Title: Vrangr
Summary: Vrangr; awry, wandering. A thief struggles with his uncontrollable magic powers as he evades the rule of Queen Nasuada and unravels his destiny. OC people! post-inheritance.
A/N Hello everyone! This is about a year old and I have made adjustments to this story.
Vrangr
The Thief
In the village of Daret, four children ran laughing and giggling through the square. They ran their way around the maze of human legs, letting out an excited squeal every time someone yelled at them. In the lead was a little girl of about four years of age with beautiful crimson hair and bright blue eyes. She wore an amulet around her neck with a tear drop shaped sapphire encased with gold that sparkled as the sun shimmered off it. The boy closest to her was the same age. He had dark brown hair and eyes. His arms where outstretched in an attempt to catch the girl. The two boys behind them were both twins, which was extremely rare in Alagaësia, yet one would not come to such a conclusion when looking at them. One of the twins had blond hair and green eyes, the other black hair and blue eyes. The twins lagged behind as they shoved the other out of the way. They all wore thick fur coats and boots over their clothes to protect their small bodies from the freezing cold.
A single black figure sat with one foot dangling off the side of the roof of a house owned by a practically annoying fisherman, watched the children in their play. He wore a black under suit beneath the black colored chest, leggings, and bracers lightweight armor with black boots. He also wore a black leather belt with two pockets, a throwing knife to his right hip and a dagger hanging from it sheath on the left. A long flowing cape was spread out behind him, with a hood covering his eyes and a black cloth mask over his mouth. In his mind a mental war was taking place for whether or not he should take the little girl precious , but extremely expensive, amulet. He carefully weighed the pros and cons. The girl's cheerful laughter would end if she lost the amulet, but if he took it, he could sell it for some coin.
After some dispute he figured he would take the amulet. But not now, not with all the people around. That would be suicide.
He wrapped his arms around his bent leg and rested his head on his knee. Winter had come early this year, the ground and roof where already covered with snow, which quite annoyed the old hermit whose roof he was sitting on. Below him, a few feet away, the town was bustling with activity. People where rushing from place to place to sell their wares and buy supplies. Some of the people, in their ignorance, cursed and swore at the traders for being late, and the trades either tried to kindly explain to them or simply cursed them back. He found most arguments to quite amusing, such as the two brothers who were arguing with one of the traders about what color cheese tasted like. "It tastes green!" cried the brothers in unison.
"I object! Last time I tried any cheese it tasted blue!" the tradesman yelled back. He smiled at their stupidity.
He loved pointless arguments.
As he observed the marketplace, he found many objects that would fetch a nice price, such as the traders who sold valuable jewelry and priceless gems, but now was not the time to go hunting for treasure. No, he would have to wait for the cover of the night to take his prize.
He felt a slight tugging on his leg. It was that annoying hermit. He could tell from the structure of the hands. Then with supernatural strength the old fisherman pulled him down from his seat on the roof. He landed face first into the snow. As he lay on his stomach he heard the old man chuckle, "Oh, come on, I thought you younger people where smarter than that….. A lot stronger too," the elder chuckled again; his voice aged with a slight crackle in it, yet retained a sense of wisdom.
The old fisherman had yet again evaded another of his traps. This one was meant to dump water on the elders head once he opened his door, but like the last four times the fisherman had found a way to disarm the trap. He was actually quite impressed, ever since the fisherman had caught him stealing his prized fish three years ago, their war was becoming more and more intense, more… imaginative. But it would have to end, for he the Thief, would be leaving for Gil'ead after tonight's heist, as went his yearly routine.
"Your good, old man," he said, standing up, his black cloak covering his body, while his hood hid his face. As was the custom of the loser, he grabbed three gold coins from a belt purse, turned around and offered them to the elder. "You beat me at my own game, here accept my defeat," he said. The old man laughed taking the coins and putting them in his own purse.
"You defeated! I thought I'd never hear that from you!" the old man grunted as he turned around, his wooden cane striking the wood of the porch. "Anywho, see you next year Lathan," With that he walked back into his home, the bucket of water next to the door.
Lathan, a boy from years past who had died of an illness sometime before the end of the war, before he the thief was born, somehow he had reminded the old man of the boy who had enjoyed danger just a little too much.
Make no mistake; it was not his real name. In fact not even he knew his real name. From what he had been told from his foster parents, he had experienced something so traumatic that his own mind seemed to force itself to forget the event and his life in the process. So he had throughout all his life had many names, but since the old man had started calling him Lathan he had decided to keep it.
He brushed off the snow on his armor and then set out to find another roof to sit on till night blanketed the world.
Lathan spent the next few hours watching people pass by on a roof top not far from the fisherman's house. As he sat, he analyzed the crowd, tracking which items he could steal later and memorizing the locations of possible escape routes, in case a problem suddenly occurred. He heard the clatter of horse hooves as a large group of men entered the city, but he paid little attention it. After all, at this time of the year the noise was ordinary and unimportant to the task at hand.
He suddenly noticed a change in the crowd. Everyone was quiet, some whispered to themselves and begin to point toward the general direction of where the clatter of hooves had come from. Lathan listened to the crowd and someone said in a low, but excited voice "Look! It's the Du Vrangr Gata!"
