The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  "Camilla."

  "Alright Camilla, you seem to know what's going on already. Tell me."

  She shrugged, looking at her brother, "All I know is that our father wanted us both to be here so badly he bought our way in with the king. Whatever he promised was good enough

  to beat out the Goldenhills for the opportunity. I also know there's only enough room for six of us." Camilla looked around, "And seeing as there are ten of us left… there's still four more to go."

  One of the other boys fell off his chair, clutching his chest.

  "Make that three." Her eyes flickered toward the girls sitting next to her. The panicky blonde was looking paler than before.

  The brunette next to her was fingering her necklace nervously, "I would just like to leave… please? Whatever it is… I don't want to die over it… so please?"

  Kieran blinked, watching the exchange as it happened in front of her. Standing at her side, Mariah was stunned into silence as well.

  "Any other takers?" Camilla asked, looking at the others.

  A muscular boy looking to be a soldier more likely than not walked over and took the brunette's hand, walking her over to the door way, trying to calm her down. They left the

  room without a word to anyone.

  "One left."

  It was clear on all accounts that Camilla was going nowhere. Her brother, Cedric, was silent but had already stabbed someone so the likelihood of him leaving was close to zero.

  "Well if you think I'm going to sit here and wait for you to tell me to leave, you've got another thing coming. I don't give a damn if you're the daughter of a lord; I'm not going to

  tolerate you bossing everyone around like" His head spun halfway around with a snap and he fell to the ground, motionless.

  The thin boy with curly blond hair pulled back into a ponytail stood up, lowering his hand as it lingered with excess magic, and looked towards Camilla. "Can you shut up now, since

  we've finished picking off the extras?"

  "Of course, thank you for finishing this up for us." She stood as well and looked towards Kieran as Galbatorix strode back into the room.

  "Perhaps not as bloody as I would have liked, but you've solved the problem of excess numbers easily enough," Galbatorix said. He threw out his arms wide and looked toward

  Mariah, Murtagh, and Kieran. "Welcome your new Dragon Riders."

  Eragon woke at dawn well rested. He tapped Saphira's ribs, and she lifted her wing. Running his hands through his hair, he walked to the room's precipice and leaned against one

  side, bark rough against his shoulder. Below, the forest sparkled like a field of diamonds as each tree reflected the morning light with a thousand thousand drops of dew.

  He jumped with surprise as Saphira dove past him, twisting like an auger toward the canopy before she pulled up and circled through the sky, roaring with joy. Morning, little one

  He smiled, happy that she was happy.

  He opened the screen to their bedroom, where he found two trays of food –mostly fruit – that had been placed by the lintel during the night. By the trays was a bundle of clothes

  with a paper note pinned to it. Eragon had difficulty deciphering the flowing script, since he had not read for over a month and had forgotten some of the letters, but at last he

  understood what it said:

  Greetings, Saphira Bjartskular and Eragon Shadeslayer.

  I, Bellaen of House Miolandra, do humble myself and apologize to you, Saphira, for this unsatisfactory meal. Elves do not hunt, and no meat is to be had in Ellesméra, nor in any of

  our cities. If you wish, you can do as the dragons of old were wont, and catch what you may in Du Weldenvarden. We only ask that you leave your kills in the forest so that our air

  and water remain untainted by blood.

  Eragon, these clothes are for you. They were woven by Niduen of Islanzadi's house and are her gift to you.

  May good fortune rule over you,

  Peace live in your heart,

  And the stars watch over you.

  Bellaen du Hljodhr

  When Eragon told Saphira the message, she said, It does not matter; I won't need to eat for a while after yesterday's meal. However, she did snap up a few seed cakes.

  that I don't appear rude, she explained.

  After Eragon finished breakfast, he hauled the bundle of clothes onto his bed and carefully unfolded them, finding two fulllength tunics of russet trimmed with thimbleberry green, a

  set of creamy leggings to wrap his calves in, and three pairs of socks so soft, they felt like liquid when he pulled them through his hands. The quality of the fabric shamed the

  weaving of the women of Carvahall as well as the dwarf clothes he wore now.

