The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  let Camilla retrieve her blade and take a seat.

  "Who's next then?" The king asked, looking toward the other three. "Odette?"

  "Yyes!?" She squeaked, standing up smoothly. The small girl looked younger than Mariah, but was truly two years her elder. Odette was taller, thinner and paler than she was.

  Today, she'd had enough sense to tie back her long, flowing hair so it wouldn't get caught up in her face. It had already been proven that she wasn't much with a sword, but

  surprisingly she wasn't too bad of a shot with a bow.

  "Would you care to demonstrate how your practice has been going lately?" It wasn't much of a question as he stood tapping the hilt of his sword.

  She nodded quickly, "Of course." Her long fingers pulled an arrow from the sheath at her hip and she drew back her bowstring – it was a selflongbow. Mariah still couldn't figure

  out how she could pull it back, the draw looked like it would be too much for such a frail girl. A second later however, there was a yellowfletched feather sticking out of a target all

  the way across the court yard to prove her wrong.

  "Very good," Galbatorix nodded. "Have a seat." She slipped back down without a word, her fingers fiddling with her bow string. "Which of you two boys would like to be next?" His

  eyes flicked between the two blond boys.

  It was Murtagh's turn to spar with one of them, so Mariah hoped it would be Pearce. Lately, they'd been so busy training the newcomers she hadn't had enough time to teach

  Murtagh any proper magic and Innes seemed all too eager to show off what his inhome mage had taught him already.

  Of course, knowing all this, Galbatorix pointed towards Innes and said, "Stand up."

  His curly pale hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep it tame, his bright brown eyes eager and willing, though not openly offering to take on an opponent as he got to his feet.

  Innes was thin and wiry, shorter than Murtagh by more than an inch, closer to Mariah's own height.

  From beside her, Murtagh sighed a little under his breath and stepped forward towards the other boy, wanting to draw his sword, but knowing better. The last time he'd bothered

  with the blade, Innes had caused it to burn redhot and scorch his hand through his gloves. He hadn't been able to pick up as much as a spoon for a week.

  "Begin." Galbatorix said, watching between them.

  It was over in a few seconds. Innes had already been planning his attack out, leaving no time for Murtagh to retaliate. Mariah watched as he dropped to the ground, coughing. The

  blonde had started whispering under his breath before the king had even parted his lips. She growled quietly and met eyes with Innes, barreling into his mental defenses and

  breaking him out of his magic reverie. He sneered at her as Murtagh got back to his feet, spitting out a few harsh words and attacking back at him.

  Now that the opening round was over, they were a little more evenly matched. Murtagh managed to hold his own and defend himself better when they were both thinking as fast as

  they could. Thanks to Mariah's tutoring, his Elvish vocabulary had vastly improved, but Innes had been studying magic longer and didn't have to search so hard for the words he did

  know.

  At last they were both drained and Galbatorix saw fit to end it. "Enough, the both of you, neither of you need to wear out your energy preserves. Make room for Pearce, Innes…

  take a seat Murtagh. Mariah, come here."

  She looked over Murtagh who gave her a small smile, showing he wasn't too worn out from the magic usage. Feeling a little relief, she walked over to Galbatorix and looked at

  Pearce.

  "At your ready then," he said, observing the two of them.

  Mariah drew her sword, watching the blade in Pearce's hand. Unlike the rest of them, Pearce's aura seemed different, more familiar. His gray eyes were vacant of most emotions;

  he was quiet but not silent. His skills with both a blade and magic were little above average. His hair was straight, blond and fell just over his eyes. He favored a shield to magic,

  choosing to defend himself physically rather than mentally or simply attacking full on with just a sword.

  She had never understood why someone would choose to drag a shield around with them, thinking it seemed like a burden rather than aide, but the way that Pearce fought made it

  seem effortless. His clothes were simple, not like Camilla and Cederic's furlined outfits or Hal's soldier uniform, or even Innes' lordly attire. Pearce was nothing like the others, Mariah had decided, because he was like her – having come from a poor, broken family with fighting skills learned for survival, not showing off.

  He blinked once at her, his cold gray eyes vanishing beneath pale skin, before he lurched forward with his short sword and attacked. As his blade clashed against her own, she

  watched him; there hadn't been much time to talk with the new riders since they'd arrived, so she didn't know him that well. However, there was some comfort in the familiarity

  she felt from him despite the fact it wasn't the same she received from Murtagh. Pearce was nearly her height, just a bit taller. The way he spoke, held himself, even his mannerisms were similar to Eragon's. Throwing the short sword off, she realized just how much she missed seeing him and silently prayed he was alright.

  His blade swept against her cheek, drawing blood while she wasn't paying attention. Mariah's eyes alit with fire as she growled quietly and attacked him more ferociously than

  before. He stepped backward in a few smooth movements and twisted, knocking her down. Stunned momentarily, she blinked and rolled back onto her feet, throwing his sword

  away again as she regained her balance.

  "Enough!"

  She froze, instantly lowering her sword to the ground as she had now been trained to do when Galbatorix shouted. Mariah looked towards him and waited silently.

