The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  however, there are those whom the world would be better off without."

  "You've my full agreement." She said. "But now I'm going to ask you to be quiet, I don't like much noise when I ride."

  "Can I ask why?"

  "I need to listen. If you're talking I can't hear if anyone's about to kill me or not."

  Mark smiled a bit at her and looked forward, in full agreement with her. Crazy as she might be, he realized that they agreed most of the time. Riding in silence with her the thought

  crossed his mind if he wasn't just as insane as her.

  Bleh filler… so much filler with Eragon… and does anyone else feel like Paolini took a leaf out of Lothlorien for his elves? No? Huh… maybe it's just me then…

  BUT HEY! Mariah and Murtagh… anyone gonna jump onboard?

  Are you liking Kendra?

  And again, I'm going to apologize for my long absence, I've been extremely busy and fell ill through exhaustion and stress, it was not pretty… chapter is slightly unedited as I'm

  posting it the moment I've finished writing it. I'll go back later and update, adding all the little accent marks above letters that need be there. If I remember...

  Eragon knelt before the queen of the elves and her councilor in a fantastic room made from the boles of living trees in a nearmythic land, and the only thing that filled his mind

  was shock. Arya is a princess! It was fitting in a way – she had always possessed an air of command – but he bitterly regretted the fact, for it placed another barrier between them

  when he would have torn them all away. The knowledge filled his mouth with the taste of ashes. He remembered Angela's prophecy that he would love of noble birth… and her

  warning that she could not see if it would end for good or for ill.

  He could feel Saphira's own surprise, then her amusement. She said, It appears that we have been traveling in the presence of royalty without knowing it.

  Why didn't she tell us?

  Perhaps it would have placed her in greater danger.

  "Islanzadí Dröttning," said Arya formally.

  The queen withdrew as if she had been stung and then repeated in the ancient language, "O my daughter, I have wronged you." She covered her face. "Ever since you disappeared,

  I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made…

  Can you forgive me?"

  The gathered elves stirred with amazement.

  Arya's response was long in coming, but at least she said, "For seventy years, I have lived and loved, fought and killed without ever speaking to you, my mother. Our lives are long,

  but even so, that is no small span."

  Islanzadí drew herself upright, lifting her chin. A tremor ran her length. "I cannot undo the past, Arya, no matter how much I might desire to."

  "And I cannot forget what I endured."

  "Nor should you." Islanzadí clasped her daughter's hands. "Arya, I love you. You are my only family. Go if you must, but unless you wish to renounce me, I would be reconciled with

  you."

  For a terrible moment, it seemed as if Arya would not answer, or worse, would reject the offer. Eragon saw her hesitate and quickly look at her audience. Then she lowered her

  eyes and said, "No, Mother. I could not leave." Islanzadí smiled uncertainly and embraced her daughter again. This time Arya returned the gesture, and smiled broke out among the

  assembled elves.

  The white raven hopped on his stand, cackling, "And on the door was graven evermore, what now became the family lore, Let us never do but to adore!"

  "Hush, Blagden," said Islanzadí to the raven. Keep you doggerel to yourself." Breaking free, the queen turned to Eragon and Saphira. "You must excuse me for being discourteous

  and ignoring you, our most important guests."

  Eragon touched his lips and then twisted his right hand over his sternum, as Arya had taught him. "Islanzadí Dröttning. Atra esterní ono thelduin." He had no doubt that he was

  supposed to speak first.

  Islanzadí's dark eyes widened. "Atra du evarínya ono varda."

  "Un atra mo'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr," replied Eragon, completing the ritual. He could tell that the elves were caught off guard by his knowledge of their customs. In his mind, he

  listened as Saphira repeated his greeting to the queen.

  When she finished, Islanzadí asked, "Dragon, what is your name?"

  Saphira.

  A flash of recognition appeared in the queen's expression, but she made no comment on it. Welcome to Ellesméra, Saphira. And yours, Rider?"

