The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  they were under attack. One of the ladies screamed and fell into her husband. Many of the others hurried to find an exit from the ball room. Someone mentioned that there might

  be more and they all started trying to push past one another.

  Meanwhile, Mark watched the assassin pale, and slide through the turmoil with ease. He could feel the man's steady heartbeat and the target he now had on his mind. In the chaos

  he could murder King Orrin without taking blame for himself. Instead, Mark intercepted the assassin and pushed him through a doorway. Turning, the Black Hand member stabbed

  towards him with a dagger he pulled from his boot. As the dagger hurtled towards his chest, he smirked and watched as the assassin's head spun halfway around. He fell limp into Mark's arms, the knife clattering to the floor. A moment later Rowan appeared at his side.

  "How'd you escape the guard?"

  "Illusion spell Eirika worked up for me. No big deal. Are we done here?"

  "Yes. I'll see you at the palace."

  Rowan hoisted the dead man over his shoulder and nodded. "Shouldn't be many more of them now…"

  "I think most of them have started fleeing back to the Empire. You only lose so many of your own before you try to save yourself."

  "Agreed." Rowan let out a short chuckle and strode off down the hall. Watching him leave, Mark decided it was best to not know where he disposed of the bodies. Turning, he went

  back into the ballroom to find the guards calming everyone down, letting them know that the trespasser had been taken care of a petty thief who had been killed by the guard

  captain.

  He clapped along with everyone else and watched as the party started back up again, with twice as much drinking. Shaking his head, Mark moved for the door.

  "Lord Gregory." Mark looked up at Lady Kersey and blinked. She was flushed in the cheeks and had yet another glass of wine in her thin hand. "Are you to leave us so soon?"

  "I am afraid I've exhausted my welcome at this event M'lady."

  She pouted and sipped at the glass. "I had so hoped to dance with you again, at least once before the night was out." She leaned forward and sighed a bit, heaving her chest.

  He paused, raising an eyebrow at her. "I have time for one more I suppose."

  "Wonderful," she beamed up at him. Mark reached over and took her glass from her hand, setting it down on a nearby table, pulling her gently to the floor. He glanced at her

  friends and smiled before dancing with her through several songs.

  He stopped and held her steady a moment. Blinking up at him rapidly, she laid a hand on his chest. "I seem to be dreadfully dizzy."

  "That I believe is the wine, allow me to escort you home. The night is nearly over, and many others are leaving, we won't be missed now."

  Lady Kersey giggled and nodded, "With pleasure M'lord." She took his arm and walked with him unsteadily through the castle. Once outside, he walked her down the street, peeking

  into her mind for directions. They arrived and she stumbled up the stairs, tripping on her dress. Mark caught her, sweeping her up into his arms and carried her inside to her room.

  "Oh, you're very strong, aren't you?" She bit her lip and tapped his nose.

  He moved to drop her onto her feet. Halfway through the motion he realized she had different plans as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him with her. Catching them

  both, he growled a bit in his throat and looked at the girl, holding her up with his hands around her waist. She pouted at him a little and batted her eyelashes before moving up and

  kissing him violently. He caught the distinct taste of berries and the lack of alcohol on her breath. Surprised, Mark pulled back and narrowed his eyes at her. "You aren't drunk."

  "My friends make sure, because they know I get extra flirty when I drink." She giggled and took hold of his collar, pulling him down again hard with all her weight, throwing them

  both on the floor.

  As her tongue ran over his lips, he was aware that Rowan would question where he'd gone off to. Her fingers moved up into his hair and he decided that the assassin could keep

  questioning his disappearance until tomorrow.

  The night started fading as the sun rose in the east. Snapping his eyes open, Mark stretched, looking around the room for a moment and then over at Lady Kersey. Carefully, he slid

  out of the bed and found his clothes, dressing swiftly. At his absence, she muttered quietly. Mark moved back to her side and pulled the blankets up over her bare shoulder gently.

  He glanced around the room, shuffling through the papers on the desk, frowning with distaste at the cloying love letters. Looking over his shoulder at the sleeping woman in the

  bed, he sighed and quickly wrote out a letter, copying her hand, hoping she would realize that a less brash approach would gain Ethan's affections. When he finished, he replaced

  her swan feather quill and slipped from the room and out of the house before any maids could spot him.

  He hurried down the street, cursing himself as he spotted the white elven horse. Immediately he made way to Nausada's chamber. Mark watched the guards part for him and

  stepped in the room, meeting Arya's fierce gaze.

