The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  behavior, Eragonelda. I thought that you had consigned my race to the void, and out of my fear I acted most shamefully. However, it seems that your race no longer endangers

  our cause." In a grudging voice, he added: "You are now worthy of the title Rider."

  Eragon bowed in return. "You honor me. I'm sorry that I injured you so badly. Will you allow me to heal your arm?"

  "No, I shall let nature tend to it at her own pace, as a memento that I once crossed blades with Eragon Shadeslayer. You needn't fear that it will disrupt our sparring tomorrow; I

  am equally good with my left hand."

  They both bowed again, and then Vanir departed.

  Orik slapped a hand on his thigh and said, "Now we have a chance at victory, a real chance! I can feel it in my bones. Bones like stone, they say. Ah, this'll please Hrothgar and

  Nasuada to no end."

  Eragon kept his peace and concentrated on removing the block from Zar'roc's edges, but he said to Saphira, If brawn were all that was required to depose Galbatorix, the elves would have done it long ago. Still, he could not help being pleased by his heightened prowess, as well as by his longawaited reprieve from the torment of his back. Without the

  constant bursts of pain, it was as if a haze had been lifted from his mind, allowing his to think clearly once again.

  The wind rushed past her face as Andrar barreled through the air towards Nasreen. He twisted through her glistening talons and kicked at her with his hind legs, back flipping

  through the air with his wings tucked against his back, sheltering Mariah in a leathery cocoon.

  She exhaled, her skin glowing like embers as sunlight filtered through the wing membrane. Snapping his wings out as he pulled from the flip, Andrar turned to face Nasreen as she

  roared at having missed him. He snorted, beating once and carrying himself upward, his tail lashing and smacking her across the snout.

  Once he was high enough, he folded his wings and dove for her again, breathing a steady stream of flames down to combat her own. Stray cinders of pinks flame brushed past

  Mariah's face as she drew her blade. Her brightsteel sword clashed against Kieran's as their dragons' talons locked against one another. Their limbs became tangled, pitching them

  into a death spiral with their riders fighting on their backs.

  As they hurtled toward the ground, Mariah glanced below at the others watching intently. Her gaze turned back to Kieran as she moved, striking towards her; Kieran opening

  Mariah's shoulder as she tried to block the hurried blow. In return, Mariah whipped the brightsteel dagger from her waist, splitting open the princess's brow. Looking down again, Mariah realized how quickly they were falling and the vague notion of pulling out of the plunge washed over her and Andrar's united consciousness.

  As if in response, Nasreen bit Andrar's leg, flailing her tail and forced him backward, out of their entanglement. Rushing away, he settled his claws into the side of the castle,

  watching the pink dragoness for a moment before launching towards her. Unprepared, she felt her wing pinned below his weight as he clamped his fangs into her shoulder, digging

  claws through her belly scales. Unable to move her left wing, Nasreen floundered in the air; unable to reach her neck around to attack him she blew flames into the sky, roaring.

  Looking just above her where the princess was mounted in her saddle, she met Kieran's eyes and lowered her blade, sheathing the dagger at her waist. Andrar released his jaw,

  beating his massive wings once, slowing both himself and Nasreen before letting her go completely. The dragoness snarled at him and drifted away, clamoring to stay off the

  ground before landing on the side of the castle, burrowing her talons into the stone, hanging there no more than a hundred feet off the courtyard. Blood trickled from the points of

  her magenta scales as she glared at him.

  Andrar landed deftly on the ground, settling into the grass, glaring over at the hatchling dragons beside their riders. Standing in her saddle after removing the straps around her

  arms and legs, landing on the ground with grace, the jump would have severely injured any normal human, Mariah spoke. "You cannot fight if you cannot fly, today you'll learn the

  basics of flying, and from there we'll see which of you is actually cut out to fight on dragonback." The wind flared, catching the edges of her black tunic. She watched their faces as

  Nasreen landed beside Andrar, allowing Kieran off her back, lapping at her wounds.

