The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  dragons perished in the Fall.

  Some days Eragon and Saphira would fly with Oromis and Glaedr, practicing aerial combat or visiting crumbling ruins hidden within Du Weldenvarden. Other days they would

  reverse the usual order of things, and Eragon would accompany Glaedr while Saphira remained of the Crags of Tel'naeír with Oromis.

  She leaned against the wall for support upon exiting the massive throne room, her legs shaky and her breath uneven. Lifting her head, her hair fell back away from her face,

  allowing her to gaze into the morning sky illuminating the hallway through the high arching windows. Moving towards the end of the hall at a slow pace, she tried to let the full force

  of what had transpired coarse through her. The walk to her room felt like miles with her head reeling so fiercely. Her fingers moved across the gritty stone, feeling every crack,

  crevice, groove, and dip. The heavy door she had come to know felt stiff as she pushed it open; and pleasingly solid behind her back after it had closed.

  The balcony overlooking the courtyard invited her to feel the wind rushing up and across the castle grounds. She turned instead to the fireplace, crackling with embers, gazing at it

  intently for a moment before pulling away. Mariah looked down at her hands, clenching her fingers tightly to her palms, able to feel herself shaking. When she relaxed the muscles,

  she saw the faint outline of her nails embedded in her flesh.

  Looking up and into the mirror atop her dressing table, she shuddered at her own appearance. Her features more pointed and fair than she remembered them being even yesterday

  and the thought crossed her mind that she was surpassing even Kieran with her features. Red lips plastered across pale skin glowing with elvish magic, punctuated by the loose

  black hair cascading around her shoulders. Her eyes and ears were tapering, slanting and making her features all together angled. Even from a month ago, the changes were

  visible. Is it because of the Rider's blood coursing through my veins?

  A knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. She moved to open it, staring at Kieran. The woman looked her up and down, raising a sculpted eyebrow. "You look a mess. Did

  you sleep in those clothes?"

  "Let me change. I'll meet you downstairs in half of an hour; make sure the others are there as well."

  Kieran parted her lips to say something, pausing at her demeanor and nodded. "Consider it done."

  Shutting the door, Mariah turned and changed into a clean set of clothes, pulling her armor across her, belting everything tight. The sword she had finally been granted leaned

  against the wall until she retrieved it, tying it off at her waist. She pulled the door open and trotted down the staircase to the courtyard, waiting for the others to join her as the

  wind ruffled her hair.

  Darling. Andrar approached her with a whirl of his wings. Twirling around her, he nuzzled against her arm. Do you believe this to be the best course of action?

  Yes. I am a Rider for the Empire. We've already waited far too long to prepare the new recruits, training starts now. Galbatorix must be anxious to hatch his new legion.

  He hummed to her, lifting his head as Thorn drifted down to join them, landing just in front of the doors to the castle, awaiting Murtagh to join him.

  Lifting his hand, he placed it on Thorn's snout, patting his scales in greeting before looking at Mariah. Something in her gaze struck him and he stayed rooted to the ground where

  he was. "Are you alright?"

  "I'm fine." Mariah turned her gaze from him, drawing her blade and inspecting it, running her fingers along the edge to sharpen it.

  "You don't look it." He insisted, watching her carefully before walking to her. "Did something happen?"

  She sheathed the blade, satisfied. Mariah gazed over the courtyard and training grounds. "I spoke with Galbatorix."

  "About what?"

  "My lineage."

  He furrowed his brow, thinking. "Brom was your grandfather… what more is there?"

  "My parents."

  "I thought they both had died when you were younger?"

  "They did. Around the same time yours did I assume." She caught the question on his face and bit her lip. "My parents… are both Forsworn."

  He felt the rush of wind as Thorn twisted around to stare at her as well. Murtagh watched her fidget under their gaze. She looked as though she was lost. Underneath her beautiful

  exterior and Rider features, she was still only a teenage girl. All of this being pushed on her so suddenly forced a pulse of sympathy, and for him to step up to her, twining his arms

  around her in a hug. "That wasn't your choice."

