The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  had simply been a reflection of his own thoughts or something more real. More alive. Fiddling with her headband in his pocket, he sighed and tried to get his mind off the topic.

  Dwarvish – he had to become more fluent. It was difficult to keep up with them when they spoke so fluidly in their own language. There had to be at least one dwarf in Farthen Dûr

  willing to teach him how to speak better. The ones he had spoken to all had seemed eager to correct him, finding his failures amusing.

  If Mariah was alive somewhere, it must mean she was captured, probably by the Empire – by Galbatorix himself. If that was indeed what had happened to her, what could he do?

  He wasn't even a Rider; despite everything he couldn't help his little sister.

  "Damnit," he stopped and rubbed his face, "I have to stop worrying like this. It's not doing any good you know."

  "Worrying always does some good, whether you do something about it or not is usually what matters."

  Mark looked over and let out a slight moan. How was it every time he stopped paying attention to where his feet were going, they led him to Angela?

  "Did you find my gift useful?"

  He blinked, "Yes, but it seems to be causing more of a problem for me than not."

  "How do you mean?" She asked, examining a blue feather.

  "I mean, I believe I was able to scry my sister with it." Mark told her, leaning on her counter. "But I can't say for certain."

  "What good does knowing do you anyhow? Nothing you can do about it now."

  "Well… no"

  "So what use is it?"

  "I'd like to know if she's alright or not."

  "Why? You can't do anything either way."

  He huffed, "I could if I wanted to."

  "Then why don't you?" She asked, looking over at him.

  "Because… I"

  "You can't, that's why." Angela told him, "You're weak and pathetic and there's nothing you can do about it." Mark blinked at her, startled. "I mean you have no dragon. Even on

  your horse, it would take you weeks to reach Urû'baen. And even if you managed somehow to reach the capital – through the countless hordes of enemies what's to say she's

  actually there? You might be wrong."

  "I might be right."

  "That's a change you aren't willing to take, now isn't it?"

  He looked down at the wooden countertop and dragged a finger along the grain line. "No… it's not."

  "Not even for your sister?"

  "I know she would not want me to risk my own life just to try and save hers."

  "And what if she is content with Galbatorix? What if she likes being there? She might not even come back with you, if you were somehow able to find a way."

  He hadn't thought of that. "No, she would never. I know my sister, she would do anything to destroy the Empire."

  "That was before, can you be sure now? It has been nearly a fortnight since her departure. People can change."

  "Not so quickly."

  "I think you may be surprised, Marcus." Angela told him. "Have I helped you calm your mind?"

  "Not at all," he said, letting out a quiet chortle. "On the contrary – my mind seems to be spinning more. You're coming with us to Surda then?"

  "I am. We've already started packing." She said.

  He smiled a bit, "I'm glad you're coming along. I enjoy your company and, though very confusing, entertaining conversation."

  "As do I," Angela told him, "Now. I believe it was late when you arrived and you have overstayed your welcome. Go now and rest."

  Mark pushed off the counter, shaking his head at the woman and started out of her shop, finding the streets nearly empty as everyone turned in for the night.

  He glanced back and forth down the hall to make sure no one was coming before crouching on one knee and picking the lock carefully. The man swore a couple times as he nearly

  had it, then it relocked. After a few tries Murtagh blinked, realizing it was magically relocking itself every time he picked it.

  "Ma'mor," he said. Nothing happened. Growling a bit to himself he narrowed his eyes at the door. "…Mariah said it helps to calm down first. Easy for her to say." He tapped his

  fingers against the wood and let out a breath, trying to pull on some sort of magic from inside himself. After a few seconds he rolled his eyes, "This is stupid. I can't use magic."

  Turning around, he walked to the next room over and picked the lock. This one wasn't magically shut. Opening it quietly, he stepped inside, closing the door and looking around. Murtagh walked along the wall and ran his fingers over the fine decorated walls, tapping every now and then until he heard a hollow sound. Smirking, he started searching for the

  hidden panel and soon found a notch in the wall. He pressed it and the concealed door sank back into the wall, spinning out to the magically locked room. Murtagh stepped through

  and looked around.

  The room was exactly how he remembered it, filled with books and pictures of the sea. Kendra had only gotten to see the ocean once and had collected pictures of it ever since.

  She usually spent as much time as she could at the lake outside of the city, but it was nothing compared to the vast saltfilled waters of the sea. He strode over to her bookshelf,

  looking over the titles on the spines and observing the amount of dust collected on them. Murtagh paused when he saw one had a lighter coating than the rest, pulling it out and moving to sit down with it. He blinked as a piece of paper fell from it, landing on the floor. Kneeling down to pick it up, he hesitated when he saw his name scrolled at the top in

  large, elegant, looping letters.

  Setting the book down on the nearby table he looked at the paper and unfolded it carefully, biting his lip as he read.

  Murtagh,

  These words are meant for your eyes only, please keep them safe. If you're reading this, by now you must have realized I've gone – escaped, or hoped to, shortly after you. It also means you're back in Urû'baen – most likely captured by the king's men, despite your best efforts to escape. I'm sorry that it happened, but I am glad you are still alive.

