The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  Your enemy will not be so forgiving. Andrar insisted, pulling at Mariah's mind for a moment. He caught her thoughts and pushed them from her mind, Now is not the time, my

  darling. Let us make sure the hatchlings survive this war.

  They need to learn to work together better. Mariah said, watching them all. They are stronger together than they are apart, Nasreen will tear them to ribbons before sunrise.

  Then I will teach them, but I need you with me, not elsewhere. Andrar hummed to her, watching the hatchlings return to their formation. Talath scouted ahead, panning his vision

  back and forth across the landscape for signs of Nasreen. Reaper and Bellatona took turns on their respective sides to search as well, while Ecaeris and Innes searched mentally,

  trusting the others to protect them from the front and Deíron from behind. It was only a few minutes later the dragoness attacked again, this time they parted of their own accord

  before she could separate them. Reaper and Bellatona attacked her quickly while Talath drew her attention away, maneuvering out of her reach when she snapped with her mighty

  jaws. Much better, you have realized that if you see her coming, you can foil her first strike. Now she does not have the advantage of surprise, and you outnumber her. Use your

  advantage!

  The three hatchlings flew circles around Nasreen so she didn't know who to attack first. Meanwhile, Innes and Ecaeris flew a ways away from the action, attacking her magically,

  pinning her wing so she started to fall from the air. To prevent a physical attack, Deíron blocked Ecaeris from Nasreen. Kieran lashed out at Innes, jabbing at him, only to realize

  that Ecaeris was guarding him extremely well. In a moment Nasreen was plummeting to the ground.

  Whipping down, Andrar separated the hatchlings and dove for the dragoness, helping her to the grassy plain below as to prevent injury. The others landed and waited instruction,

  watching as Nasreen shook out her wing once Innes released his spell on her.

  Andrar snapped his head towards them, blinking. That was much better the second time. You all learn very fast. Go hunt for now, leave your Riders. The hatchlings lowered

  themselves, allowing the riders from their backs and leapt back into the air, soaring off into the night.

  Watching them fly off, Kieran turned to Mariah as the girl started a fire, sitting down on a felled log. Kieran joined her, watching as she motioned for the others to sit as well. They

  sat silently for a moment before Mariah spoke. "Galbatorix has decided to keep you at the castle. In the event of an attack on Urû'baen he wishes to have you all ready to defend

  it."

  "That's not fair; you, Kieran, and Murtagh will have all the glory of destroying the resistance yourselves!" Hal said.

  She let him gripe and stretched her legs out in front of her. Kieran shook her head, "There will be enough in the aftermath of this battle for you all to have your names sung about

  for the next thousand years. Do not think of this as a loss of glory. And if we should fail, for whatever reason that may be, you will be the second wave – a nasty surprise for the

  Varden and the country of Surda. They will not expect another group of Riders and their dragons." A laugh slipped from her lips. "Imagine the terror on their faces when they see

  what lies before them."

  Cederic blinked, exchanging glances with Hal. "What if the three of them die in the first round, and then we obliterate them later? Imagine how that would make us look."

  "We'll never see a battle if they're on the front lines…" He glanced at Mariah and Kieran. "They have battle fury in their veins."

  "You've never seen either of them in a real fight," Camilla said. "What happens if they both choke? Murtagh seems like he'd be the only one willing to continue in the middle of

  battle."