  "It is clear you have been lax about your own training recently, Mariah. You will stay here with Kieran until you have properly trained. The rest of you, inside. Go on." He watched

  them all file inside the castle, then followed behind them.

  Kieran glared over at her until the door shut, then sighed. "Look what you did, caused me extra grief is what you did. What's the matter with you?"

  "Leave her alone Kieran. It was a little mistake, you've made worse." Murtagh insisted, leaning against the wall as Thorn spiraled down out of the sky and landed beside him. He

  snorted and nudged the boy, pushing him over. "Damnit, don't do that." He said lightly, smiling as he stood back up and patted his nose. Thorn towered over him now, nearly as

  large as Andrar after the growth spells Galbatorix had placed on him; he could even breathe fire already. As much as it worried her that Galbatorix could manage to do such a

  thing, she was grateful that he was large enough to carry Murtagh and that he was still alright after the ordeal – if a little warped. His body looked slightly unnatural, his torso more

  stocky than it should be. The effects weren't as bad as they could have been, and she was happy for that much at least.

  "It was my fault," she said, looking toward the princess. "I wasn't paying attention."

  "Then where was your attention focused?" She asked, leaning against her Rider's blade.

  "Elsewhere… does it really matter?"

  Kieran nodded, "Yes, it does, what if I need to snap you out of your little reverie?" She raised an eyebrow, "I won't be able to if I don't know what you're daydreaming about."

  "It… it was nothing…"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. Now… we're supposed to be training, yes?" She asked, changing the subject on her before she could inquire again.

  "We have to tell Nasuada."

  "What?" Kendra blinked at him, "Are you crazy? She'd kill me on sight!"

  Mark swiveled around to look at her, coming face to face with the woman. "If we don't say something to her, ev
eryone's lives could be in danger. Tell me, princess… is your life…

  the chance that she might kill you or simply throw you in jail worth endangering all of them?"

  She inhaled deeply for a minute, her chest rising as her face reddened. Kendra closed her eyes and snatched the map off the table, storming out of the room down the hallway.

  "Come on!"

  Mark smirked and hurried after her.

  "Oh, Marcus there you are." Nasuada said to him, blinking as they rounded a corner. On either side of her was an armed guard. "I've been wondering where you'd gone off to. I had

  a few things I wanted to discuss with you."

  "As have I. Could we speak somewhere more privately?" He asked her.

  Nasuada nodded, "Yes, of course. And your… friend?"

  "The three of us." He added.

  "I see, very well then." She continued down the hallway to her quarters and left the guards outside. "What's the meaning of this then Mark?" Nasuada asked, folding her arms as

  she watched him put up silencing wards around the room.

  He turned back to her once he'd finished, "It's of the utmost importance M'lady."

  "Well get to it then."

  Mark nodded, "We have a mutual trust between us, so please keep that in mind as I speak. This is Kendra – her father"

  "Well if you're just going to jump straight to it, I'm going to tell her." Kendra said, quite agitated at being mostly ignored. "My father is Galbatorix."

  "I wasn't aware the king had children." Nasuada told her, attempting to hide her surprise.

  "I'll save you the back story. What's important now is that you know"

  "Know what?"

  "Of his plans to attack the Varden with his new Dragon Riders."

  "Mark, explain this to me. What does she mean?"

  He nodded, "We've been keeping an eye out for anything that might prove useful in our war against the Empire. Recently, we captured and interrogated a group of their spies. They

  relayed information that assured us of his attempts at recreating his Forsworn. Taking everything into account… he will have half a dozen Riders on the field the day of our attack…

  possibly. Nasuada, our numbers can't match that. Eragon alone can't fight one, let alone six… maybe more even."

  "Then what do you propose we do Marcus?" She asked, standing still as she looked at him.

  "I don't know Nasuada." He admitted. "I hadn't expected this… I…" Mark stopped himself. "If the king is forcing dragons to hatch and forcing them upon Riders, they will not be very

  well equipped at all. Their dragons will likely not even be large enough for them to ride on, let alone breathe fire. That in itself gives us greater chances against them. If need be

  we will call Eragon back from his training with the elves early. I am more than willing to take on anything Galbatorix wishes to throw our way. You can count on me to be at the

  front. I trust myself enough to defeat one Rider… I am strong enough to do that much."

  "I appreciate it Mark, thank you." Nasuada nodded a little at him, "Can you show me everything that you've learned from his spies?"

  "Of course." He said, spreading out the map on the table and going over the plans they'd uncovered. Kendra stood across from them silently, her arms folded across her chest.

  Finally, Nasuada looked up once they'd finished. "Your sister?"

  "Twin sister."

  She walked to the princess, standing face to face with her, staring into her midnight blue eyes with her cold gaze. "Tell me I can trust you. That you won't turn on me in the middle

  of the tide. That you aren't really here for your father to stab me in the back."

  Kendra smirked, "If I were here to kill you, I would have done it already. You shouldn't trust me. You don't have to trust me. I don't want you to trust me. All I want is for you to

  continue leading and to let me and my companions continue doing what we do best. Don't interfere with us and we'll have no problems. All I ask is that I am allowed to borrow Mark

  when I need him."

  "He is not mine to command."