  "Eragon Shadeslayer, Your Majesty." This time an audible stir rippled among the elves seated behind them; even Islanzadí appeared startled.

  "You carry a powerful name," she said softly, "one that we rarely bestow upon our children… Welcome to Ellesméra, Eragon Shadeslayer. We have waited long for you." She moved

  on to Orik, greeted him, then returned to her throne and draped her velvet cloak over her arm. "I assume by your presence here, Eragon, so soon after Saphira's egg was captured,

  and by the ring on your hand and the sword on your hop, that Brom is dead and that your training with him was incomplete. I wish to hear your full story, including how Brom fell

  and how you came to meet my daughter, or how she met you, as it may be. Then I will hear of your mission here, dwarf, and of your adventures, Arya, since your ambush in Du Weldenvarden."

  Eragon had narrated his experiences before, so he had no trouble reiterating them now for the queen. He only stumbled when he had to mention Mariah and Andrar and Murtagh,

  their names and the memories that went with them difficult to let roll from his tongue. On occasion, Saphira was able to provide an accurate description of events. In several

  places, he simply left the telling to her. Islanzadí didn't look surprised in the least when he mentioned Andrar's name, confirming Ajihad's earlier suspicions that the elves had been

  harboring a second egg without the Varden's knowing – however her eyes betrayed her devastation upon learning both he and his Rider were gone. When they finished, Eragon

  retrieved Nasuada's scroll from his pack and presented it to Islanzadí.

  She took the roll of parchment, broke the red wax seal, and, upon completing the missive, sighed and briefly closed her eyes. "I see now the true depth of my folly. My grief would

  have ended so much sooner if I had not withdrawn our warriors and ignored Ajihad's messengers after learning that Arya had been ambushed. I should have never blamed the

  Varden for her death. For one so old, I am still far too foolish…"

  A long silence followed, as no one dared to agree or disagree. Summoning his courage, Eragon said, "Since Arya has returned alive, will you agree to help the Varden, like before?

  Nasuada cannot succeed otherwise, and I am pledged to her cause."

  "My quarrel with the Varden is as dust in the wind," said Islanzadí. "Fear not; we will assist them as we once did, and more, because of you and their victory over the Urgals." She

  leaned forward on one arm. "Will you give me Brom's ring, Eragon?" Without hesitation, he pulled it off his finger and offered it to the queen, who plucked it from his palm with her

  slim fingers. "You should not have worn this, Eragon, as it was not meant for you. However, because of the aid you have rendered the Varden and my family, I now name you Elf

  Friend and bestow this ring, Aren, upon you, so that all elves, wherever you go, will know that you are to be trusted and helped."

  Eragon thanked her and returned the ring to his finger, acutely aware of the queen's gaze, which remained upon him with disturbing perception, studying and analyzing. He felt as if

  she knew everything that he might say or do. She said, "Such tidings as yours, we have not heard the like of in Du Weldenvarden for many a year. We are accustom
ed to a slower

  way of life here than the rest of Alagaësia, and it troubles me that so much could occur so swiftly without word of it reaching my ear."

  "And what of my training?" Eragon snatched a furtive glance at the seated elves, wondering if any of them could be Togira Ikonoka, the being who had reached into his mind and

  freed him of Durza's foul influence after the battle in Farthen Dur – and who had also encouraged Eragon to travel to Ellesméra.

  "It will begin in the fullness of time. Yet I fear that instruction you is futile so long as your infirmity persists. Unless you can overcome the Shade's magic, you will be reduced to no more than a figurehead. You may still be useful, but only as a shadow of the hope that we have nurtured for over a century." Islanzadí spoke without reproach, yet her words struck

  Eragon like hammer blows. He knew that she was right. "Your situation is not your fault, and it pains me to voice such things, but you must understand the gravity of your

  disability… I am sorry."