  "Marcus." Her voice dripped with silver as she spoke. "Nasuada said there have been a few… surprises that have arisen during my absence. Several of which will impede our

  current plans."

  "Aye," he said, walking to them. "It would be best for us to discuss them with you now. We can choose the best course of action thereafter."

  She stood and listened to him acutely, saying nothing during the explanation. Her expression did not change at the mention of Galbatorix's new Forsworn, or at the thoughts of

  Mariah and Murtagh being alive. Her eyes only flickered at learning about Kendra and Kieran, and even then it was only a brief moment. When he finished, she finally spoke. "I see. We have less time than anticipated and less forces than we had hoped. It would be best to be prepared as we can under the circumstances."

  Nasuada nodded, "We planned marching on the morrow. Mark had said you would be arriving soon, and hoped to meet with you before setting off. The resistance will set a front

  upon the Burning Plains and hold the Empire at the river."

  Arya inclined her head to Nasuada. "I will be ready to leave by sunrise."

  "Thank you. I would ask that you rest, Arya, and we will discuss any more questions you have during our travels. The rest of the day asks me to prepare everyone else for our

  journey." She picked up her skirts and walked from the room with Elva behind her.

  "M'lady," Mark said as she walked by. The door closed behind them and he glanced at Arya. "You arrived this morning?"

  "Indeed. You knew this of course."

  "I did, you had worked into your spells to allow for such."

  She nodded once. "I am sorry to hear about your sister. Though I am glad she is alive, I do not think that she is well under the influence of Galbatorix."

  "Nor I."

  The remainder of the day he spent with Arya, discussing her time in Ellesméra, Eragon's training, and the circumstances the Varden now found itself in, together trying to find a way

  to succeed in their seemingly doomed situation. As the sun set, he left Arya at the door to her room and bid her goodnight.

  Their discussion – couple with his previous worries – left Eragon so disturbed that he had difficulty concentrating on his studies in the following days, even when Oromis began to

  show him how to sing to plants, which Eragon had been eager to learn.

  Eragon recognized that his own experiences had already led him to adopt a more skeptical attitude; in principle, he agreed with much of what Oromis had said. The problem he

  struggled with, though, was that if the elves were right, it meant that nearly all the humans and dwarves were deluded, something Eragon found difficult to accept. That many

  people can't be
mistaken, he insisted to himself.

  When he asked Saphira about it, she said, It matters little to me, Eragon. Dragons have never believed in higher powers. Why should we when deer and other prey consider

  be a higher power? He laughed at that. Only do not ignore reality in order to comfort yourself, for once you do, you make it easy for others to deceive you.

  That night, Eragon's uncertainties burst forth in his waking dreams, which raged like a wounded bear through his mind, tearing disparate images from his memories and mixing

  them into such a clamor, he felt as if he were transported back into the confusion of the battle under Farthen Dûr. He saw Garrow lying dead in Horst's hosue, then Brom dead in

  the lonely sandstone cave, and then the face of Angela the herbalist, who whispered, "Beware, Argetlam, betrayal is clear. And it will come from within your family. Beware,

  Shadeslayer!"

  Then the crimson sky was torn apart and Eragon again beheld the two armies from his premonition in the Beor Mountains. The banks of warriors collided upon an orange and yellow

  field, accompanied by the harsh screams of gorecrows and the whistle of black arrows. The earth itself seemed to burn: green flames belched from scorched holes that dotted the

  ground, charring the mangled corpses left in the armies' wake. He heard the roar of a gigantic beast from above that rapidly appEragon

  jolted upright in bed and scrabbled at the dwarf necklace, which burned at his throat. Using his tunic to protect his hand, he pulled the silver hammer away from his skin and

  then sat and waited in the dark, his heart thudding from the surprise. He felt his strength ebb as Gannel's spell thwarted whoever was trying to scry him and Saphira. Once again,

  he wondered if Galbatorix himself was behind the spell, or if it was one of the king's pet magicians.

  Eragon frowned and released the hammer as the metal grew cold again. Something's wrong. I know that much, and I've known it for a while, as has Saphira. Too uneasy to resume

  the trancelike state that had replaced sleep for him, he crept from their bedroom without waking Saphira and climbed the spiral staircase to the study. There he unshuttered a white

  lantern and read one of Analísia's epics until sunrise in an attempt to calm himself.

