The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  tear in his lapped scales as wide as Eragon's hand. Scarlet blood laced the grooves between the surrounding scales.

  The moment Glaedr touched the ground, Oromis rushed toward him, only to stop when the dragon growled at him. Hopping on his injured leg, Glaedr crawled to the edge of the

  forest, where he curled up beneath the outstretched boughs, his back to Eragon, and set about licking clean his wound.

  Oromis went and knelt in the clover by Glaedr, keeping his distance with calm patience. It was obvious that he would wait as long as need be. Eragon fidgeted as the minutes

  elapsed. Finally, by some unspoken signal, Glaedr allowed Oromis to draw near and inspect his leg. Magic glowed from Oromis's gedwëy ignasia as he placed his hand over the rent

  in Glaedr's scales.

  "How is he?" asked Eragon when Oromis withdrew.

  "It looks a fear some wound, but it is no more than a scratch for one so large as Glaedr."

  "What about Saphira, though? I still can't contact her."

  "You must go to her," said Oromis. "She is hurt, in more ways than one. Glaedr said little of what transpired, but I have guessed much, and you would do well to hurry."

  Eragon glanced about for any means of transportation and groaned with anguish when he confirmed that none existed. "How can I reach her? It's too far to run, there's no trail, and

  I can't"

  "Calm thyself, Eragon. What was the name of the steed who bore you hence from Silthrim?"

  It took Eragon a moment to recall. "Folkvir."

  "Then summon him with your skills at gramarye. Name him and your need in this, the most powerful of languages, and he will come to your assistance."

  Letting the magic suffuse his voice, Eragon cried out for Folkvir, sending his plea echoing over the forested hills toward Ellesméra with all the urgency he could muster.

  Oromis nodded, satisfied. "Well done."

  Twelve minutes later, Folkvir emerged like a silver ghost from the dark shadows among the trees, tossing his mane and snorting with excitement. The stallion's sides heaved from

  the speed of his journey.

  Throwing a leg over the small elven horse, Eragon said, "I'll return as soon as I can."

  "Do what you must," said Oromis.

  Then Eragon touched his heels to Folkvir's ribs and shouted, "Run, Folkvir!" The horse leaped forward and bounded into Du Weldenvarden, threading his way with incredible dexterity

  between the gnarled pines. Eragon guided him toward Saphira with images from his mind.

  It had been two days since Kendra had left Trevin at the base to attend to matters in Furnost. She was meeting with a small gaggle of spies based just outside the city, those who

  would be first to notice any movement from the army of Galbatorix. They needed to be informed of the new base location, in the event someone needed to be contacted.

  Nyx mulled around ahead of her and Lynette, sniffing at bushes, dodging in and out of the underbrush to chase squirrels and the like, before returning to her side. They reached the

  campsite for the Black Lightning group, met with their leader drawing a sword. He was in his thirties, a large scar across his face. His armor made no noise as he moved.

  He eyed the wolf. "Ah, what are you doing here lass?"

  Kendra dropped from the horse and held onto her reins. "Aaron Bearclaw," she chuckled. "I need a report, and I need to give you some information."

  "Very well, come with me." He led her off to the largest tent in the campsite. She threw Lynette's reins to one of the others, who quickly tended to the shehorse and tied her off

  nearby the other horses. Inside was a table with a large map of Alagaësia but figurines and various colored pins identifying locations and numbers. A chest sat at the foot of a large

  bed, and several chairs and smaller tables around the room. "It's nice to see you, but I honestly expected Rowan if anyone. I didn't realize you enjoyed running petty errands for the

  lord…"

  Kendra rolled her eyes as Nyx curled up in a corner with his head on his paws. "I need to let your faction know of a new base, just past Cithrí. I've set it up just a few days ago

  now, it's well guarded. If you need to get to the nearest contact, going to Cithrí is the best way."

  "I'll let the others know," Aaron said. "Now, for my report: increasing numbers… it appears as though Galbatorix has summoned every able bodied man to report to his army. I

  expect an attack is imminent, though I don't know how soon he wants to send out untrained soldiers."