  She pulled away from him, folding her arms and catching his eyes, her gaze fierce. "No, but what I do with it is."

  "Of course." He insisted, nodding. "I didn't choose who my father was either…" Murtagh trailed off as Kieran pushed the doors open, leading the gaggle of wouldbe Riders.

  Mariah stepped towards them all, grinning. "Today's the day we start your training." Even Kieran looked at her questioningly. "Until now, basic swordplay, magic... all of your

  fighting skills have been rudimentary. The remainder of your lives will be devoted to the highest level of combat… speed, intelligence, reflexes, stamina. The raw power you will

  feel once you become a Rider is like nothing you've experienced so far. Trust me when I tell you, this is not going to be easy."

  Kieran walked to her, speaking in a hushed tone. "What's got you so uppity all of a sudden?"

  "New found pride in what I am." She said, looking at the princess. "If I can't have it my way, then I'll just have to make do with what I can. Now, do you want to help me lead a

  new legion of Dragon Riders, or would you like to stand there gawking?"

  Kieran smirked at her, "Let's get started." She spun on her heel, clapping her hands with a menacing glow to her eyes.

  Kendra pushed the door open, leaning on it heavily with her shoulder, dust clouding around her feet. Nyx sneezed before bolting inside and sniffing around. "Huh, Trevin was

  supposed to be here already." She looked around the sparse room at the table and chairs.

  On cue, he dropped from the rafter above her, feet hitting the wooden floor quietly. "Yer highness."

  "Funny," she pushed past him, looking around the room. "Is there a basement?"

  "Yes, the ladder to go down is below the latch there," he pointed to a brass ring on the floor a few meters away. "Just as dusty as up here."

  "It's not dust I'm worried about."

  Trevin looked over at Mark who was inspecting the room. "Ah, so you did come, Lord Marcus." He smirked and gave a flashy bow, his red hair tumbling over his brow.

  Rolling his eyes, Mark looked at Kendra, "What do you want wards for?"

  "Scrying. An alarm in case something is trying to scry us. An invisibility charm around the perimeter so no one knows we're here would be nice, but not necessary. I need this place

  to be spy proof, so no one gets in or out without my say so."

  "It might take me a while, but I can manage." He said, holding his hand out for the necklace. Kendra pulled the diamond from her corset and tossed it to him, watching his fingers

  curl around the precious stone.

  "Go ahead and get started, Trevin and I have some shopping to do." She looked at the archer and headed back outside, listening to him sigh quietly as he followed, Nyx padding

  after them both.

  Holding the diamond in his palm, he started muttering quietly, allowing his magic to seep into the gem as he went. Slowly, he started working wards around the building, weaving a

  complex set of spells that would keep out anyone except for Kendra. A basic confusion ward to start, layered with an invisibility charm that would kick in if anyone came back a

  second time. The next layer took several different spells, to prevent scrying the building, and any
one else inside of it. The wording he chose was careful and after nearly two hours

  he had finally finished with every spell he could think to cover the new hideout Kendra had chosen. Mark sat down, feeling the magic radiating off of the diamond in his palm, letting

  out a heaving sigh as he finally relaxed, waiting for them to return.

  The door handle turned and the princess stumbled in, carrying a bag laden with parchment, quills, and ink. Trevin was behind her with food and fabrics. He blinked a few times,

  looking around, then back outside.

  "The confusion spell should wear off after you step through the door…" Mark commented, raising an eyebrow at him.

  "Ah," he nodded, setting the food packages on the table, throwing the blankets on a chair. Kendra laid out the parchment and quills, trying not to tear or break any of them. The ink

  she set in the middle of the table, out of reach of the edges.

  "Wonderful job," she said, turning towards Mark. "I couldn't have done better myself."

  "Isn't this what you brought me here for?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, handing her the diamond.