  Eragon was grateful for the new raiment. His own tunic and breeches were sadly travelworn from their weeks exposed to the rain and sun since Farthen Dûr. Stripping, he donned

  one of the luxurious tunics, savoring its downy texture.

  He had just laced on his boots when someone knocked on the screen to the bedroom. "Come in," he said, reaching for Zar'roc.

  Orik poked his head inside, then cautiously entered, testing the floor with his feet. He eyed the ceiling. "Give me a cave any day instead of a bird's nest like this. How fared your

  night, Eragon? Saphira?"

  "Well enough. And yours?" said Eragon.

  "I slept like a rock." The dwarf chuckled at his own jest, then his chin sank into his beard and he gingered the head of his ax. "I see you've eaten, so I'll ask you to accompany me.

  Arya, the queen, and a host of other elves await you at the base of the tree." He fixed Eragon with a testy gaze. "Something is going on that they haven't told us about. I'm not sure

  what they want from you, but it's important. Islanzadí's as tense as a cornered wolf… I thought I'd warn you beforehand."

  Eragon thanked him, then the two of them descended by way of the stairs, while Saphira glided to earth. They were met on the ground by Islanzadí arrayed in a mantle of ruffled

  swan feathers, which were like winter snow heaped upon a cardinal's breast. She greeted them and said, "Follow me."

  Her wending course took the group to the edge of Ellesméra, where the buildings were few and the paths were faint from disuse. At the base of a wooded knoll, Islanzadí stopped

  and said in a terrible voice, "Before we go any farther, the three of you must swear in the ancient language that you will never speak to outsiders of what you are about to see, not

  without permission from me, my daughter, or whoever may succeed us to the throne."

  "Why should I gag myself?" demanded Orik.

  Why indeed? asked Saphira. Do you not trust us?

  "It is not a matter of trust, but of safety. We must protect this knowledge at all costs – it's our greatest advantage over Galbatorix – and if you are bound by the ancient language,

  you will never willingly reveal our secret. You came to supervise Eragon's training, Orikvodhr. Unless you give me your word, you may as well return to Farthen Dûr."

  At last Orik said, "I believe that you mean no harm to dwarves or to the Varden, else I would never agree. And I hold you to the honor of your hall and clan that this isn't a plot to

  deceive us. Tell me what to say."

  While the queen tutored Orik in the correct pronunciation of the desired phrase, Eragon asked Saphira, Should I do it?

  Do we have a choice? Eragon remembered that Arya had asked the same question yesterday, and he began to have an inkling of what she had meant: the queen left no room to maneuver.

  When Orik finished, Islanzadí looked expectantly at Eragon. He hesitated, then delivered the oat, as did Saphira. "Then you." Said Islanzadí. "Now we may proceed."

  At the top of the knoll, the trees were replaced by a bed of red clover that ran several yards to the edge of a stone cliff. The cliff extended a league in either direction and dropped

  a thousand feet to the forest below, which po
oled out ward until it merged with the sky. It felt as if they stood on the edge of the world, staring across an endless expanse of forest.

  I know this place, realized Eragon, remembering his vision of Togira Ikonoka.

  Thud.

  The air shivered from the strength of the concussion.

  Thud.

  Another dull blow made Eragon's teeth chatter.

  Thud.

  He jammed his fingers in his ears, trying to protect them from the painful spikes in pressure. The elves stood motionless.

  Thud.

  The clover bend under a sudden gust of wind.

  Thud.

  From below the edge of the cliff rose a huge gold dragon with a Rider on its back.

  "With the addition of six more people as Riders, our life just got a lot more difficult." Kieran muttered, pacing around in her room. After Galbatorix had dismissed them all to their

  rooms for the evening, Mariah and Murtagh had gone to Kieran's room to discuss what had happened. "This will mean more training and time devoted to lessons and gods!" She

  kicked a chair so it toppled over. "And he didn't have to go about it the way he did either! Having them pick each other off like that."

