Andlátkyn; Vandr Sanses unin Alagaësia

Soldiers

It was early afternoon, only a day after they'd left Eastcroft when Bird contacted the Rider and elf about the patrol ahead of them, worried. There was no cover the two on the ground could take, for the land was open and lacked any cover.

They briefly discussed what they could do, finding that their best option was to just keep running, and hope that the soldiers would assume they were only mere refugees.

So that's what they did. They ran, two others high above them wheeling in the sky as they kept watch, sometimes dipping or rising higher on thermals.

Two hours later, the growing dust cloud was finally close enough for the pair on the ground to see the horses and men producing it.
Ten minutes later they stopped running, Eragon storing Aren in his pack as Arya pulled the skirt from hers and put it on over her leggings. They then went on walking, bowing their heads, hunching shoulders and dragging feet.

Nearly yet another hour passed before their paths met with the fifteen man patrol, the pair moving to stand on the side of the path for the troop to pass.
It almost seemed as though they would pass without incident when a voice cried out for their men to stop.

It was almost a minute of stopping and surrounding them before that same voice ordered them to look up.
This revealed a man with a most ridiculously absurd mustache that stuck out nine inches to either side comically. It was actually impressive. The other soldiers in the troop had pointed spears at them.

"Now then," Spoke Sir Mustache, his facial hair wobbling chaotically. "Who are you? Where are you going? And what is your business in the king's lands?" He immediately waved a hand.

"No, don't bother answering. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters nowadays. The world is coming to an end, and we waste our days interrogating peasants. Bah! Superstitious vermin who scurry from place to place, devouring all the food in the land and reproducing at a ghastly rate. At my family's estate near Urû'baen, we would the likes of you flogged if we caught you wandering around without permission, and if we learned that you had stolen from your master, why, then we'd hang you. Whatever you want to tell me is lies. It always is…."

As he spoke, the two 'birds' above had been in freefall, dropping towards the ground at an alarming speed. He glanced at their bags, unaware.

"What have you got in that pack of yours, eh? Food and blankets, yes, but maybe a pair of gold candlesticks, eh? Silverware from the locked chest? Secret letters for the Varden? Eh? Cat got your tongue? Well, we'll sort the matter out. Langward, don't you see what treasures you can excavate from yonder knapsack, there's a good boy."

The Rider stumbled forward as a spear haft rammed into his back, metal clanging.
"Oho!" Sir Mustache exclaimed, the other soldier grabbing Eragon and removing his hauberk from the bag. "Look, sir!"

Mustache grinned. "Armor! And of fine make as well. Very fine, I should say. Well, you are full of surprises. Going to join the Varden, were you? Intent on treason and sedition, mmh?"

He frowned then. "Or are you one of those who generally give honest soldiers a bad name? If so, you are a most incompetent mercenary; you don't even have a weapon. Was it too much trouble to cut yourself a staff or club, eh? Well, how about it? Answer me!"
"No, sir."

"No, sir? Didn't occur to you, I suppose. It's a pity we have to accept such slow-minded wretches, but that's what this blasted war has reduced us to, scrounging for leftovers."
"Accept me where, sir?"

"Silence, you insolent rascal! No one gave you permission to speak!" He gestured wildly, mustache wobbling violently. The man behind Eragon slammed his fist into his head.