  The princess strode up beside her, blood sliding down her cheek from her temple. Folding her arms, Kieran addressed them all, "Nasreen and Andrar will be teaching your dragons,

  so you'd best listen to them."

  Mariah and Kieran observed from the ground while Andrar and Nasreen flew around the little ones. They pointed out flaws in their flying movements and grips. One Kieran had to

  catch Hal from falling out of his saddle to his death. It was apparent that Pearce was comfortable in the air, more so than any of the others, and Talath was picking up on his

  abilities quickly, despite Pearce's added weight.

  "Relax Camilla, you won't fall," Mariah insisted.

  "Hal nearly did!"

  "You aren't Hal. Let's face it: you're much more skilled than he is. And Belladonna won't let you fall like Deíron." She held her silver palm over her brow, looking up at the females

  in the air.

  Camilla smiled and brushed her braid over her shoulder, looking down at the lavender scales and gripping the leather with more assurance. Looking up, she watched her brother's

  hands white on the reins, though he was doing his best to not appear frightened.

  Whipping past him, Pearce laughed and shouted at him. "Cederic you look like you've seen a ghost!"

  "I feel as though my breakfast is going to heave from my stomach," he insisted. Reaper snorted and growled at him. "It's nothing you're doing; I'm just not so used to being so high

  off the ground."

  "You're only as high off the ground as you think you are. When you realize that it's no different than riding a horse then you'll be fine." Pearce said, grinning as Talath twisted in a

  wide loop around the gray dragon.

  Their flying talent is unmatched for ones so young.

  Indeed. Mariah said, watching them twist through the others. Her eyes flashed to Ecaeris and Innes. Her wings seemed frail compared to the others, but she slipped through the air

  like a fish in water. Knowing he could catch himself, her rider felt confident, and it showed.

  "We'll race you, to the edge of the trees and back."

  "Done!" Talath beat his wings once, taking off through the air before Ecaeris could turn around. They returned nosetonose, panting heavily as they landed.

  Andrar nosed the copper dragon and rumbled. They need a rest, Nasreen.

  They need to be prepared. They will be more exhausted than this in the heat of battle. A fight that may last hours or days even, carrying riders, weapons, and armor is no simple

  feat. Slamming her tail on the ground, she growled for emphasis.

  Snorting in response, Andrar argued in the little ones' defense. It is the first day of many that they will spend in the air, allow them a rest, or do you wish to kill them their first

  flight day?

  Nasreen sniffed and turned her head, lumbering off to find a shady tree, flicking her tail across his snout. He turned back to the little ones, insisting they all land and rest their tired

  wings. Mariah watched them all dismount and nodded, turning her back and heading back inside.

  As she stepped, Ancalë bounced against her thigh. The brightsteel rider's blade had been sharpened and polished for her after her confrontation with Galbatorix. It remained at her

  side with the matching dagger at all times since she had received it. Moving through the castle, she overheard speaking in the great hall, pausing and pushing the doors open as


  something inside her called. When she was halfway across the room, Galbatorix flicked his gaze up to her. "Good. Come here, Murtagh was just about to explain to me the Varden's

  battle plans." Mariah moved to the table, standing at the far corner, able to watch Murtagh and his expressions while he spoke. Her hands were clasped behind her back, her stance

  ridged poised like a soldier in formation.

  "The Varden are planning an attack, while preparing defensive measures against an expected attack from the Empire. They are working with King Orrin in Surda to bolster their

  numbers, however are greatly underestimating our own. Their locations are scattered throughout Surda and the edge of the Empire, here. They do not realize how many you have

  rallied together." Murtagh marked their positions on the map before them, straightening up again when he'd finished.

  "Excellent. I'm pleased to see that you've found out so much so quickly." Galbatorix looked over the map again, eyes gleaming. "Crushing the resistance will be easier than I

  expected."