  "It's probably not that, he's probably securing the extra soldiers so that the Varden are unable to access them. He will try to win by numbers and force."

  "And win he shall if he has as many as we anticipate." He watched as Kendra's hands tensed on the edge of the table.

  "We're not losing because of numbers… we're losing because he's planning something and we don't know exactly what or how soon."

  "Aye, but numbers help." Aaron said, folding his arms. "You would do well to get some rest; you look a little worse for wear lass. Clean up and sleep, we can talk in the morning…"

  As much as she wanted to refuse, her body argued with her. It had been days since she'd slept well and eaten a good meal. She looked at Aaron, remembering when he'd gotten

  that scar; the memory put her mind at ease. "Very well."

  "Someone will be on watch all night; you don't have to worry about anyone sneaking in. You can stay here; I'll find different quarters for the night."

  "If you insist," Kendra said. Nyx watched him leave the tent, pulling the tie and allowing the flap to close behind him.

  Lacking a trail through the underbrush, a horse like Snowfire would have taken three or four hours to reach the Stone of Broken Eggs. Folkvir managed the trip in a bit over an

  hour.

  At the base of the basalt monolith – which ascended from the forest floor like a mottled green pillar and stood a good hundred feet higher than the trees – Eragon murmured,

  "Halt," then slid to the ground. He looked at the distant top of the Stone of Broken Eggs. Saphira was up there.

  He walked around the perimeter, searching for a means to achieve the pinnacle, but in vain, for the weathered formation was impregnable. It possessed no fissures, crevices, or

  other faults near enough to the ground that he could use to climb its sides.

  This might hurt, he thought.

  "Stay here," he told Folkvir. The horse looked at him with intelligent eyes. "Graze if you want, but stay here, okay?" Folkvir nickered and, with his velvet muzzle, nudged Eragon's

  arm. "Yes,good boy. You've done well."

  Fixing his gaze on the crest of the monolith, Eragon gathered his strength, then said in the ancient language, "Up!"

  He realized later that if he had not been accustomed to flying with Saphira, the experience might have proved unsettling enough to cause him to lose control of the spell and plunge

  to his death. The ground dropped away beneath his feet at a swift clip, while the tree trunks narrowed as he floated toward the underside of the canopy and the fading evening sky

  beyond. Branches clung like grasping fingers to his face and shoulders as he pushed through into the open. Unlike during one of Saphira's dives, he retained his sense of weight, as

  if he stood still upon the loam below.

  Rising above the edge of the Stone of Broken Eggs, Eragon moved himself forward and released his grip on the magic, alighting upon a mossy patch. He sagged with exhaustion and

  waited to see if the exertion would pain his back, then sighed with relief when it did not.

  The top of the monolith was composed of jagged towards divided by deep and wide gullied where naught but a few scattered wildflowers grew. Black caves dotted the towers, some

  natural, others clawed out of the basalt by talons as thick as Eragon's leg. Their floors were blanketed with a deep layer of lichenridden bones, remnants of the dragons' a
ncient

  kills. Birds now nested where dragons once had – hawks and falcons and eagles, who watched him from their perches, ready to attack if he should threaten their eggs.

  Eragon picked his way across the forbidding landscape, careful not to twist an ankle on the loose flakes of stone or to get too close to the occasional rifts that split the column. If he

  fell down one, it would send him tumbling out into empty space. Several times he had to climb over high ridges, and twice more he had to lift himself with magic.

  Evidence of the dragons' habitation was visible everywhere, from deep scratches in the basalt to puddles of melted rock to a number of dull, colorless scales caught up in nooks,

  along with other detritus. He even stepped upon a sharp object, that when he bent to examine it, proved to be a fragment of a green dragon egg.