  "I still want to know which of them was killing the others so silently." Murtagh muttered.

  "Wait," Mariah blinked. "You said earlier he had eight eggs… right? Six you've found throughout the years and two remaining of the three from before." Kieran watched her but

  nodded. "And one of them hatched for Murtagh… so that left seven. Camilla said there was only room for six. Does that mean he killed one of the dragons to force them to hatch?"

  "Possibly," Kieran said, sitting down after straightening up the chair. "But there's nothing we can do about it now. He kills a dragon to gain his Riders."

  "You don't sound so upset about any of this." Mariah pointed out.

  She smirked a bit, "The only thing I'm upset about is training the poor pathetic new children. Did you see them? Worthless, the lot of them. Camilla and her brother may possess

  some spirit, but their abilities leave something to be desired. That blonde girl looked about ready to pass out at any sign of blood. Even that boy who showed off his magic wasn't

  that impressive, I could have done that in my sleep."

  Mariah stood up and stared at her. "I still don't like any of it. This whole business of choosing Riders. It's not something you can ask to be, it's forced upon you. You aren't given a

  choice. Dragons are supposed to hatch because of their Riders' presence… not forced to hatch for them. I think they should all go back to wherever they came from before they

  cause more trouble."

  "And what are you going to do about it Mariah? Huh?" Kieran asked, standing and walking to her. "Whether you like it or not you are a member of this Forsworn. You will

  those new Riders. I suggest you get used to it. This is a war we're in, and you're one of the most powerful pieces on the board, don't you forget it." The princess shoved her

  backwards and pointed towards the door. "Leave."

  Setting her jaw, Mariah turned and left, listening to Murtagh's hurried footsteps behind her. As the door slammed, he took her hand, "It'll be okay."

  She remained silent as they walked back to their rooms. When they stopped in front of her door Mariah squeezed his hand tighter for a moment, shivering a bit. "I want to go home Murtagh."

  "This is your home now… at least for a while."

  "No it's not." She shook her head, "This never will be my home. I could never live here and be at ease… feel comfortable. This place is a prison – one that I am unable to escape.

  All of this with the Forsworn… and Galbatorix's new Riders… I can't stand it. I want to cry just thinking about it."

  "What can we do then Mariah? We're stuck here, bound by oaths and promises. Unless he wants us to, we can't leave."

  She blinked and looked up at him. "You're right. We are stuck here."

  "I didn't mean it like that… I'm sorry."

  "No, it's alright, really." Mariah smiled a little, "I'm quite tired… I think I'm going to sleep, alright?"

  "Of course. Sleep well." He kissed her forehead and went to his room.

  She walked to her room, shutting the door behind her and staring at the window. Andrar?

  Yes my darling, what is it? He asked, shifting his head on his paws.

  I think I know a way out of here…

  He snorted.

  I mean it. If we can wait until Galbatorix wants to launch his attack on the Varden, we can escape then.

  What about your binding oaths?

  She started unlacing her corset. I'll have to work on those when the time comes, for now we'll just have to survive through all this. Mariah twisted and stretched until the clothing

  fell off, kicking off her shoes as well.

  You can tell no one of your plan, unless you want Galbatorix to know. Not even Murtagh.

  I know. She sighed a little. But it will be worth it in the end.

  You truly believe your plan will work? That you and Murtagh can both be free from Galbatorix?

  Yes. I know I can make it work. Mariah changed into a loose tunic and slipped into bed, sitting there and talking with her dragon until she fell asleep.

  Considering Kendra's response to Tornac, he'd assumed her reaction to finding out about Murtagh would be exponentially worse and so, had sneaked through the castle halls with

  Kendra in tow, bringing her to his quarters. After having her sit down, Mark leaned up against the wall in his room with a sigh. Kendra was staring at him expectantly.

  "How do you know Murtagh?" He asked.