  "If we were to attack from here, Kieran, Mariah, and myself would be able to attack the heart of the Varden, and the entire resistance. Cutting off the head would result in a

  collapse of the entire system. It would not only end the battle early, but save on troop deaths as well."

  His eyes turned up to Murtagh, examining him. "I don't care if my troops die on the battlefield. You should not either. They are of no concern to you."

  "Of course. I was simply stating that the Empire could be fully under your control quicker."

  "Indeed, that would be for the best. And if we can capture your brother and his dragoness faster, that would be marvelous." Galbatorix nodded. "Your main focus will be that. I want

  her; bring your brother back as well. I prefer him alive, however if a replacement rider is needed, then so be it. Are your instructions clear?"

  Murtagh nodded once, "Yes."

  "Dawnsinger, you will assist him. You both know your brother well, I expect you to induct him into my Forsworn."

  "Of course, your highness," she spoke, inclining her head. Murtagh glanced over, attempting not to look confused by her behavior. He attempted a brush against her consciousness,

  but found it completely blocked to him. She shot him a glare and turned back to Galbatorix as he spoke again.

  "All the children of my Forsworn are coming back to me, how exciting." He looked over the map once more. "Do see to it that the others continue their training as quickly as

  possible. And do check in on Odette. Notify me immediately if anything transpires which needs my attention. Take your leave of me Dawnsinger."

  "As you wish." Mariah inclined her head, pivoted and strode from the room without another word, leaving Murtagh to stare at her raven hair swaying against her back.

  A few minutes remained before they were supposed to meet with Oromis and Glaedr, so Eragon took his bow and quiver from where they hung on Saphira's back and walked to the

  range where elves practiced archery. Since the elves' bows were much more powerful than his, their targets were both too small and too far away for him. He had to shoot from

  halfway down the range.

  Taking his place, Eragon nocked an arrow and slowly pulled back the string, delighted by his easy it had become. He aimed, released the arrow, and held his position, waiting to see

  if he would hit his mark. Like a maddened hornet, the dart buzzed toward the target and buried itself in the center. He grinned. Again and again he fired at the target, his speed

  increasing with his confidence until he loosed thirty arrows in a minute.

  At the thirtyfirst arrow, he pulled on the string slightly harder than he had ever done – or was capable of doing – before. With an explosive report, the yew bow broke in half

  underneath his left hand, scratching his fingers and discharging a burst of splinters from the back of the bow. His hand went numb from the jolt.

  Eragon stared at the remains of his weapon, dismayed by the loss. Garrow had made it as a birthday present for him over three years ago. Since then, hardly a week went by when

  Eragon had not used his bow. It had helped him to provide food for his family on numerous occasions when they would have otherwise gone hungry. With it, he had killed his first

  deer. With it, he had killed his first Urgal. And through it, he had first used magic. Losing his bow was like losing an old friend who could be relied upon in even the worst situation.

  Saphira sniffed the two pieces of wood dangling from his grip and said, It seems you need a new stick thrower. He grunted – in no mood to talk – and stomped out to retrieve his

  arrows.

  Mark stood hiding against the corner of a building, stalking a short, bearded man through the market, narrowing his eyes as the man moved shiftily. Grazing against his mind, he

  felt it well guarded and smirked at confirming his target.

  "Mark!" Kendra hustled to his side, holding her hood up to her face so no one saw her, watching as he moved, slipping through alleyways and side streets, his eyes scanning through

  the crowd. "I need to talk to you."

  "After you help me get the assassin that's about to murder Nasuada." He said, rushing after him as he moved around a corner. Holding his sword to his hip, Mark jumped up on a

  barrel, leaping onto the top of a horsedrawn cart, dropping down on the other side of the crowded street and sprinting after him.

  Kendra blinked he was surprisingly nimble when he wanted to be rushing after him, slipping through the crowd, Nyx on her heels. She found she couldn't keep up to him and

  barely caught sight of him rushing into a hostel on Fane Street. Bolting up the stairs after him, she watched as he broke the door down with a spell, splinters flying past his face,

  throwing his black hair backward in a rush of air.

