The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  effectively becoming an adopted member of Orik and Hrothgar's clan, Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. The first time any human had been offered such a position.

  Eragon had hoped to learn more about Arya while they traveled together, but the only information he had gleaned came simply as a result of observation. He had not supped with

  her before and was startled to see that she brought her own food and ate no meat. When he asked her why, she said, 'You will never again consume an animal's flesh after you

  have been trained, or if you do, it will be only on the rarest of occasions."

  "Why should I give up meat?" he scoffed.

  "I cannot explain with words, but you will understand once we reach Ellesméra."

  All that was forgotten now as he hurried to the threshold, eager to see their destination. He found himself standing on a granite outcropping, more than a hundred feet above a

  purplehued lake, brilliant under the eastern sun. Like Kósthamérna, the water reached from mountain to mountain, filling the valley's end. From the lake's far side, the z Ragni

  flowed north, winding between the peaks until – in the far distance – it rushed out onto the eastern plains.

  To his right, the mountains were bare, save for a few trails, but to his left… to his left was the dwarf city Tarnag. Here the dwarves had reworked the seemingly immutable Beors

  into a series of terraces. The lower terraces were mainly farms – dark curves of land waiting to be planted – dotted with squat halls, which at best he could tell were built entirely

  of stone. Above those empty levels rose tier upon tier of interlocking buildings until they culminated in a giant dome of gold and white. It was as if the entire city was nothing more

  than a line of steps leading to the dome. The cupola glistened like polished moonstone, a milky bead floating atop a pyramid of gray slate.

  Orik anticipated Eragon's question, saying, "That is Celbedeil, the greatest temple of dwarfdom and home of Dûrgrimst Quan – the Quan clan – who act as servants and messengers

  to the gods."

  "Do they rule Tarnag?" Eragon asked for Saphira.

  "Nay," said Arya, stepping past them. "Though the Quan are strong, they are small in numbers, despite their power over the afterlife… an gold. It is the Ragni Hefthyn – the River

  Guard – who control Tarnag. We will stay with their clan chief, Ûndin, while here."

  As they followed the elf off the outcropping and through the gnarled forest that blanketed the mountain, Orik whispered to Eragon, "Mind her not. She has been arguing with the

  Quan for many a year. Every time she visits Tarnag and speaks with a priest, it produces a quarrel fierce enough to scare a Kull."

  "Arya?"

  Orik nodded grimly. "I know little of it, but I've heard she disagrees strongly with much that the Quan practice. It seems that elves do not hold with 'muttering into the air for help'."

  Eragon stared at Arya's back as they descended, wondering if Orik's words were true, and if so, what Arya herself believed. He took a deep breath, pushing the matter from his mind. It felt wonderful to be back in the open, where he could smell the moss and ferns and trees of the forest, where the sun was warm on his face and bees and other insects

  swarmed pleasantly. It reminded him of Carvahall and Palancar Valley so far away.

  The path took them down to the edge o the lake before rising back toward Tarnag and its open gates. "How have you hidden Tarnag from Galbatorix?" asked Eragon. "Farthen Dûr I

  understand, but this… I've never seen anything like it."

  Orik laughed softly. "Hide it? That would be impossible. No, after the Riders fell, we were forced to abandon all our cities above ground and retreat into our tunnels in order to

  escape Galbatorix and the Forsworn. They would often fly through the Beors, killing anyone who they encountered."

  "I thought that dwarves always lived underground."

  Orik's thick eyebrows met in a frown. "Why should we? We may have an affinity for stone, but we like the open air as much as elves or humans. However, it has only been in the

  last decade and a half, ever since Morzan died, that we have dared return to Tarnag and other of our ancient dwellings. Galbatorix may be unnaturally powerful and his dragon

  could cause us no end of trouble if they wanted, but these days they rarely leave Urû'baen, even for short trips. Nor could Galbatorix bring an army here without first defeating

  Buragh or Farthen Dûr."