  At that Mariah let out a harsh laugh. "Allow me then, to recount for you, the battle under Farthen Dûr…" As she spoke, the fire sparked and Andrar shifted, tucking his nose under

  his claws. "Urgals attacked the Dwarven city under the mountain after I had waited hour upon sleepless hour for them to arrive. They flooded from every open tunnel that we hadn't

  collapsed. Have any of you seen an Urgal up close before? I thought not. Imagine if you will, a creature, six feet tall with the largest horns from a ram that you've ever seen. Their

  eyes have bloodlust in them, and nothing but. I was armed with a sword a plain steel blade and a set of armor I had never worn before. Prior to this, I had not seen a battle. Not

  like the one I was about to take part in. It lasted for hours, every minute of which I was alight with a fire I had never before felt. The rush of every combat I had been in before

  amplified tenfold, all coursing through my blood at once. It was during this battle that I killed dozens of Urgals, creatures bred for war and destruction. I was shot at with arrows,

  cut through with blade; a spear stabbed me through my leg. I was covered in more blood than I could bleed out myself, and the fight was just beginning. After hours of fighting,

  slicing, gutting, I found myself still alive. I stand before you now and ask, would you give up in the midst of battle if you would stop breathing in the following moment?"

  She stared them down and realized they were waiting for her to make one more point. "Murtagh was knocked over the head and sent from the battle midway. He was sent to an

  infirmary before he collapsed. I fought Durza alone; in turn he nearly killed me. If you had been in my shoes Camilla, you would not be standing where I am now. If anyone is going

  to falter in the middle of a battle, it will be one of you, untried, and untested. You will stay in Urû'baen, while we go to the front. Until you have had your first taste of battle, you

  will not be placed on the front lines." Hal looked about to refute her, but faltered at the gleam in her eyes, icing over the edges of her enlarged pupils.

  Nine days later, Eragon presented himself to Oromis and said, "Master, it struck me last night that neither you nor the hundreds of elven scrolls I've read have mentioned your

  religion. What do elves believe?"

  A long sigh was Oromis's first answer. Then: "We believe that the world behaves according to certain inviolable rules and that, by persistent effort, we can discover those rules and

  use them to predict events when circumstances repeat."

  Eragon blinked. That did not tell him what he wanted to know. "But who, or what, do you worship?"

  "Nothing."

  "You worship the concept of nothing?"

  "No, Eragon. We do not worship at all."

  The thought was so alien, it took Eragon several moments to grasp what Oromis meant. The villagers of Carvahall lacked a single overriding doctrine, but they did share a collection

  of superstitions and rituals, most of which concerned warding off back luck. During the course of his training, it had dawned upon Eragon that many of the phenomena that the

  villagers attributed to supernatural sources were in fact natural processes, such as when he learned in his meditations that maggots hatched from fly eggs instead of spontaneously

  arising from the dirt, as he had thought before. Nor did it make sense to him to put out an offering of food to keep sprites from turning the milk sour when he knew that sour milk

  was actually caused by a proliferation of tiny organisms in the liquid. Still, Eragon remained convinced that otherworldly forces influenced the world in mysterious ways, a belief

  that his exposure to the dwarves' religion had bolstered. He said, "Where do you think the world came from, then, if it wasn't created by the gods?"

  "Which gods, Eragon?"

  "Your gods, the dwarf gods, our gods… someone must have created it."

  Oromis raised an eyebrow. "I would not necessarily agree with you. But be as that may, I cannot prove that gods do not exist. Nor can I prove that the world and everything in it
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  was not created by an entity or entities in the distant past. But I can tell you that in the millennia we elves have studied nature, we have never witnessed an instance where the

  rules that govern the world have been broken. That is, we have never seen a miracle. Many events have defied our ability to explain, but we are convinced that we failed because

  we are still woefully ignorant about the universe and not because a deity altered the workings of nature."

  "A god wouldn't have to alter nature to accomplish his will," asserted Eragon. "He could do it within the system that already exists… He could use magic to affect events."

  Oromis smiled. "Very true. But ask yourself this, Eragon: If gods exist, have they been good custodians of Alagaësia? Death, sickness, poverty, tyranny, and countless other miseries stalk the land. If this is the handiwork of divine beings, then they are to be rebelled against and overthrown, not given obeisance, obedience, and reverence."

  "The dwarves believe"

  "Exactly! The dwarves believe. When it comes to certain matters, they rely upon faith rather than reason. They have even been known to ignore proven facts that contradict their

  dogma."