  Kendra glanced at him, "It sure seems that way to me. He didn't pledge any allegiance to you?"

  Nasuada shook her head, "He said he knows how to break oaths…"

  "That I don't believe. But if you trust him and don't mind if I use him"

  "Not at all."

  "Then we have nothing further to discuss. I only ask you tell no one you saw my face, know my name, rank or know of my existence. I was never here."

  "Of course." Nasuada said.

  Kendra nodded once. "Mark. I have to leave. I'll contact you later." With that she walked out of the doors.

  He watched her leave and turned his gaze back to Nasuada. "Yes?"

  "It's nice to know where you've been off to without my knowing… the princess no less. Did you know?"

  "Not at first."

  "About her sister?"

  "Just a few hours ago…"

  "Hmm… and do you trust her?"

  "Do you?"

  "I haven't decided yet… but I don't believe I have to worry about her killing me. Not yet at least."

  "I would never have brought her here otherwise. Though I do suggest you keep your escort with you at all times." Mark said. "And about Eragon M'lady. I would rather not inform

  him of the news just yet… in case we're wrong about something. I don't see a need to call him away from his training on an assumption."

  "No. You can make the decision when to call him back… you would know best. Is there anything else that has been weighing on your mind you wish to speak of?"

  He paused a moment, thinking of Mariah. "No. Thank you for asking M'lady. Good evening." Mark insisted, walking out of her room.

  "Magic, swordsmanship, and other such skills are useless unless you know how and when to apply them. This I will teach you. However, as Galbatorix has demonstrated, power

  without moral direction is the most dangerous force in the world. My main task, then, is to help you, Eragon and Saphira, to understand what principles guide you, so that you do

  not make the right choices for the wrong reasons. You must learn more about yourself, who you are, and what you are capable of doing. That is why you are here."

  When do we begin? Asked Saphira

  Oromis began to answer when he stiffened and dropped his flagon. His face went crimson and his fingers tightened into hooked claws that dragged at his robe like cockleburs. The

  change was frightening and instantaneous. Before Eragon could do more than flinch, the elf had relaxed again, although his entire body now bespoke weariness.

  Concerned, Eragon dared to ask, "Are you well?"

  A trace of amusement lifted the corner of Oromis's mouth. "Less so that I might wish. We elves fancy ourselves immortal, but not even we can escape certain maladies of the flesh,

  which are beyond our knowledge of magic to do more than delay. No, do not worry… it isn't contagious, but neither can I rid myself of it." He sighed. "I have spent decades binding myself with hundreds of small, weak spells that, layered one upon another, duplicate the effect of enchantments that are now beyond my reach. I bound myself with them so that I might live long enough to witness the birth of the last dragons and to foster the Riders' resurrection from the ruin of our mistakes."

  "How long until…"

  Oromis lifted a sharp eyebrow. "How long until I die? We have time, but precious little for you or me, especially if the Varden decide to call upon your help. As a result – to answer

  your question, Saphira – we will begin your instruction immediately, and we will train faster than any Rider ever has or ever will, for I must condense decades of knowledge into months and weeks."

  "You do know," said Eragon, struggling against the embarrassment and shame that made his cheeks burn, "about my… my own infirmity." He ground out the last word, hating the

  sound of it. "I am as cripple as you are."

/>   Sympathy tempered Oromis's gaze, though his voice was firm. "Eragon, you are only a cripple if you consider yourself one. I understand how you feel, but you must remain

  optimistic, for a negative outlook is more of a handicap than any physical injury. I speak from personal experience. Pitying yourself serves neither you nor Saphria. I and the other

  spellweavers will study your malady to see if we might devise a way to alleviate it, but in the meantime, your training will proceed as if nothing were amiss."

  Eragon's gut clenched and he tasted bile as he considered the implications. Surely Oromis wouldn't make me endure that torment again! "The pain is unbearable," he said

  frantically. "It would kill me. I"

  "No, Eragon. It will not kill you. That much I know about your curse. However, we both have our duty; you to the Varden, and I to you. We cannot shirk it for the sake of mere pain.

  Far too much is at risk, and we can ill afford to fail." All Eragon could do was shake his head as panic threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to deny Oromis's words, but their truth

  was inescapable. "Eragon. You must accept this burden freely. Have you no one or nothing that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for?"

  His first thought was of Saphira, but he was not doing this for her. Nor for Nasuada. Nor for Arya. His mind flickered across Roran and then finally fell onto Mariah. He would give

  anything to have her back. What had happened shouldn't have; he could have done something. Knowing Mariah, she wouldn't want him thinking that way. It had happened for a

  reason, there was nothing he could have done. She wouldn't want him to get hurt because of her. She would never let him sacrifice himself for her, no matter what. It'd already

  been proven that she was willing to put herself in danger to protect him. He shook the thought away, it didn't matter now: she was gone and nothing could bring her back. What

  drove him, then? When he had pledged fealty to Nasuada, he had done so for the good of Roran and the other people trapped within the Empire. But did they mean enough to him to

  put himself through such anguish? Yes, he decided. Yes, they do, because I am the only one who has a chance to help them now, and because I won't be free of Galbatorix's shadow