The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  "I want to hear it from you," she said quietly.

  The muscles in his jaw spasmed as he clenched his teeth. In a low voice, no more than a whisper, he first described how he had failed at his meditation in the glade, then the

  incident that poisoned his heart like a viper coiled in his chest: his blessing.

  Arya released his arm and clutched at the root of the Menoa tree, as if to steady herself. "Barzul." The dwarf curse alarmed him; he had never heard her use profanity before, and

  this one was particularly apt, for it meant ill fate. "I knew of your act in Farthen Dûr, for sure, but I never thoughts… I never suspected that such a thing could occur. I cry your

  pardon, Eragon, for forcing you to leave your rooms tonight. I did not comprehend your discomfort. You must want to be alone."

  "No," he said. "No, I appreciate the company and the things you've shown me." He smiled at her, and after a moment, she smiled back. Together they sat small and still at the base

  of the ancient tree and watched the moon arch high over the peaceful forest before it hid behind the gathering clouds. "I only wonder what will become of the child."

  High above their heads, Blagden ruffled his bonewhite feathers and shrieked, "Wyrda!"

  "I really should be getting back to the castle." They had arrived back at the underground city and were going over a few battle plans with the other members of Black Lightning. The

  table was scattered with maps and books as they pointed and spoke about where their newest information had come from and was about.

  They all looked up at him quickly, their faces expressing nothing other than confusion. "Why are you so eager to leave?"

  He blinked, "It's not that I'm eager to leave, it's that I need to rejoin Nasuada. I have a duty to assist her whenever she needs it of me. Today, she's holding several meetings I had

  already planned on attending with her."

  "What exactly do you do for her?" Trevin asked, narrowing his eyes a bit at Mark.

  "I am her council – one whom she trusts very much. I do my best not to let her down."

  "You two seem rather close, to just be council," he said.

  Mark blinked, "Whatever you're insinuating, I can assure you that you're mistaken. I simply owe her a debt and am repaying it with my assistance." He looked between them and

  landed on Kendra last.

  She sighed a little under her breath, "He's just doing it so he knows as much as he can without looking suspicious. She trusts him and gives him valuable information; leave him

  alone about it now will you? It's no worse than Rowan pretending to be the son of a lord."

  "Only that he is," Trevin pointed out, smirking. "Just fails miserably at being one."

  "At least I can pass for noble," he said, glancing at him a moment. "Fine. Your remember how to get back in? You won't be shown again if you leave without telling anyone."

  Mark nodded, "I think I can find my way."

  "Let me walk you out," Kendra insisted, standing straight and walking across the black stone floor. Nyx trotted after her quietly, leaving the others behind. She paused half a moment to let him catch her stride, walking shoulder to shoulder with him.

  He glanced over at her, waiting for her to speak or continue on in silence.

  "I don't like Nasuada." She said after they had entered the stairwell, where no one else would hear them speak.

  "That was made clear after your last visit with her."

  "And I don't like that you spend so much time with her. It distracts you from focusing on our goals." She said to him.

  Ignoring the jealousy in her tone, he said, "I have to play both sides in order to win. I'm not doing this for anyone except myself."

  "Why would you openly tell me such a thing?"

  "It's the truth. You know better than anyone how difficult lying about something can be. You have difficulty hiding your identity every day. If you tell the wrong person you'll be

  killed and you know that, but you're so compelled to sharing with someone what you are and how your blood doesn't matter that you don't care and throw caution to the wind. I

  don't tell just anyone the truth, but you've earned it more than once."

  She nodded and opened the door, stepping outside into the evening air. "You should probably get back to her before she sends someone out to look for you."

  "If I leave, can I be assured I won't be pulled back to come searching through the woods for you tomorrow morning?"

  "Of course." She nodded, "I don't plan on leaving again like that any time soon. It's on rare occasion that I do so."

  Mark turned to leave and paused, "Why did you name your horse Lynette?"

  "All the questions in the world and you choose to ask me that?" Kendra shot him a glare and then broke into a small smile, "I didn't name her; my sister did." She turned and

  walked back into the hidden doorway, vanishing from sight.

  He blinked and turned around; walking down the street, remembering the day Aluora received her name. Mariah had named her.

  "Kieran told me all about your endeavors, especially about this necromancer…" Galbatorix said over breakfast.

  Mariah blinked and looked up, staring at the princess.

  "I'm afraid the magic is too complex to be performed without significant risks, despite all the research Kieran managed to collect, however I believe a similar effect can be achieved

  and utilized in battle. Wouldn't you agree Kieran?"

  "Yes," she nodded. "A rapid healing effect of some sort would be valuable on a battlefield. Necromancy is difficult if not properly set up."

  Looking down at her plate, Mariah pushed her food away slightly, feeling ill. Murtagh spared her a glance and nudged her foot with his own to reassure her. She sat quietly until

  they were all allowed to leave, with the promise of training the remainder of the day.

  "You look like you didn't sleep at all last night," Murtagh said once they were out of earshot of theothers.

  "I didn't," she admitted to him. "I kept myself busy reading and thinking, before I knew it, it was morning."