  Cresting a small mound, Eragon jolted with surprise as an animal crashed through the underbrush and onto the path. The scraggly creature looked like a mountain goat from the

  Spine, except that it was a third larger and had giant ribbed horns that curled around its cheeks, making an Urgal's seem no bigger than a swallow nest. Odder still was the saddle

  lashed across the goat's back and the dwarf seated firmly on it, aiming a halfdrawn bow into the air.

  "Hert dûrgrimst? Fild rastn?"shouted the strange dwarf.

  "Orik Thrifkz menthiv oen Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum," answered Orik. "Wharn, az vanyalicarharug Arya. Ne oc Ûndinz grimstbelardn." The goat stared warily at

  Saphira. Eragon noted how bright and intelligent its eyes were, though its face was rather droll with its frost beard and somber expression. It reminded him of Hrothgar, and he

  almost laughed, thinking how very dwarfish the animal was.

  "Azt jok jordn rast," came the reply.

  With no discernible command on the dwarf's part, the goat leaped forward, covering such an extraordinary distance it seemed to take flight for a moment. Then rider and steed

  vanished between the trees.

  "What was that?" asked Eragon, amazed.

  Orik resumed walking. "A Feldûnost, one of the five animals unique to these mountains. A clan is named after each one. However, Dûrgrimst Feldûnost is perhaps the bravest and most revered of the clans."

  "Why so?"

  "We depend upon Feldûnost for milk, wool, and meat. Without their sustenance, we could not live in the Beors. When Galbatorix and his traitorous Riders were terrorizing us, it was

  Dûrgrimst Feldûnost who risked themselves – and still do – to tend the herds and fields. As such, we are all in their debt."

  "Do all dwarves ride Feldûnost?" He stumbled slightly over the unusual word.

  "Only in the mountains. Feldûnost are hardy and surefooted, but they are better suited for cliffs than open plains."

  Saphira nudged Eragon with her nose, causing Snowfire to shy away. Now those would be good hunting, better than any I had in the Spine or hence! If I have time in TarnagNo,

  he said. We can't afford to offend the dwarves.

  She shorted, irritated. I could ask permission first.

  Now the path that had concealed them for so long under dark boughs entered the great clearing that surrounded Tarnag. Groups of observers had already begun to gather in the

  fields when seven Feldunost with jeweled harnesses bounded out from the city. Their riders bore lances tipped with pennants that snapped like whips In the air. Reining in his

  strange beast, the lead dwarf said, "Thou art wellcome to this city of Tarnag. By otho of Ûndin and Gannel, I, Thorv, son of Brokk, offer in peace the shelter of our halls." His

  accent grumbled and rasped with a rough burr quite unlike Orik's.

  "And by Hrothgar's otho, we of the Ingeitum accept your hospitality," responded Orik.

  The flight was long, and she fell asleep midflight more than once from pure exhaustion. The countryside she had once favored so much made her stomach flip and contort in pain.

  Kieran had made a straight path from Urû'baen to Carvahall, bypassing Gil'ead, Daret and even Yazuac by a few leagues. The empty fields of the Empire were dotted with nothing

  but herds of elk and deer being followed by wolf packs. They stopped only a few times during the flight, effectively making a trip that would have lasted weeks on horseback
only a

  three days' journey. Stops included time for the dragons to rest and eat, allowing Nasreen to show off her hunting skills for Andrar. With blinding speed she would fall out of the sky

  like a shadow and rip into the largest animal of a herd, crushing its entire back in one bite of her massive jaws. She would devour her kill swiftly while keeping eye contact with the male dragon, who tried his best to avoid her piercing gaze.

  She's showing you just how much of an advantage she has over you, if we decide to run. Mariah realized after a few instances.

  Yes. He admitted tightly, More than that even.

  What do you mean? Mariah asked, but he said nothing more, going to sleep for the few hours Kieran allowed him.

  When her eyes fell upon Carvahall, she nearly threw up in her saddle. The valley was well into summer with colorful flowers and green grass. Any other time she would have cried

  out of sheer happiness, but Kieran flying beside her on Nasreen made the experience less than enjoyable. The dragons landed near the forest discreetly and waited. Mariah didn't

  have long to guess why they were, for two figures soon walked toward them. She tensed and stared at the two Ra'zac as they spoke with Kieran. She talked with them quickly

  before they turned and headed back toward Carvahall.