  She turned to Orik to speak with him and Eragon retreated into his own mind. This was all nearly too much to process. Coming all this way, enduring as much as he had, losing so much – nearly everything and everyone he knew was gone – and to be told he was only a shadow of the hope they had anticipated. He felt a shiver run up his back as he stood,

  watching Islanzadí talk with Orik, not really hearing anything as they finished and she turned to Arya. Again, it was all too much. Arya being the princess was so shocking; he was

  surprised at himself for not saying it aloud.

  He watched her speaking with her mother and mentally slapped himself. He was hopelessly out of her league, as a sixteenyearold farm boy from Carvahall with no lineage to

  speak of, even as a Dragon Rider there wasn't a chance. Despite her appeal, he concluded she was simply too different, even if there weren't so many barriers to cross over. The

  little he did know about elves seemed confusing and extremely formal, neither of which appealed to him. Spending time with Arya was pleasant, but he always had to be on his

  guard, so as to not offend her or say something stupid. Mariah never was that way; she might have scolded him about saying such things or even laughed. He'd never been worried

  about her being so offended by something he didn't even realize he'd been saying that she would never speak to him again. She wasn't seventysome years older than him either.

  Nor was she elvish and, despite that, she was still just as pretty as Arya, even more so, since her features weren't so foreign. He felt his face burn, finally conscious of his

  wandering thoughts.

  I see you've finally figured it out.

  What?

  It has been on your mind for days, if not weeks now. Tell me you've finally figure it out, hatchling.

  Oh… that, he glanced at Arya again. I miss her Saphira, more than I miss anything else. And Arya… it's just not the same.

  You have much time to think everything through little one, you are still very young. Do not run to or from anything, you have enough time to walk.

  Mariah heard the shrieking roar coming from inside the castle and woke with a start, flying to her door and wrenching it open, running down the hallway, regretting, as she took the

  stairs three at a time, not taking a moment to slip on some shoes. Her bare feet smacked against the cold stone floor as she ran headlong into Kieran; the woman grasped her

  around her waist and smashed her into a wall, glaring. "If you have half a mind to keep yourself alive, I suggest you don't go any farther."

  The roar was still pounding in her ears, though it had ceased several moments ago. She stared up at Kieran's face, confused and concerned.

  "Come on," she said, grasping her wrist and hauling her back up the stairs.

  "But"

  "I said come on, it wasn't a suggestion."

  They arrived back at the top of the stairs where Kieran turned to the left. Mariah looked around, realizing she'd never been in this wing of the castle before. The princess pushed

  open one side of a pair of intricate double wooden doors and shoved Mariah in front of her. She let out a sigh and closed the door behind them, finally letting her go.

  "There. Now." Her eyes flicked back up at Mariah looked her over. "Natalie, come here." A young woman set down her water pitcher she'd been using to water flowers and stepped

  over. "I'm going to need you to modify one of my dresses for Mariah."

  "Of course mistress, would you like it done now?"

  "Yes." Kieran told her, nodding. "I'll find a dress, come back with your equipment as soon as possible." Before the young maid could so much as curtsy to the princess, she was

  walking off towards a tall wardrobe.

  Mariah glanced at the closing door and then Kieran, yawning a bit. It was still far too early to be up; she was still in her night clothes and with bare feet. "Is it too much to ask for

  you to explain what's going on?"

  "You're being fitted into one of my dresses."

  "Yes… that much is clear," Mariah mumbled, sitting in a chair. "But I would like to know what all the screeching was earlier."

  Kieran paused momentarily, as if debating whether or not to tell her, "You'll find out soon enough. Oh there you are Natalie. I think this one would work well."

  Mariah looked up from her seat and blinked at the long crimson dress Kieran was holding. Her throat seized slightly and her stomach started forming knots, realizing that the

  princess had probably spent more on having the dress made than what it would cost to feed all of Carvahall for two years. The beading alone must have taken hundreds of hours of

  work.