  On the eastern face of the monolith stood the tallest tower, in the center of which, like a black pit turned on its side, was the largest cave. It was there that Eragon finally beheld

  Saphira, curled in a hollow against the far wall, her back to the opening. Tremors ran her length. The walls of the cave bore fresh scorch marks, and the piles of brittle bones were

  scattered about as if from a fight. Saphira," said Eragon, speaking out loud since her mind was closed to him.

  Her head whipped up, and she stared at him as if he were a stranger, her pupils contracting to thin black slits as her eyes adjusted to the light from the setting sun behind him. She

  snarled once, like a feral dog, and then twisted away. As she did, she lifted her left wing and exposed a long, ragged gash along her upper thigh. His heart caught at the sight.

  Mariah's blood boiled at the shattered fragments of a deep green dragon egg. Lying amongst the pieces was a tiny dragon, its wings tucked in tight against its back, transparent,

  shiny, and slick with sticky remnants of the amniotic fluids that had been keeping the embryo alive. The tiny dragon was curled on the cold stone floor, motionless. She knelt down

  and hesitantly picked up a fragment of the shell, rubbing it between her fingers before looking up at Galbatorix.

  His gaze was locked on Cederic. "You will have to choose another."

  "No." She looked up at him. "Another? You have already killed one dragon today, isn't that enough?"

  "I can't have Riders without dragons, we have spoken about this, Dawnsinger."

  She trembled, looking back at the hatchling as Cederic said, "The gray one." Hanging her head, she clenched her eyes together and winced, listening to the words again that would

  force one of the unbroken eggs to hatch.

  The crackle of the shell seemed distant as she stared downward, unsure of what to be wishing for. If it hatched, Cederic was going to get bound to the dragon. If it died, then there

  was yet another dead dragon. She shook as the pops became louder until there was finally a shattering noise. Holding her breath, she knew what she was hoping for in that moment

  – to hear a squeak, a chirp, anything.

  And finally it came. She bit her lip hard as tears rushed down her cheeks. She scooped up the green baby dragon; it hung limp in her arms as she carried it from the room.

  sorry. I'm so sorry… Mariah hurried up the stairs from the lower level dungeons, found a small inlet near a windowsill down the hall from the library, and sat, curling up and

  stroking her scales on her neck. She rocked back and forth, cradling the hatchling in her arms until someone touched her shoulder.

  She looked up and found Kieran staring back at her. "Mariah…"

  "I can't… this has to stop." Watching her sigh, Mariah hiccupped a breath and shook.

  "You can't make him stop."

  "How many more…?"

  "More what?"

  "Eggs."

  Kieran paused. "Three…"

  "I thought there was only eight?"

  "After Thorn… yeah… he might have more but I don't know anymore…"

  "That's too many." She cried harder.

  Kieran sat next to her, rubbing her shoulder. "Mariah, you have to let it go… it's the price we have to pay for the Riders to be restored."

  "Not like this Kieran…"

  She sighed, dropping her head. "After Pearce and Odette… he only had two extra... there aren't many left anyway."

  "I don't want any more of them to die!"

  Grasping her shoulder, Kieran pulled her to her feet with strength she didn't appear she had. Guiding her down the stairs, the princess walked her outside to the courtyard and

  around the castle grounds, Mariah following blinded by tears. Upon their exiting the castle, Andrar raised his head and lumbered after them. A small grouping of trees on the edge

  of the castle grounds shielded a small clearing. Here there were stacks of rocks, some adorned with flowers, or gems, or other trinkets. Kieran stopped in front of one abruptly,

  releasing her grip from Mariah. A shaft of moonlight through the trees lit up the white stones of the tomb at her feet.

  She looked up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her wrist. "What is this?"

  "It's where my sister and I buried our mother after Galbatorix killed her." Kieran turned to Mariah holding her hand out. "And it's where we're going to bury that dragon as well."

  Andrar snorted. A dragon is not to be buried underground like a Dwarf. We are creatures of the sun and sky; do not dishonor the hatchling in such a way. Her life was not even

  lived, yet she deserves better than a hole in the ground.

  "Then what would you suggest?" Kieran asked.