  "…what are they doing here?" She asked, watching them leave.

  Kieran adjusted her sword on her hip, "The soldiers set fire to the barn a few nights ago, I gathered, in a drunken stupor. Coming here was an attempt to get to you and your rider

  friend to join us. He has a cousin, right? That's what I managed to gather at least."

  "…" Mariah watched her, swallowing any names that popped into her head.

  She sighed, "Either way, the town's become a nuisance. After the fire, the townspeople have started attacking my soldiers. The Ra'zac have given them a choice – to hand over the

  cousin or die. I think you may be able to spare the rest of the town's life if you go down and convince him to come with us."

  "And if I don't?"

  "I'm burning the whole town to the ground, of course."

  "You can't…" she said, "This is my home, you can't." Mariah said to her, feeling her chest tighten.

  Kieran walked to her, placing a finger on her lips, "Don't tell me what I can and cannot do. If I say burn it to the ground, I will. Or would you rather I tell you to go down and

  capture every single person and kill them by hand?" Mariah shivered and started crying silently as the woman caressed her cheek. "I thought so. You may rest the remainder of the

  night." Kieran told her, sitting down next to her dragon.

  Sleep my darling, we shall figure this out come morning. Andrar insisted, wrapping his tail around his Rider, leading her into a restless sleep.

  Just before the sun rose and the sky started lightening, she heard Kieran let out a snarl. Mariah looked up and watched her stiffen. Peering through the darkness, her lips pulled

  back, revealing her teeth.

  Pushing up next to her, Mariah stared. Her gaze lingered on burned buildings and her heart jumped, hoping no one had been killed in whatever fire had caused it. The rest of the

  town looked like a war zone, upturned wagons and boarded up windows everywhere. A trench was cut into the earth around the village, felled trees helping form a barricade.

  "It was not like this yesterday," the princess growled. "They were supposed to submit, not fortify their little village. You are going now. If you do not convince him to come with us,

  I will burn it to the ground."

  Mariah swallowed and turned to climb on Andrar's back. She paused and looked at her dragon before twisting back to Kieran, "I will do it on my own terms. And I will convince him

  in whatever way I deem fit. If you interfere there will be no chance of me succeeding."

  "Fine," she snapped. "Go. Do it quickly, before the day is over."

  She untied her sword from her belt and dropped it at her feet, pulling the knife from her boot as well. Mariah removed any armor she'd been given and left it on the ground.

  Kneeling down, she relaced both her boots and adjusted the belt around her waist, her gaze never leaving the village. Taking a deep breath, she started down the hill toward

  Carvahall.

  After resting a while and feasting with the new clan of dwarves, the leader Grimstborith Gannel offered to show Eragon the temple – Celbedeil the day after their arrival. After

  consulting Orik, he took the dwarf up on his offer and followed him inside the temple at the top tier of the city, bringing Zar'roc with him at Saphira's urging.

  His first impression was of color. A burninggreen sward splayed around the pillared mass of Celbedeil, like a mantle dropped over the symmetrical hill that upheld the temple. Ivy

  strangled the building's ancient walls in foot after foot of hairy ropes, dew swill glittering on the pointed leaves. And curving above all but the mountains was the great white cupola

  ribbed with chiseled gold.

  His next impression was of smell. Flowers and incense mixed their perfumes into an aroma so ethereal, Eragon felt as if he could live on the scent alone.

  Last was sound, for despite clumps of priests strolling along mosaic pathways and spacious grounds, the only noise Eragon could discern was the soft thump of a rook flying

  overhead.

  The dwarf beckoned again and strode down the main avenue toward Celbedeil. As they passed under its eaves, Eragon could only marvel at the wealth and craftsmanship displayed

  around him. The walls were spotted with gems of every color and cut – though all flawless – and red gold had been hammered into the veins lacing the stone ceilings, walls, and

  floor. Pearls and silver provided accents. Occasionally, they passed a screen partition carved entirely of jade.