  "You can't keep doing that to yourself you know; it's going to take a toll on your performance."

  Mariah looked up at Murtagh and blinked, "You sound like Kieran."

  "I'm sorry, but it's true. You really do need rest, at least some times Mariah."

  She huffed, frustrated. "I can't. I try and then I wake up screaming in the middle of the night. I'm better off not sleeping than living through the nightmares that show up in my

  head. It's like hell, Murtagh, only worse. I don't know if you could understand. I've been trying to tame them, and it helped, when we were gone, they weren't so severe. But here,

  in these walls I go mad when I'm incapable of controlling my thoughts. If you knew how many times I've seen my own brother decapitated – either by myself or someone I know –

  you'd probably wake up screaming too.

  "These aren't a pathetic child's nightmares…" she looked up at him coldly. "I know you think they are and that I need to get over them but it's harder than you think it is. Each time

  it's more vivid than the last and if I don't figure out how to stop it from happening, each night it just gets worse. Thank you for your concern, but don't tell me things I already know

  and believe that it's so easily controlled." Mariah pulled at her vambraces and pushed past him toward the courtyard where she could take her rage out on Hal.

  Mark blinked, watching Farica – Nasuada's attendant – rushing past him down the hallway. He watched her rushing down the hall for a moment before shaking his head and

  continuing on to Nasuada's room, knocking on it quietly. "Nasuada?"

  "Come in Marcus!" He pushed the door open and stepped into her quarters, watching her fumbling over a gown on her lap. "Any particular reason you're sewing? I thought you were

  in a meeting today?"

  "You missed it," she said plainly, p
ressing two of her fingers together in an attempt to stop them bleeding. There was another knock on the door. Her face transformed into a

  pleasant smile. "Enter!" she said.

  Mark turned slightly to see the doors thrust open and watched as Trianna strode into the room, her brown locks tousled and piled high above her head with obvious haste. She

  looked as if she had just been roused from bed. Bowing in the dawrven fashion, she said, "You asked for me, Lady?"

  "I did." Relaxing into a chair, Nasuada let her gaze slowly drift up and down Trianna. The sorceress lifted her chin under Nasuada's examination. "I need to know: What is the most

  important rule of magic?"

  Trianna frowned, "Why didn't you simply ask Mark? I'm sure he's perfectly capable of answering such a simple question."

  "I arrived mere moments ago Trianna, I'm assuming Nasuada needed this information right away, so she sent away for you. Now, if you don't mind, please answer her question."

  He said, folding his arms across his chest.

  She huffed slightly and looked back at Nasuada, "That whatever you do with magic requires the same amount of energy as it would to do otherwise."

  "And what you can do is only limited by your ingenuity and by your knowledge of the ancient language?"

  "Other structures apply, but in general, yes. Lady, why do you ask? These are basic principles of magic that, while not commonly bandied about, I am sure you are familiar with/"

  "I am. I wished to ensure that I understood them properly." Without moving from her chair, Nasuada reached down and lifted the overgown so that Trianna could see it. There lace

  on the dress was burned and torn drastically, making it irreparable. "So then, within those limits, you should be able to devise a spell that will allow you to manufacture lace with magic."

  A condescending sneer distorted with sorceress's dark lips. "Du Vrangr Gata has more important duties than repairing your clothes, Lady." Mark raised an eyebrow at her tone. "Our

  art is not so common as to be employed for mere whims. I'm sure that you will find your seamstress and tailors more than capable of fulfilling your request. Now, if you will excuse me, I"

  "Be quiet, woman," said Nasuada in a flat voice. Astonishment muted Trianna in midsentence. Mark smirked and said nothing. "I see that I must teach Du Vrangr Gata the same

  lesson that I taught the Council of Elders: I may be young, but I am no child to be patronized. I ask about lace because if you can manufacture it quickly and easily with magic, then

  we can support the Varden by selling inexpensive bobbin and needle lace throughout the Empire. Galbatorix's own people will provide the funds we need to survive."

  Mark blinked and looked at Nasuada, stunned at the simple genius of her idea.

  "But that's ridiculous," protested Trianna. Even Farica looked skeptical. "You can't pay for a war with lace."

  Nasuada raised an eyebrow. "Why not? Women who otherwise could never afford to own lace will leap at the chance to buy ours. Every farmer's wife who longs to appear richer

  than she is will want it. Even wealthy merchants and nobles will give us their gold because our lace will be finer than any thrown or stitched by human hands. We'll garner a fortune

  to rival the dwarves'. That is, if you are skilled enough in magic to do what I want."

  Trianna tossed her hair. "You doubt my abilities?"

  "Can it be done?"

  Trianna hesitated, then took the overgown from Nasuada and studied the lace strip for a long while. At last she said, "It should be possible, but I'll have to conduct some tests

  before I know for certain."

  "Do so immediately. From now on, this is your most important assignment. And find and experience lace maker to advise you on the patterns."

  "Yes, Lady Nasuada."

  Nasuada allowed for her voice to soften. "Good. I also want you to select the brightest members of Du Vrangr Gata and work with them to invent other magical techniques that will

  help the Varden. That's your responsibility, not mine."