  "We grew up in the castle together and have been very best friends for a very long time. Now tell me where he is." She said.

  Mark sighed again, folding his arms. "As far as I know – dead." He watched her face as he spoke gently, though truthfully.

  She bit her lips and let out a slow, shattered breath. "You don't know for sure…" Kendra asked. When Mark didn't answer her, she looked back up at him, blinking in question. "Do

  you?"

  And here was his dilemma. Whether or not to tell her about Mariah and Andrar. Without telling her about his sister, he couldn't fully explain what had happened to Murtagh. There

  was no other option. "In order for you to understand fully… I feel as if I need to start at the beginning."

  "Beginning of what?"

  "Last winter." He said, walking over and grabbing his map, pulling up a chair and sitting across from her. Mark rolled out the parchment and turned it towards her so she could see

  it clearly. "I used to live in a small village called Carvahall in Palancar Valley." Mark pointed to it. "I was raised from infancy by my grandfather... along with my sister. Both of our

  parents died shortly after her birth. Her name is Mariah. Before any heavy snow fell, she found a red stone in the forests of the Spine. In reality, it was a dragon egg, one which

  shortly thereafter hatched for her."

  "Wait" Kendra interrupted just where Mark figured she would. "Your sister is the Varden's Dragon Rider?"

  "…not exactly. The Dragon Rider that has sworn allegiance to the Varden… his name is Eragon. He was… is… my sister's best friend. Right now, he's training with the elves in

  Ellesméra."

  "What happened to your sister?" She asked.

  "I was getting to it."

  "I never was one for stories, cut to the chase Marcus."

  He smirked a bit at her and looked back at the map. "After the dragons hatched for Eragon and Mariah we fled Carvahall, since Galbatorix sent his men after the eggs. Mariah and I

  ran ahead and made it Teirm before too long, meeting up with our grandfather and Eragon once we arrived. After a few days, we headed south again to DrasLeona. There we were

  attacked by the Ra'zac that we were hunting. After running from the city, they pursued and caught up with us in the night, n
early killing my grandfather. They captured the four of

  us and the two dragons… from the look on your face you're wondering how we happened to escape such a situation. I'll admit to you I'm not pleased with how we managed it, but I

  am thankful for it. Just when I was assured there was no way out, Murtagh showed up and scared them off… rescued us. When we recovered enough from our wounds to move, my

  sister vouched for him and allowed him to come along with us, notwithstanding my protesting. I didn't trust him in the least, though his actions should have made me feel

  otherwise. We made it to a small cave where we could rest and heal up our grandfather. Unfortunately, he didn't make it, despite me and my sister's best efforts. And since he is

  dead, and I am sharing everything else with you I will tell you his name: Brom – a dragon Rider from before the war."

  "That man has caused Galbatorix much shame and humiliation, of which I am very thankful. The fact that you are his grandson makes me feel confident that the trust I have placed

  in you is genuine, tenfold." Kendra said, smiling a little. "I am sorry to hear of his death… after the loss of your parents, it must have been very difficult."

  He nodded a little, "Mariah took it harder than I did. From there we traveled north to Gil'ead, rounding Urû'baen with Murtagh's help. We gathered information on how to find the

  Varden before turning down south again, insistent upon finding the Varden."

  "Why did Murtagh go along with you?" She asked, narrowing her eyes a bit at him.

  "You mean to ask, why would Morzan's son even think about stepping foot in enemy territory?" Mark's lips twitched in a smirk. "I think it's because he had nothing to lose. After

  escaping Galbatorix, where else did he have to go? Getting out of the empire any way he could seemed like a good idea at the time I assume, and better to have Dragon Riders on

  your side than not."

  "I suppose you would know about his lineage after traveling so far with him." She looked at the map again, "So you arrived in the Varden." Kendra pointed at the map, "What then?

  Wait… that would have put you there just before the battle… don't tell me"

  "He survived the battle, rest assured. The trust the Varden gave in him after that was enough to free him from his prison sentence. It was after the battle that you'll be most