  "Like what?" demanded Eragon.

  "Dwarf priests use coral as proof that stone is alive and can grow, which also corroborates their story that Helzvog formed the race of dwarves out of granite. But we elves

  discovered that coral is actually an exoskeleton secreted by minuscule animals that live inside the coral. Any magician can sense the animals if he opens his mind. We explained

  this to the dwarves, but they refused to listen, saying that the life we felt resides in every kind of stone, although their priests are the only ones who are supposed to detect the life

  in landlocked stones."

  For a long time, Eragon stared out the window, turning Oromis's words over in his mind. "You don't believe in an afterlife, then."

  "From what Glaedr said, you already knew that."

  "And you don't put stock in gods."

  "We give credence only to that which we can prove exists. Since we cannot find evidence that gods, miracles, and other supernatural things are real, we do not trouble ourselves

  about them. If that were to change, if Helzvog were to reveal himself to us, then we would accept the new information and revise our position."

  "It seems a cold world without something… more."

  "On the contrary," said Oromis, "it is a better world. A place where we are responsible for our own actions, where we can be kind to one another because we want to and because it

  is the right thing to do instead of being frightened into behaving by the threat of divine punishment. I won't tell you what you believe, Eragon. It is far better to be taught to think

  critically and then be allowed to make your own decisions than to have someone else's notions thrust upon you. You asked after our religion, and I have answered you true. Make of

  it what you will."

  "Ah, good evening M'Lord." Mark held out an envelope with a blue seal on it, watching the man in front of him break the seal and read through the invitation. "Ah, of course. Lord

  Gormal had mentioned you would be joining us this evening, Lord Gregory. Please do come in."

  Mark inclined his head and walked past the guard through the double doors into the grand ballroom of the palace. Immediately, his eyes fell on Rowan, standing ridged next to his

  father with a glass tumbler in his hand. They exchanged a glance and Mark took a side step towards the wall, finding King Orrin a second later surrounded by a large group, each

  hanging onto his every last word.

  He routed himself through the mass of people chatting, eating and drinking, until he came shoulder to shoulder with Rowan. "You find him yet?"

  "The second I stepped in the room," muttered Mark. "Black boots, brown waistcoat…"

  "Aye."

  "Honestly, even if I didn't catch his thoughts I would have found him out of place, the way he's carrying himself. Only a trained killer steps so cautiously. At least you remind

  yourself to make noise when you walk. He's waiting to get him alone, contemplated waiting out the night. He's certain he's not been found out. Arrogant really."

  Rowan surveyed him a moment and smirked, "Right. You find a way to get him out of here; I'll keep Orrin and the others busy. And do try to enjoy yourself a little, will you?

  Kendra's right, you do need to lighten up once in a while."

  Mark watched him move off and go back to his father, greeting the other lords and ladies he had already been speaking with. The assassin from the Black Hand was on guard in the

  large room, as though trying to find a way to separate King Orrin from the others. Unfortunately for him, it was going to be difficult to pry two dozen people away at any given moment. Assuming he had some time, Mark walked around the room, chatting absently with a few of the lords and their wives. Many of them had brought their children, at least

  those in their teenage years.

  Brushing his blond hair from his face, Mark sighed and turned to find a secluded corner where he could observe when a few chatty ladies stopped in front of him. The youngest one

  blinked a few times at him and held out her hand, "I don't believe we've met…"

  "Lord Gregory." He said curtly, gently kissing her hand. "I've only recently arrived in Surda. I'm afraid I haven't had much time to get acquainted yet."

  "Of course," she beamed. "These are my friends, Lady Magdalen, and Lady Tris. I am Lady Kersey."