  "A funeral pyre a warrior's burial." Mariah stroked the scales of the baby dragon again, her tail falling past the Rider's waist. "Every dragon deserves that." Andrar nodded once

  heavily and flicked his tail as Nasreen glided next to him, sniffing at the dead hatchling.

  The dragoness barred her teeth. Galbatorix would do well to remember that something so unnatural is not to be done with a dragon. I will refrain from severing his arm from his

  body next I see him. He will understand what he has done before I allow him to even think about a brood of my own eggs. Andrar is correct; a ground burial is not what a dragon

  deserves.

  Kieran nodded, collecting a grouping of sticks and stacking them together. When she had finished, Mariah gently placed the tiny dragoness on the pile. She adjusted her wings and

  tail around her so that she would not look so uncomfortable and out of place. After stepping back, Andrar inhaled before blowing gently sunset flames onto the pyre. Nasreen let out

  a quick stream of magenta fire, the heat of which incinerated the grass nearby. The Riders watched as the flames licked at the dragoness' body before engulfing her completely.

  When the fire had burned down to nothing, only charred scales remained, the scattered remnants of Galbatorix's failed, forced hatching rustling away like leaves as the wind blew.

  Eragon knew that she would not let him approach, so he did as Oromis had with Glaedr; he knelt among the crushed bones and waited He waited without word or motion until his

  legs were numb and his hands were stiff with cold. Yet he did not resent the discomfort. He paid the price gladly if it meant he could help Saphira.

  After a time, she said, I have been a fool.

  We are all fools sometimes.

  That makes it no easier when it is your turn to play dunce.

  I suppose not.

  I have always known what to do. When Garrow died, I knew it was the right thing to pursue the Ra'zac. When Brom died, I knew that we should go to Gil'ead and thence to the

  Varden. When Ajihad died, I knew that you should pledge yourself to Nasuada. And when Andrar died… The path has always been clear to me. Except now. In this issue alone, I am

  lost.

  What is it, Saphira?

  Instead of answering, she turned the subject and said, Do you know why this is called the Stone of Broken Eggs?

  No.


  Because during the war between dragons and elves, the elves tracked us to this location and killed us while we slept. They tore apart our nests, then shattered our eggs with their magic. That day, it rained blood in the forest below. No dragon has lived here since.

  Eragon remained silent. That was not why he was here. He would wait until she could bring herself to address the situation at hand.

  Say something! demanded Saphira.

  Will you let me heal your leg?

  Leave well enough alone.

  Then I shall remain as mute as a statue and sit here until I turn to dust, for I have the patience of a dragon from you.

  When they came, her words were halting, bitter, and selfmocking: It shames me to admit it. When we first came here and I saw Glaedr, I felt such joy that another member of my

  race survived besides Shruikan. I had never thought of the fact that we were the only two besides the King's dragon, Andrar and I, until he had perished. And I thought… I thought

  that Glaedr would be as pleased by my existence as I was by his.

  But he was.

  You don't understand. I thought he would be the mate I never expected to have and that together we could rebuild our race. She shorted, and a burst of flame escaped her nostrils.

  I was mistaken. He does not want me. She paused. I now know what you feel when you look at Arya. When you speak of companionship, and what you lost when Mariah was taken

  from you, I too remember. That day took away from both of us greatly. She turned and set her head gently on the ground, placing a clawed forepaw across her snout.

  He was silent, watching her as she raised her left wing and kept it in the air as permission for him to tend to her injury. Eragon felt struck with the pain once more of their past,

  and couldn't bring himself to offer the possibility of one of the remaining eggs to prove to be a good mate for her. It felt the same as insisting any woman could replace what he had

  lost.

  Eragon limped to Saphira's side, where he examined the crimson wound, glad that Oromis had given him so many scrolls on anatomy to read. The blow – by claw or tooth, he was

  not sure – had torn the quadriceps muscle beneath Saphira's hide, but not so much as to bare the bone. Merely closing the surface of the wound, as Eragon had done so many