  "Well don't just sit there, come on, we haven't got all day." Kieran snapped up her wrist again and pulled her to stand up on a small stool. Natalie helped her step into the dress

  after she had discarded her night clothes.

  "What is this for again?" She asked, realizing the dress fit rather well, it was simply too long and her chest didn't quite fill up the corset like Kieran could. "Or is this simply a new

  form of torture?"

  Kieran rolled her eyes, folding her arms. "Father told me to have you fitted for a dress." She told her simply, walking out of the room, leaving her there with the maid.

  Mariah sighed, puffing out her annoyance and looked around the room. Now that she wasn't being dragged anywhere, she could see all the details and decorations. There were

  windows facing east, allowing for the morning sunrise to come streaming into the room, nearly blinding her. Kieran's room was heavily decorated, even more so than her own, with

  expensive fabrics and jeweled items scattered about the room. Miscellaneous treasures she was certain had been obtained illegally in some way or another from a long forgotten

  age. A stunning jeweled sword was mounted above a crackling fireplace. Shelves filled with ornate decorations, such as a model ship, small mirrors and paintings. On a wall filled

  with pictures, there was one a little more detailed than the others. In the frame were two girls, identical, both smiling as they held onto each other. Maybe Kieran still had a shred

  of compassion in her body.

  "How stupid are they, honestly? They can't even keep it straight!"

  She rolled her eyes, looking over at the princess, "What is it now?"

  "I am allergic to blueberries, they can't even remember that I'm allergic to most fruits that end in 'berry' and for safety's sake they should stop trying to give me food with berries

  in it all together!"

  "Your highness, remember to breathe," Natalie mumbled through her lips, pursed with needles. She pulled one out and pinned Mariah's skirt once more.

  She stormed off over to her bookshelf, pulling down a thin volume and slumping in a chair to wait while Mariah was being fitted for her dress. When Natalie finished pinning it, she

  found a tall mirror and set it in fron
t of Mariah so that she could see what it looked like on. The Rider blinked and flushed red, turning a bit on the stool to look at the dress in its

  entirety. "I… I don't think I've ever looked so… ridiculous in my entire life – Kieran why do I have to wear this?"

  "Because father said so. You have to do what he says. And I told you to, and you have to do what I say. And Murtagh will get to see you wearing it, and that should be a good

  enough reason for any woman to wear a dress." She looked up from her book. "If you squeak and tell me I'm wrong, I'll know I'm right."

  Mariah blinked at her and said nothing.

  "Also, if you say nothing, I'll know I'm right. So, I'm right. You can stop hiding it whenever you want." She set the book down and looked the dress over. "It seems to fit better now,

  yes. Go ahead and sew it in place then Natalie. Thank you."

  "Of course mistress."

  "I'm stuck up here, aren't I?" Mariah asked, glaring down at Kieran, who simply shrugged and smirked. "You know – you don't have to always stick your nose into my business."

  Kieran let out a laugh, "Of course I do."

  "Fine, since I'm going to be stuck here a while, who's that in that picture over there?" She pointed, much to Natalie's annoyance. The maid simply waited for her to stop moving

  before continuing.

  The princess froze a little and glanced at the picture. "Me… and my sister, Kendra."

  "I thought you hated her."

  "I do hate her." Kieran confirmed.

  "Then why keep the picture?"

  "Because I didn't used to hate her. Not when she was my sister." She flicked her eyes up at Mariah and sighed. "Before she grew up, before she started hating our father so

  fiercely, I loved her. Gradually, as time passed, she resented me, and I her." A small snarl was forming on her lips. "When Nasreen hatched for me, she stopped speaking to me,

  hated me for becoming something she wished never existed. She blames Riders for this war, for our father, for our mother's death. Everything that has ever gone wrong in the

  world she blames on Dragon Riders. You would hate her too if you knew anything about her. And if she ever caught sight of you, she would kill you. If I wasn't her sister, she