  The names rang a bell, but he was unable to place their faces. It was likely he had spoken with their fathers or brothers on Nasuada's behalf at some point. "It is lovely to meet you

  all…" he inclined his head, his long hair once again falling into his face. When he looked back up she was still very close to him and he blinked at her face, then at the two behind

  her. "Ah, well…"

  "It is a wonderful party, don't you think? With excellent wine and music…"

  "Indeed." At Magdalen's face he realized what they were getting at. "Is there a chance I would be able to dance with you, M'lady?"

  Kersey's face lit up, "Oh, that would be simply delightful. Allow me to set my glass down, just a moment…" She wandered off quickly to find a safe place for her glass of wine,

  leaving him with her two friends.

  "Another one already," Magdalen muttered.

  Tris shook her head, "Shame, I liked Ethan better."

  At their commentary Mark smirked. "Perhaps she'll realize that she should have tried harder to go after him." The two exchanged glances and then looked back to him. "Maybe if a

  lord wasn't what she was expecting then she would realize what she was missing out on?"

  "Maybe she wouldn't stop fluttering around like an impossible flirt and settle down, yes. Those nauseating love letters might actually stop being quiet so garish." Lady Tris nodded

  once, "I think we have an understanding."

  "Now, if you ladies would excuse me." Mark slipped past them and found Lady Kersey. "Are we ready?"

  "Yes." She smiled brightly up at him. Moving her out onto the dance floor, he was acutely aware of her flowery perfume and the assassin dancing just a few feet from them. He was

  all together a very plain person. He was handsome, but not overly so, had dressed exactly right for the occasion so as to not stand out in any way. His hair was a muddy shade of

  brown and the lady he had chosen to dance with was drawing any attention he drew back away again. Mark caught him glancing towards King Orrin every now and then betwixt his

  conversation with the woman. It was going to be impossible to get him away from the party without causing a scene or making the assassin jump straight to his objective.

  As he glanced back to Lady Kersey, he realized she had been rambling for at least three minutes now. "My last dance partner wasn't quite as good as you are at the waltz; he

  alwa
ys stepped on my toes. He was blond too, not quite as tall as you are but blond. I think men with fine hair are nicer people in general though, wouldn't you agree?"

  Mark forced a smile, "I would have to agree with you M'lady. Pray tell me, what was the reason you are unescorted this evening?"

  "Oh, Ethan was being quite a bore, he would never respond to my letters I would send him. I've written several every week since we met and he's never once mentioned them to me. I think he decided he doesn't like me, so I've decided I don't like him either..." Mark spun Lady Kersey around and met eyes with the assassin. He blinked, a brief flash of

  intensity crossing his features before he turned back to his dance partner.

  Rowan. We have to get King Orrin out of this room. Can you come up with a reason to pull him away? Mark saw him with his father across the room.

  Without hesitating, his thoughts came rushing back at Mark. The whole while, he nodded, pretending to continue his conversation with the woman in front of him. At this time of

  night, not much would garner his attention, unless we fake an attack from the Empire or an event equally distressing.

  Figure something out and I'll take care of the assassin in the mayhem. Within the next ten minutes please.

  Consider it done. He watched Rowan leave the room a few moments later.

  When the music ended, Mark turned and clapped along with the lady beside him. She beamed, "Thank you for dancing with me Lord Gregory, it was delightful."

  "It was my pleasure M'lady."

  "I should like to see more of you this evening; you were a wonderful time, and positively excellent conversation." Mark shouted inwardly at her comment, realizing he should not

  have feigned interest so heavily while plotting with Rowan.

  "I shall count the moments," he said brightly, watching as she wandered off back to her friends. The two scowled at him when she wasn't looking. Turning away, he felt Rowan's

  consciousness returning and moved to the wall nearest King Orrin.

  In the hall leading to the ballroom, glass shattered everywhere as the assassin tumbled through the window, rolling onto his feet. His hood and mask covering his face; Rowan

  flipped a dagger between his fingers and looked around, clad all in black, no sign of the wolf patch on his shoulder, leaving him unidentifiable. Through the doorway, it was clear