  "Yes, Lady Nasuada."

  "Now, you are excused. Report back to me tomorrow morning."

  "Yes, Lady Nasuada."

  Satisfied, Nasuada watched the sorceress depart after casting a quick glance at Mark, then closed her eyes and allowed herself to enjoy a moment of pride for what she had

  accomplished. "This is my contribution to the Varden," she told herself.

  Mark smiled, "That was quite brilliant. I never would have thought of anything like that."

  "No man would have thought of that," she said. "But it's a solution to our financial problems."

  "I'm starting to think you don't need my assistance anymore. You solved this all on your own, and managed to put Trianna back in her place. You're getting quite good at this you

  know."

  She shook her head, "I still need your advice once in a while." Nasuada turned to Farica, "You may leave us now."

  "Yes Ma'am." Farica bowed to both of them before leaving through the servant's door.

  Mark stretched and swung himself down into a chair, "How did your meetings go with Orrin and the others?"

  "Dreadful. Orrin refuses to continue funding us; he simply can't afford it any longer. Which is where this idea came from."

  "It's understandable, you know," he said. "I'm surprised he's helped us for this long already."

  She sighed and nodded. "Where did you go off to? It's not like you to miss meetings of any sort."

  Mark leaned on his knees and let out a sigh, "With Kendra, or at least, trying to find her. She decided to take an unannounced trip through the forest and I felt the need to find her

  before something happened to her."

  "You're becoming quite attached to her."

  "She is the princess, I feel obligated to keeping track of her. And it's likely in my best interests to do so. You know how to play this game as well as I. Don't think of it as anything more than that."

  Nasuada smiled at him, "I won't then. Now, I'm quite tired from today's events"

  He stood without being asked, bowing his head to her, "Have a good evening Nasuada." Mark insisted, turning and heading out to his own room with the promise of visiting Trianna

  and the other magicians the next day.

  A blast of ravening wind tore Eragon from his sleep.

  Blankets flapped over him as a tempest clawed at his room, hurling his possessions into the air and knocking the lanters against the walls. Outside, the sky was black with

  thunderheads.

  Saphira watched as Eragon staggered upright and fought to keep his balance as the tree swayed like a ship at sea. He lowered his head against the gale and made his way around

  the room, clutching at the wall until he reached the teardrop portal through which the storm howled.

  Eragon looked past the heaving floor to the ground below. It appeared to rock back and forth. He swallowed and tried to ignore the churning in his stomach.

  By touch he found the edge of the cloth membrane that could be pulled out of the wood to cover the opening. He prepared to launch himself from one side of the gap to the next. If

  he slipped, nothing would stop him from falling onto the roots of the tree.

  Wait, said Saphira.

  She backed off the low pedestal where she slept and laid her tail alongside him so that he could use it as a handrail.

  Holding the cloth with just his right hand, which took all his strength, Eragon used the line of spikes on Saphira's tail to pull himself across the portal. As soon as he reached the far

  side, he grabbed the cloth with both hands and pressed its edge into the groove that locked it in place.

  The room went silent.

  The membrane bulged inward under the force of the angry elements but showed no sign of giving. Eragon poked it with his finger. The fabric was as taunt as a drum.

  It's amazing what the elves can do, he said.

  Saphira cocked her h
ead, then lifted it so that her head was flat against the ceiling while she listened. You'd better close up the study; it's been wrecked.

  As he headed toward the stairs, the tree jolted and his leg buckled, sending him down hard on one knee.

  "Blast it," he growled.

  The study was a whirlwind of paper and quills, darting about as if they had a mind of their own. He dove into the flurry with his arms wrapped around his head. It felt like he was

  being pelted with stones when the tips of the quills struck him.

  Eragon struggled to close the upper portal without Saphira's help. The moment he did, pain – endless, mindnumbing pain – ripped open his back.

  He screamed once and went hoarse from the strength of his cry. His vision flashed with red and yellow, then faded to black as he toppled to his side. Below, he heard Saphira howl

  with frustration; the staircase was too small and, outside, the wind was too ferocious for her to reach him. His connection with her receded. He surrendered to the waiting darkness

  as a release from his agony.

  A sour taste filled Eragon's mouth when he woke. He did not know how long he had been lying on the floor, but the muscles in his arms and legs were knotted from being curled

  into a tight ball. The storm still assailed the tree, accompanied by a thudding rain that matched the pounding in his head.

  Saphria…?

  I'm here. Can you come down?

  I'll try.

  He was too weak to stand on the pitching floor, so he crawled to the stairs and slid down one at a time, wincing with each impact. Halfway down, he encountered Saphira, who had

  jammed her head and neck as far up the stairs as she could, gouging the wood in her frenzy.

  Little one. She flicked out her tongue and caught him on the hand with its rough tip. He smiled. Then she arched her neck and tried to pull back, but to no avail.

  What's wrong?

  I'm stuck.

  You're… He could not help it; he laughed even though it hurt. The situation was too absurd.

  She snarled and heaved her entire body, shaking the tree with her efforts and knocking him over. Then she collapsed, panting. Well, don't just sit there grinning like an idiot fox.

  Help me!