  Anything Galbatorix has made you do up until now will be nothing compared to what he has planned for you. I never wanted to see you turn into one of his pawns, but with what he

  has told me and Kieran, that is what you will become. Don't fight him. Despite every part of your existence that will scream not to let him win, allow it. If you try to fight him, you will lose. Every single time. You have seen what he does to me and my sister. Remember all those times I lay broken and bleeding after he made me train over and over – don't let

  that happen to you. My hatred toward him for that will never weaken. I am his disappointment, but he still has you and Kieran. If I only knew of a way to tell you how much that

  frightens me.

  I left because I could not stay here and watch as innocent people are slain with no mercy while the country falls to ruin. Your escape gave me the courage to leave. I realize now

  that I cannot stay here, whether I die running or get killed before I even make it off the grounds, I don't know. Maybe I'll be caught and beaten to death by the king. I can only pray

  he would not leave me alive, be that the case. I may die, I don't know and it does scare me. Wouldn't it you – to die alone?

  I hope to never return here unless it is to not only kill Galbatorix, but to set you and my dear sister free. Until then, I probably won't see you again. I don't know if you'll remember me if we ever do meet again, but I can only hope you will think of me every once in a great while and that they will be happier thoughts.

  With Love, Your Sister,

  Kendra

  "Of course she left a letter," he sighed. "Just like her to do that. Well Kendra, I'm sorry too… because I'm stuck here without you, at least if you were still here it'd make life a little more bearable. Kieran always was the crazy one."

  Murtagh quickly folded up the paper and s
tuffed it into his belt under his shirt, hearing footsteps just outside the door. He ran to the hidden doorway and closed it, stepping out into

  the hall just as soldiers rounded the corner. The messenger slipped between them all as they stopped a few feet from him. "Galbatorix wishes to see you. Follow me."

  He sighed and nodded, trying to ignore the guards as they walked him to one of the lower rooms of the castle. A chill ran up his spine as he recalled walking down this way before,

  it had not been pleasant the last time when the Twins tortured him and he prayed it wasn't about to turn into something similar today. The guards stopped at the door, the messenger waving him in. Murtagh stepped through as the door closed at his back.

  "Ah, there you are," Galbatorix said, motioning for him to step closer.

  Hesitating a moment, Murtagh looked around the room. It was damp, cold and dark. The torch light flickered, allowing only the smallest bit of light and heat into the stone walls and

  floor. He caught something sparkle out of the corner of his eye and flicked his gaze to it fully. Large smooth gemstones say atop pedestals in the center of the room.

  "Come here boy." His voice came out in an impatient drawl.

  Stepping closer, he saw exactly what he expected – dragon eggs. There were eight in all; closest to him was a glittering green one the same color as an emerald. "I'm afraid I don't

  understand what you want me here for."

  Galbatorix walked around the eggs circular path, eyeing them with pleasure. "It's simple Murtagh. You did not believe I trained you and treated you as a son out of the kindness of my heart, did you?"

  He stayed silent, watching the king carefully.

  "You must realize I need Riders… no I want them. I want to restore the world to its proper state, recreate the Riders and bring them back to their full glory. You have heard the

  stories about ancient times – they are no myth. The Riders were every bit as glorious as stories tell, and then some. Imagine it – dragons in the sky all the time, dozens of them

  hundreds even. Alagaësia has been out of balance since the fall and needs to be resurrected. I wish to restore what is right – Alagaësia is supposed to have Dragon Riders, it has

  been that way for much of history. These most recent decades have been barren and dire, but by returning the Riders to their proper station everything will become as it once was.

  I need my Forsworn back in order to start the Rise of the Riders and I wish for you to take your father's place at my side."

  With every word his heart had started beating faster, he knew it had been coming. Kendra had known for a long time – Kieran too. "I am not my father."

  "No, you are not Morzan. You far outreach him. Your skills are beyond anything he could have dreamed of. At your age, he was not nearly as accomplished as you are. You have a

  gift, Murtagh, a natural fighting spirit. Use it. Become one of my new Forsworn." Galbatorix said, "You know you cannot refuse."

  He was right about that. The oaths he had forced him to pledge when he'd first arrived stated he must do everything Galbatorix commanded him to. He never imagined this would

  be one of them. "What if none of them hatch for me?"

  "I have been practicing, just for that very reason. If none of them want to hatch for you – I shall simply have to force one to."

  "What if you kill it?"

  "Nasreen is nearly old enough to breed, she will lay another clutch of eggs soon enough."

  "You'll destroy them all then?"

  Galabtorix looked at him, "If that is what must be done, yes. Now, find a dragon willing to hatch for you or I shall force one out."

  He shivered slightly, the hair on the back of his neck sticking up as he stepped forward, keeping the king in his sights. Murtagh brushed his fingers over the smooth surface of the

  emerald dragon egg and sighed lightly. How was he supposed to know which one would hatch for him – if any? Moving on, he touched a pale egg, in the lighting he couldn't tell what

  color it was – it simply looked white any tint was soaked up by the flickering firelight. Slowly he wound his way across the circle. "I don't think any of them want to hatch for me."