  "Yes, however, you did much better weaving those spells together. It's like a spider's web, unlike mine which is akin to a spool of thread." She took the diamond in her hands, able

  to feel the energy pulsing through the stone. "Incredible. Are you sure you didn't sell your soul to a demon for this?"

  "I'm certain. Shade I am not." He stood, stretching. "You'll need to hide the diamond somewhere safe in the basement perhaps, or under a floorboard. Without it, there will be no magic to hold the spells. Do you have any further need of me?"

  She looked him over once, then back at the gemstone necklace. "No. Thank you. If you need to return to your lady, then you may do so immediately. I won't be returning to Aberon

  for some time. I have a few pieces of business to take care of before then. Tell Nasuada she is lucky to have you."

  Trevin glanced between them and then looked down at the table, fussing with a map Kendra had purchased in town. He shuffled the parchment around, looking back at Mark out of

  the corner of his eye.

  "Until later then." Mark smiled a little at both of them before heading outside. He pulled himself back up into Aluora's saddle and wheeled her around, trotting her southward once

  again.

  Kendra turned around, catching Trevin's stare. "Yes?"

  "You don't feel like you trust him too much?"

  She shook her head. "On the contrary."

  "What?"

  "I wish I would have met him much before now. Our goals would have been advanced far beyond what they are now much sooner." Looking at the diamond, she nodded, walking

  over to the trapdoor to the basement. She pulled the latch on the floor up before jumping down into the darkness.

  Each morning Eragon sparred with Vanir, which, without exception, ignited one or more of Eragon's seizures. To make matters worse, the elf continued to treat Eragon with haughty

  condescension. He delivered oblique slights that, on the surface, never exceeded the bounds of politeness, and he refused to be drawn to anger no matter how Eragon needled him.

  Eragon hated him and his cool, mannered bearing. It seemed as if Vanir was insulting him with every movement. And Vanir's companions – who, as best Eragon could tell, were of

  a younger generation of elves – shared his veiled distaste for Eragon, though they never displayed aught but respect for Saphira.

  Their rivalry came to a head when, after defeating Eragon six times in a row, Vanir lowered his sword and said, "Dead yet again, Shadeslayer. How repetitive. Do you wish to

  continue?" His tone indicated that he thought it would be pointless.

  "Aye," grunted Eragon. He had already suffered an episode with his back and was in no mood to bandy words.

  Still, when Vanir said, "Tell me, as I am curious. Howe did you kill Durza when you are so slow? I cannot fathom how you managed it," Eragon felt compelled to reply: "I caught

  him by surprise."

  "Forgive me; I should have guessed trickery was involved."

  Eragon fought the impulse to grind his teeth. "If I were an elf or you a human, you would not be able to match my blade."

  "Perhaps," said Vanir. He assumed his ready position and, within the span of three seconds and two blows, disarmed Eragon. "But I think not. You should not boast to a better

  swordsman, else he may decide to punish your temerity."

  Eragon's temper broke then, and he reached deep within himself into the torrent of magic. He released the pent up energy with one of the twelve minor words of binding, crying

  "Malthinae!" to chain Vanir's legs and arms in place and hold his jaw shut so that he could not utter a counterspell. The elf's eyes bulged with outrage.

  Eragon said, "And you should not boast to one who is more skilled in magic than you."

  Vanir's dark eyebrows met.

  Without warning or a whisper of a sound, an invisible force clouted Eragon on the chest and threw him ten yards across the grass, where he landed upon his side, driving the wind

  from his lungs. The impact disrupted Eragon's control of the magic and freed Vanir.

  How did he do that?

  Advancing upon him, Vanir said, "Your ignorance betrays you, human. You do not know whereof you speak. To think that you were chosen to succeed Vrael, that you were given his

  quarters, that you have had the honor to serve the Mourning Sage…" He shook his head. "It sickens me that such gifts are bestowed upon one so unworthy. You do not even

  understand what magic is or how it works."

  Eragon's anger resurged like a crimson tide. "What," he said, "have I ever done to wrong you? Why do you despise me so? Would you prefer it if no Rider existed to oppose

  Galbatorix?"

