do to keep from screaming. He felt his pelvis shifting, and changes in his groin and lower back made him double over. It felt like someone was pulling his spine out through his ass. Several painful seconds later, the changes were finished. His entire body felt like it was being pricked with thousands of pins and needles. Both his bones and muscles ached as if he'd been worked over by the blacksmith's apprentices for a few hours. It was worse than when he'd come down with a fever that had lasted nearly two weeks, several winters past. Aiden tentatively opened his eyes, not quite sure when he'd shut them. He was almost afraid to look at what he'd become.

His hands and arms were covered in white fur, and looked almost like some giant version of a dog or cat's paws, albeit with slightly longer fingers. The tips of his fingers had apparently been mostly replaced with inch long claws of translucent ivory. Further up his arm he saw some dark, nearly black fur through the scraps of cloth and bits of chain mail that made up what he'd been wearing. His legs looked strange too. Shouts of rage from opposite the wagon interrupted his self-inspection.

Aiden scrabbled for his swords, grabbing them up. Claws pricked the palms of his hands. He stumbled as he tried to stand, falling against the wagon and bouncing off the canvas of the wagon's covering. The wagons stood well over the height of a man, and he could nearly see over the top of it. No wonder his swords felt awkward and small in his grip.

The girl had fallen over and was scrabbling backwards, trying to get away from him. Much as he wanted to console her that he wasn't a threat, he didn't have the time. There was still a battle going on around them. He leaned around the wagon to see what was happening.

Most of the guards were dead or dying. It looked like a half dozen of the hobgoblins were dead as well, lying on the ground. Only four guards were still alive, fighting off six of the hobgoblins. Another two hobgoblins in the forest stood with arrows nocked and ready, waiting for a clear shot. He couldn't see Scruff at all. He looked around for his bow, but couldn't see where he had dropped it. It might even be under the hobgoblin he had cut down. The two archers were a threat, and only twenty feet away. It looked like they were focusing on the remaining melee though, so he took the chance and charged them.

§

The archers immediately saw him as he stepped out around the wagon. One of them yelled as the other took aim. He couldn't dodge the arrow, and it sank into his chest, the remnants of his chain shirt only slowing it down. He gasped at the pain, but didn't stop. Couldn't stop. He'd be as good as dead if he did. The second arrow came so close that he felt the wind of it's passage next to his head as it whistled through the air.

He swung his longsword down at the nearest archer. It tried to dodge out of the way, but the powerful blow severed its arm. It grabbed the stump of its elbow as it fell over. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, spattering both Aiden and the other hobgoblin bowman. The other one was screaming and had turned to run into the underbrush.

Aiden didn't stop and rushed after it, catching up to it within only a few paces. He grabbed it's shoulder, yanking it backwards, then thrust his sword into it's lower back nearly to the hilt. It fell forward into the underbrush with a groan, and he pulled his sword out with a wet squelch. Droplets of bright crimson spattered the small white flowers peeking through the underbrush.

The ring of steel on steel caught his attention, and he turned around to see how the remaining guards were doing. As Aiden turned around, he saw the last of the guards fall to the ground. The spiked head of a flail slammed into the side of the guard's face, sending the man's lower jaw and bits of bone and flesh flying. There were still five of the hobgoblins still up, and all of the hobgoblins had turned around to see what the commotion in the underbrush was. As he watched them, the girl he had seen earlier turned and ran up the road toward the mountain pass, taking advantage of the momentary distraction to escape.

The air was still for a moment, but for the moans of the dead and dying. Aiden's chest tickled. Somehow he had torn the arrow out of his chest while he had cut down the two archers a moment before. A man screamed in pain from the head of the caravan. As if that were some kind of signal, the hobgoblin with the flail barked orders at the other four, and they fanned out as they approached him, moving cautiously as they brandished their maces and morningstars. All of them had shields.

Aiden tightened the grip on his two swords. They felt awkwardly small. He was almost tempted to run for it, but he knew that they would probably chase him. He had waited too long. He was surrounded.

§

He lunged toward the on on his right, which brought up a shield to block. His longsword bounced off the hard wooden shield, and the hobgoblin brought up its mace to block the shortsword. He changed the angle of his thrust just in time, sinking the shortsword almost a foot into the hobgoblins torso. He jerked the sword back out as it fell backwards. The other three rushed him.

He managed to catch one spiked club on his shortsword, but couldn't avoid the other two. A morningstar slammed into his thigh just below his hip, and another mace bounced off his forearm. The blows hurt, but he didn't feel any bones break. The leader with the spiked flail stepped in as the one he'd stabbed in the chest fell back, leaning back for a mighty swing at his right side.