A sudden stab of fear vibrated through his body. He didn't bother looking at the group of men who had arrived, he was more concerned for himself. Du Vrangr Gata at one time had been the Vardens group of magicians during the War that had taken place thirty-eight years ago, now all they did was round up any human who could use any form of magic (except riders) and force them to swear an oath in the ancient language to Queen Nasuada. Such a thing took away any magicians freedom good or bad. Unfortunately Lathan was one of these people who could access such power.
Though rarely, using his mind instead of words he had managed to use magic even without knowing the words of the ancient language, which was a miracle in of itself, because of the dangers it caused to the caster. Yet on the one or two incidents that he had used magic it had been at the worst of times and usually with deadly consequences. Lathan could also read minds, but only in dire situations, for it took out the excitement of the heist and it just felt wrong to invade private thoughts in general. As a result of his powers he had defenses around his mind, but he wasn't going to rely on them to keep the Du Vrangr Gata out of his head.
So, he did the worst possible act.
He bolted.
Lathan jumped over the roof tops feeling the adrenaline pump into his system as full flung fear battered at his conscience. Lathan did not want to be controlled by anyone or anything for that matter, and he feared having to be told to do anything before he did it.
In the beginning, before the Rider, Eragon, had left Alagaësia, Queen Nasuada's plan had been to simply have magicians not use certain words of the ancient language, but now she seemed to believe that every magician was evil in some way, shape, or form. It didn't matter if you never stole or killed anyone; you would still lose your free will.
Lathan seemed to fly across the rooftops. As he jumped from roof to roof trying to get to the outskirts of Daret to the fields beyond, he felt a sudden jabbing against the mental defenses of his mind. He threw up his defense concentrating on a song he had heard from years past. He had hoped that no one had noticed him run off, but his situation would get no better if the magicians caught him. He felt another conscience spring up and slash at his mind with such force that Lathan tripped and fell on the top of the roof he had just landed on. Yet he still managed to keep his defenses during the fall so no one slipped into his head.
Suddenly multiple consciences began to attack him. He lay in the snow hands clenched into fist as he tried to defend himself from within. It felt as though they were hitting him with hammers and trying to stab him with swords. He was about to break when they pulled back and left themselves exposed. Lathan lashed out with his conscience at the one that had made him fall on the roof and felt the man's thoughts.
Lathan invaded the man's mind, making the magician grab a knife from his belt and slit his own throat. Lathan quickly stood up, a wave of nausea rippled through him. He ignored the feeling and forced his body to move forward. He took a few steps forward and then stopped to grip his stomach. He took a step back before running forward and jumping to the next roof. Lathan's body protested against the action, but he continued to force himself forward. As he ran forward, he felt the deepest reaches of his mind touch the mysterious energy that seemed more of a curse than a gift. With a sudden burst of speed as he barely took a step on the roofs and jumped over two at a time.
As he finally approached the last roof before the frozen fields of grass, releasing the magic he felt his energy suddenly drain away like he had been running for hours on end. He sat on the edge of the roof and slowly slid himself off. As he hit the ground his legs buckled out beneath him and he fell on his knees, catching the rest of his falling body with his hands.
There Lathan sat panting, taking in deep breaths, trying to regain his strength. After about a minute passed, Lathan knew if he stayed any longer the Empire's magic club would find him. He pushed himself off the ground and staggered to his feet, legs burning and heart pounding. He then ran out into the open plains, the Ninor River a few yards to his right.
He knew from the position of the setting sun that he was heading north. The closest city was Yazuac, but he preferred not to go there, considering that the city was said to have ghost of the people who had been slaughtered there during the war. Also, the town was well known for its cruelty to outsiders. Multiple times he had heard of traders being killed in the area or the city itself from some secret organization, even the enforcers seemed to not care about the murders or the law. But if it became necessary, he would enter the haunted village.
Beyond Yazuac, and far safer, was Therinsford, which he knew he shouldn't go to unless he lost the Du Vrangr Gata magicians, assuming he hadn't already.
In the distance he heard the thump of hooves digging themselves into the snow and dirt. Lathan didn't bother looking back; he already knew what was coming.
Lathan ran up to the rocky shores of the Ninor River. Stopping next to the water, he gathered up his cloak and wrapped it around his body to the point where it looked as if he was wearing a loose black shirt. Then, taking a few steps back before running toward the water. He knew it was freezing cold, but it would slow down the magicians for at least a little while if he got to the other side.
He ran forward charging at the water. Before he even touched the cold liquid, from behind he heard a man shout, "Letta!"
His body froze in mid run. He panicked but found he couldn't move. He heard the clatter of the horses hooves slow as they approached. Lathan found a tremendous desire to run, but what he now assumed was a spell, held him place.
"Good thinking, Fled, we would have lost him for sure," said a deep commanding voice of an older man. The horses hooves stopped one by one and he heard the sliding of the leather and the grunts of men as they dismounted their steads.
"Just hurry….I can't keep this up," who he supposed was Fled said, through a gasp, his voice sounded weak as if he might die.
He heard someone cough as the crunch of feet stepping on stones approached from behind. It aggravated Lathan that he couldn't see the man. "All right, let's get this over with," said a far younger voice. Lathan heard the man behind him mutter some words. Then he felt something very hard hit the back of his head, and then he fell to the ground, water splashing in his face. Black slowly took over as he fell into unconsciousness.
To be continued. I'm trying not to screw this story up. If you find any errors please tell me so I can correct them.