  "My opinions are of little consequence."

  "I agree, but I would hear them."

  "Listening, as Nuala wrote in Convocations, is the path to wisdom only when the result of a conscious decision and not a void of perception."

  "Straighten your tongue, Vanir, and give me an honest answer!"

  Vanir smiled coldly. "As you command, O Rider." Drawing near so that only Eragon could hear his soft voice, the elf said, "For eighty years after the fall of the Riders, we held no

  hope of victory. We survived by hiding ourselves through deceit and magic, which is but a temporary measure, for eventually Galbatorix will be strong enough to march upon us and

  sweep aside our defenses. Then, long after we had resigned ourselves to our fate, Brom and Jeod rescued Saphira's egg, and once again a chance existed to defeat the foul usurper.

  Imagine our joy and celebration. We knew that in order to withstand Galbatorix, the new Rider had to be more powerful than any of his predecessors, more powerful than even

  Vrael. Yet how was our patience rewarded? With another human like Galbatorix. Worse… a cripple. You doomed us all, Eragon, the instant you touched Saphira's egg. Do not expect

  us to welcome your presence." Vanir touched his lip with his first and second finger, then sidestepped Eragon and walked off the sparring field, leaving Eragon rooted in place.

  He's right, though Eragon. I'm illsuited for this task. Any of these elves, even Vanir, would make a better Rider than me.

  Emanating outrage, Saphira broadened the contact between them. Do you think so little of my judgement, Eragon? You forget that when I was in my egg, Arya exposed me to each

  and every one of these elves – as well as many of the Varden's children – and that I rejected them all. I wouldn't have chosen someone to be my Rider unless they could help your

  race, mine, and the elves, for the three of us share an intertwined fate. You were the right person, at the right place, at the right time. Never forget that.

  If ever that were true, he said, it was before Durza injured me. Now I see naught but darkness and evil in our future. I won't give up, but I despa
ir that we may not prevail. Perhaps

  our task is not to overthrow Galbatorix but to prepare the way for the next Rider chosen by the remaining eggs.

  "Again." Mariah said, staring down Camilla, still unscathed. The older woman was bleeding out of her shoulder and panting. Her brilliant furlined coat laying discarded several meters away, littered with gashes and blood stains. She had volunteered first, and it wasn't about to get easier for any of them.

  Staring her down, the Rider's lips crested into a small smile. "If you scratch me you can be done."

  Camilla straightened, a scream caught in her throat as she lunged forward with her rapier. "You bitch." Smoothly pushing to her left, Mariah parried the blade and spun around,

  kicking Camilla's legs from beneath her. She watched her rapier scatter across the stone floor of the courtyard, leaning heavily on her arm, forcing another gush of blood to stream

  down her skin. Spitting, she stood back up, Mariah simply watching until she retrieved her sword.

  She lifted her chin slightly. "Again?"

  From the side, Galbatorix watched intently, pleased. He held his hands together, tapping his finger pads against one another. Camilla was intently aware of his presence and turned

  herself back to Mariah, lashing out with her sword in a complex series of maneuvers, listening to the consistent clash of steel against steel. From her waist, she drew a dagger,

  flinging it towards the Rider no more than three feet from her.

  Twisting away, Mariah felt the blade graze against her armor before it clattered to the ground, unmarred by blood. Camilla's brow furrowed as she jabbed towards her, hoping the

  knife was a good enough distraction to get in a single blow. Aiming for her face, the tip of her blade slid past Mariah's nose as she turned, watching the needle point zip past her

  face.

  She howled, growing impatient. "Stop dodging and fight me you coward!" In the next moment Camilla was on her back, Mariah's sword tip lying against her clavicle.

  "Do not taunt me, Reikena. Your temper is going to result in your death one day, by my blade or another's. You would do well to listen to what I'm teaching you."

  Camilla's fingers found purchase on her dropped dagger, flicking her wrist and throwing it up towards the Rider, watching as it tore through her breeches and skin. She smirked,