Aiden jerked backwards, trying to get away from the blow, but didn't manage in time. The heavy flail head slammed into his upper arm, the pain making him roar as he dropped his longsword. He brought the shortsword around in a vicious arc toward the leader's chest. The hobgoblin tried to bring up it's shield and duck, but only succeeded in lowering his neck into the path of the blade. The blade bit deep into its neck, going clear out the other side. Aiden felt the tip of the blade scrape against the hobgoblin's spine. Blood began to stream down from a thin line around it's neck as it fell backwards, stumbling over the hobgoblin that Aiden had stabbed moments earlier.

The other three hobgoblins continued to bludgeon him, and he felt the impacts along his side, leg, and back. The blows stung, but didn't do much else. As he turned back around, he saw a mace coming toward his face and instinctively grabbed it. The mace flanges bit into his palm, He thrust at the hobgoblin wielding it, stabbing it in the chest. It fell back, letting go of the mace.

Aiden turned to the other two, parrying a spiked club with his shortsword and bringing the his other hand around, still clutching the mace. He slammed it into the head of one of the last hobgoblins, which dropped like a poleaxed steer. The last one swung its spiked club again. Aiden parried the blow again with the shortsword and threw the mace at it. The mace bounced off its raised shield, and Aiden lunged again with the sword, stabbing it in the face. The tip of the blade bounced off it's heavy cheekbone and slid up, crunching through the back of its eye socket. The shortsword slipped from his grasp, wedged in the hobgoblins skull. It hit the ground with a dull thump.

He stood there, gasping for breath, his body sore and aching where he had been clubbed by the various weapons the hobgoblins had used. By all rights he should be on the ground, dead. Some of the blows that he had taken should have broken bones. His fur was spotted with blood where the spiked maces and flails had hit him, but didn't seem to be bleeding now, mere moments after the fight. Even his hand barely stung, despite catching a mace in full swing.

As he looked around, he realized that almost everyone with both the caravan and the bandit raid was dead, or dying.

§

He reached down and picked up his father's longsword out of the blood-spattered dust. Several of the hobgoblins were still groaning in pain. He ignored them, worried about the guards he had befriended over the past few days.

He carefully picked his way across the road, stepping over bodies. As he walked, he realized that his legs were bent strangely, and that he was walking on his toes. With that, he tripped and went sprawling into the dust. His foot looked strangely elongated, the rest of his leg looked slightly shrunken. No wonder he'd felt so tall, if he'd been walking practically on his toes. Then he corrected himself. He was definitely bigger. Walking on his toes like a four-legged animal only made exaggerated it. Standing up again felt strange, now that he was actually thinking about it, but felt even stranger when he tried to put his heel to the ground.

He looked around and spotted a cloak on one of the dead hobgoblins. He bent down and used it to wipe the blood off his swords, which he sheathed at his sides. His belt, sword sheaths, quiver, and pants had somewhat stayed on his hips, but both the pants and belt were pretty much ruined at this point, at least until he could find a few hours to mend them. He wasn't sure if it was even possible to fix a snapped belt buckle. The seams on his previously loose pants legs had split at several points, and white fur was poking out of the holes.

His shirt was in much worse shape. It would take a wizard to save the garment. He was fairly certain it wouldn't be useful for much other than cleaning rags, unless he worked some serious magic with a needle and thread. He felt the chain shirt flopping around in the back, dozens of the metal rings having been pulled apart.

Now that he had taken inventory, he began trying to see if there were any people he could save. He knew a bit of first aid...it was impossible not to with a healer and a soldier as parents. He grabbed a cloak off one of the dead guards, figuring he would need strips of cloth for bandages.

Most of the guards were dead. As Aiden walked toward one of the guards who was still moaning, a man he recognized as Trent, the guard looked up at him and screamed. There was blood speckling the man's lips and the scream was weak and wet sounding.

Aiden tried to make shushing noises as he walked over. Trent had stopped clutching at the arrow in his chest and was trying to move backwards to get away from him. Aiden knew that the guard would probably die, since the arrow had pierced the man's lungs. Trent kept trying to get away from him and it was making the arrow wobble back and forth. Eventually he got irritated and grabbed Trent around the shoulders. Aiden tried to tell the man to quit moving, but his words were barely understandable and half growl. Trent froze, staring at him wide eyed as Aiden inspected the wound. The entry showed that it had been a broad tipped arrowhead, and he wasn't sure if the tip was barbed or not. Pulling it out would only do more damage. Aiden swore softly with a growl. There was nothing short of a spell that would save the man's life. He looked around to see if there was anyone else he could help.