  The temple was devoid of cloth decorations. In their absence, the dwarves had carved a profusion of statues, many depicting monsters and deities locked in epic battles.

  After climbing several floors, they passed through a copper door waxy with verdigris and embossed with intricate, patterned knots into a bare room floored with wood. Armor hung

  thickly on the walls, along with racks of staffswords identical to the one Angela had fought with in Farthen Dûr.

  Gannel was there, sparring with three younger dwarves. The clan chief's robe was tucked up over his thighs so he could move freely, his face a fierce scowl as the wood shaft spun

  in his hands, unsharpened blades darting like riled hornets.

  Two dwarves lunged at Gannel, only to be stymied in a clatter of wood and metal as he spun past them, rapping their knees and heads and sending them to the floor. Eragon

  grinned as he watched Gannel disarm his last opponent in a brilliant flurry of blows.

  At last the clan chief noticed Eragon and dismissed the other dwarves. As Gannel set his weapon on a rack, Eragon said, "Are all Quan so proficient with the blade? It seems an odd

  skill for priests."

  Gannel faced him. "We must be able to defend ourselves, no? Many enemies stalk this land."

  Eragon nodded. "Those are unique swords. I've never seen their like, except for one an herbalist used in the battle of Farthen Dûr."

  The dwarf sucked in his breath, then let it hiss out between his teeth. "Angela." His expression soured. "She won her staff from a priest in a game of riddles. It was a nasty trick, as

  we are the only ones allowed to use hûthvirn. She and Arya…" He shrugged and went to a small table, where he filled two mugs with ale. Handing one to Eragon, he said, "I invited

  you here today at Hrothgar's request. He told me that if you accepted his offer to become Ingeitum, I was to acquaint you with the dwarf traditions."

  Eragon sipped the ale and kept silent, eying how Gannel's thick brow caught the light, shadows dripping down his cheeks from the bony ridge.

  The clan chief continued: "Never before has an outsider been taught
our secret beliefs, nor may you speak of them to human or elf. Ney without this knowledge, you cannot uphold

  what it means to be knurla. You are Ingeitum now: our blood, our flesh, our honor. You understand?"

  "I do."

  "Come." Keeping his ale in hand, Gannel took Eragon from the sparring room and conveyed him through five grand corridors, stopping them in the archway to a dim chamber hazy

  with incense. Facing them, the squat outline of a statue swelled ponderously from the floor to ceiling, a faint light cast across the brooding dwarf face hacked with uncharacteristic

  crudeness from brown granite.

  "Who is he?" asked Eragon, intimidated.

  "Gûntera, King of the Gods. He is a warrior and a scholar, though fickle in his moods, so we burn offerings to assure his affection at the solstices, before sowing, and at deaths and

  births." Gannel twisted his hand in a strange gesture and bowed to the statue. "It is to him we pray before battles, for he molded this land from the bones of a giant and gives the

  world its order. All realms are Gûntera's."

  Then Gannel instructed Eragon how to properly venerate the god, explaining the signs and words that were used for homage. He elucidated the meaning of the incense – how it

  symbolized life and happiness – and spent long minutes, recounting legend s about Gûntera, how the god was born fully formed to a shewolf at the dawn of stars, how he had

  battled monsters and giants to win a place for his kin in Alagaësia, and how he had taken Kílf, the goddess of rivers and the sea, as his mate.

  Next they went to Kílf's statue, which was carved with exquisite delicacy out of pale blue stone. Her hair flew back in liquid ripples, rolling down her neck and framing merry

  amethyst eyes. In her hands, she cupped a water lily and a chunk of porous red rock that Eragon did not recognize.

  "What is that?" he asked, pointing.

  "Coral taken from deep within the sea that borders the Beors."

  "Coral?" He asked, the word sounding familiar yet foreign.

  Gannel took a draught of ale, then said, "Our divers found it while searching for pearls. It seems that, in brine, certain stones like to grow plants."