  "Keep going," Galbatorix commanded.

  He winced a bit and looked back down, placing his hand on a burnished ruby red dragon egg. Please, hatch. He's going to force you to and I would rather you hatched now by your

  own will than dying at his hand. Murtagh went rigid as he felt a tap against his hand. The sound echoed around the room and he felt the king smirk.

  "Red. Just like your father..."

  Murtagh watched the egg spider web with white cracks. He stepped back and stared as a snakelike head popped through the hole. The egg shattered, leaving a tiny red dragon

  sitting on the pedestal in front of him. His heart sank as it turned its head toward him, realizing what had just happened. "Anything Galbatorix has made you do up until now will be

  nothing compared to what he has planned for you." Kendra hadn't been joking.

  Well wasn't that just peachy?

  Mariah's just having oodles of fun, now isn't she? I've never mentioned it before, but considering their ages, I've always thought Mariah and Katrina would have been friends in

  Carvahall. And no, her Elvish was not a full blessing, before you ask – she put no magic behind her words.

  More with Eragon and Co. – their traveling is keeping my timeline a little more consistent. When it gets a little less lecturedriven, I'm planning on changing some things up.

  Bits with Mark and Nasuada – nothing much to do with them right now. I have to try and figure something out though… it'll pick up once I can place them in Surda though. Angela's

  always fun to write with, she can say whatever she wants and get away with it.

  Yes. Thorn did hatch for Murtagh. I'm so glad I can officially say that. Murtagh still gets Thorn. Galbatorix now has three Riders. Everyone can stop worrying about it now, even me.

  I did for a while consider not having this happen, but there's my final decision.

  Thank you for reviewing as per usual – I truly wouldn't be doing this without you.

  Every chapter has a title and I choose them all with great care. Somehow they are reflective as to what the chapter is about, and I try to make them catchy or familiar in some

  way. I don't really know why I'm telling you this, but I think it's because I just wrote the title in last for this chapter and it was on my mind.

  Sorry I'm so chatty today. I hope everyone has a fun and safe Forth of July tomorrow! Enjoy the fireworks. If you live outside the USA, then just have a great day.

  Mariah stood in front of the wooden door, staring without seeing at the tiny grains forming it. Slowly she reached out and grabbed the handle, pressing against it slightly and moving

  the door open. Once inside, she leaned against the heavy door to close it, breathing deeply. Brom's home smelled the same it had the day she left, only dustier. She stepped

  forward, dragging her fingers along the walls as she went. A moment later Mariah stood at the entrance to the library, "Brisingr, iet tauthr." A small ball of fire sparked up in mid

  air beside her, lighting the room. Walking in, the Rider looked around, skimming familiar titles and maps littered about the room. She sighed at the rocking chair and turned,

  striding to her room. It seemed smaller than she remembered, even after only a few short months. Standing in front of her dresser, she stared in the mirror.

  Her face appeared hollower than before, cheekbones jetting out farther, her features more defined. Blinking, she realized her eyes seemed older, more feminine than they had

  looked when she left Carvahall last year. She placed her hands on the dresser and realized she was taller as well, by a few inches. It was quite a growth spurt considering how many months she'd been away. Turning, Mariah walked from the room and back outside.

  She took a deep breath, calming herself
down before trying to find the right words. "Skölir thornessa breoal frá brisinger." Mariah placed her hand on the door and fell to her knees

  as she expelled the magic, coughing and clutching her chest. She panted; sweat dripping from her forehead as she pressed against the wood. As soon as she could stand again, she

  did so, striding back to Kieran as fast as she could.

  "Where have you been!"

  She blinked at the woman, redressing her armor carefully. "Trying to convince Roran that it would be in his best interests to submit now, before the village burns."

  "And?" Kieran snapped.

  "He agreed. He will come with us at daybreak."

  She nodded curtly, "Very well. Now, get some sleep, we are flying come morning."

  Mariah walked over to her dragon, now fully dressed in her armor, and curled against his belly. Andrar flicked out his wing and twisted his tail about her, shielding her from Kieran's

  view. She huddled against him and rubbed her eyes, sore from crying. Convincing Kieran to leave it alone had been easier than she'd predicted, but Mariah expected the princess'

  reaction tomorrow to be horrific.

  Clamping her eyes shut tightly, she tried imagining something more pleasant. It was midsummer now and every day was warm and pleasant – and even if the sky was filled with

  thunderstorms, she enjoyed watching the lightning and listening to the rain. Her cheek pressed against the grass and she breathed in deeply, finding that it smelled like home

  even amidst the burnt scent that lingered on the wind from the village.

  Any other year she would be laying on her back, watching the stars, connecting them and keeping track with one of Brom's many charts. Mark would help her point out any of them

  that she missed. They would lie under the sky for hours until she fell asleep, clutching the star map. When she woke, Mariah would always be laying in bed. On more than one

  occasion she had feigned sleep in order to get him to carry her home. It had been out of sheer laziness, thinking it was funny. But now, realizing he never once had so much as

  tried to wake her up, made her realize just how special it had been. He'd probably realized she was trying to trick him; he was smart enough to realize that. But still. Mark always