  He threw his hand out, freezing the assassin in place. Kendra skidded to a halt in the doorway, staring at the man kneeling on the floor. Nyx bounded into the room, crouched in

  front of his mistress.

  "Don't kill him Mark." She rushed, watching his face contort.

  A growl rippled through his vocal cords, "Why not?"

  "He's from the Black Hand. I need to talk to him. His name is Drail." She insisted, staring at the assassin. "Silence him and keep hold of his mind while I search it. I need to know

  what's going on in Urû'baen…"

  Heavy footsteps could be heard up the stairs and the two stopped and looked over as Trianna rushed into the door frame, guards lined up behind her. She looked over the situation

  and her eyes ran over Kendra, then Mark slowly.

  "Yes, Trianna?" He asked, his voice low, one hand still extended over Drail's head.

  She put a slender hand on her hip. "I need to bring him to Nasuada. She was almost murdered… Elva managed to save her before anything went wrong." When Mark didn't move,

  she continued, "Should I tell the Lady that you aren't obeying her commands, my Lord?"

  He jerked his chin up, knocking the assassin out cold with a quick word, binding his hands magically and striding from the room. "I'll make sure everyone clears out ahead of us."

  He pushed past Trianna and the guards, stepping outside and instructing the remaining guard to clear the civilians out of the way.

  Nasuada looked up as Mark entered the room, Kendra on his heels. Trianna followed them with the guards dragging the assassin with them. They threw him on the floor. Her gaze moved to Mark first. "You missed the meeting."

  "…I was a little preoccupied trying to find him."

  Nasuada turned her gaze down at the man who had tried to kill her. He was short, bearded, and plainlooking, no different from countless other men in the city. She felt a certain

  connection to him, as if his attempt on her life and the fact that she had arranged his capture in return linked them in the most intimate manner possible. "Wake him."
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  "Nasuada I don't believe that's the best idea" Trianna said.

  "Mark, will you guard me?"

  "Of course my Lady." He moved to stand in front of her, glancing at Trianna, breaking the spell holding the man asleep. The second he woke, Mark snapped into his mind, holding

  him hostage inside his own head.

  "What is your name?" Nasuada asked.

  "Drail." He said mechanically, glaring at Mark, who just smirked at him.

  "And who do you work for?"

  "Galbatorix. I am a member of the Black Hand."

  "And what are you doing here?"

  "Waiting for the chance to kill you. I have been watching your movements since the moment you left Farthen Dûr. This one kept getting in my way."

  Mark smirked just a little more, a vein in his forehead pulsing slightly. Kendra watched him and bit her tongue, hiding her face in her hood.

  "How many of you can use magic?"

  Drail grinned at her this time, "Most of us. There are more than you wish to admit to. Someone very near to you might be an assassin in disguise, you may never know."

  Her jaw set. "Mark, find out the names of the other assassins here in Surda. I want them gone."

  "As you wish, Nasuada." Drail stared Mark down, fighting with him over his own mind, steadily losing to the younger man. When he was finished draining him of all the information

  he could manage, Mark exhaled and let him go. Drail rushed up, dagger in hand, lunging for Nasuada. Tensing, Mark shielded Nasuada, a death curse running through his mind as

  the dagger swung towards him.

  Before he could even graze Mark, Kendra had her dagger through Drail's throat. He sputtered and coughed, blood gushing from between his gritted teeth. He looked into her midnight blue eyes and his face looked horrified for a moment. "Pprin…sss…" She twisted the blade, growling at him.

  "He recognized your face," Mark commented.

  "They should." She insisted, pulling the blade from his lifeless body.

  Nasuada watched the exchange and blinked. "Kendra." She glanced towards the darkskinned woman and sheathed her dagger. "Will you help me?" Nasuada asked her, side