  Just as Eragon put away the scroll, Blagden flew through the open portal in the eastern wall and, with a flutter of wings, landed on the corner of the carved writing desk. The white

  raven fixed his beady eyes on Eragon and croaked, "Wyrda!"

  Eragon inclined his head. "And may the stars watch over you, Master Blagden."

  The raven hopped closer. He cocked his head to the side and uttered a barking cough, as if he were clearing his throat, then recited in his hoarse voice:

  By beak and bone,

  Mine blackened stone

  Sees rooks and crooks

  And bloody brooks!

  "What does that mean?" asked Eragon.

  Blagden shrugged and repeated the verse. When Eragon still pressed him for an explanation, the bird ruffled his feathers, appearing displeased, and cackled, "Son and father alike,

  both blind as bats."

  "Wait!" exclaimed Eragon, jolting upright. "Do you know my father? Who is he?"

  Blagden cackled again. This time he seemed to be laughing.

  While two may share two,

  And one of two is certainly one,

  One might be two.

  "A name, Blagden. Give me a name!" When the raven remained silent, Eragon reached out with his mind, intending to wrench the information from the bird's memories.

  Blagden was too wily, however. He deflected Eragon's probe with a flick of his thoughts. Shrieking "Wyrda!" he darted forward, plucked a bright glass stopped from an inkwell, and

  sped away with his trophy clutched in his beak. He dove out of sight before Eragon could cast a spell to bring him back.

  Eragon's stomach knotted as he tried to decipher Blagden's two riddles. The last thing he had expected was to hear his father mentioned in Ellesméra. Finally, he muttered, "That's

  it." I'll find Bladgen later and wring the truth out of him. But right now… I would be have to be a halfwit to ignore these portents. He jumped to his feet and rand won the stairs,

  waking Saphira with his mind and telling her what had transpired during the night. Retrieving his shaving mirror from the wash closet, Eragon sat between Saphira's two front paws

  so that she could look over his head and see what he saw.

  Arya won't appreciate it if we intrude on her privacy, warned Saphira.

  I have to know if she's safe.

  Saphira accepted that without argument. How will you find her? You said that after her imprisonment, she erected wards that – like your necklace – prevent anyone from scrying

  her.

  If I can scry the people she's with, I might be able to figure out how Arya is.

  Mark then?

  Yes, he agreed, concentrating. After a few long moments, an image finally burst forth of Mark looking over a map. There were several others in the room. He watched Mark go

  ridged and turn towards him, meeting his gaze. To the others, he was simply staring at the wall.

  Mark's voice popped into his head immediately, the notion of annoyance conveying in his unspoken words. Eragon, what are you doing?

  Scrying you… how are you talking to me?

  Nevermind that. What is going on? I thought you were training.

  I had a bad feeling that something was going on. Arya put up wards around her, so I can't scry her.

  Yes, she did. What do you mean you had a bad feeling?

  I just wanted to make sure she was alright, after she left for the Varden.

  She's fine. He flicked his gaze towards Nasuada and the Council of Elders.

  Eragon followed, seeing them and a girl hooded in black who lurked behind Nasuada. This puzzled him, for a magician could only scry things that he had already seen, and Eragon

  was certain he had never laid eyes upon the girl before. He forgot about her, though, as he noticed that the men, and even Nasuada, were armed for battle.

  "…and confusion will destroy us. Our warriors can afford but one commander during this conflict. Decide who it is to be, Orrin, and quickly too."

  Eragon heard a disembodied sight. "As you wish; the position is yours."

  "But, sir, she is untried!"

  "Enough, Irwin," ordered the king. "She has more experience in war than anyone in Surda. And the Varden are the only force to have defeated one of Galbatorix's armies. If

  Nasuada were a Surdan general – which would be peculiar indeed, I admit – you would not hesitate to nominate her for the post. I shall be happy to deal with questions of authority

  of they arise afterward, for they will mean I'm still on my feet and not lying in a grave. As it is, we are so outnumbered I fear we are doomed unless Hrothgar can reach us before

  the end of the week. Now, where is that blasted scroll on the supply train?... Ah, thank you, Arya. Three more days without"

  Eragon.

  What Mark?

  Don't even think about it. At Eragon's questioning though, he mentally snarled at him. You are to stay in Ellesméra until you've finished all of your training. Do not leave earlier than

  planned.

  You have a war on your doorstep, and you want me to stay here? I'm coming to help.

  It's safer if you stay with the elves. I don't need to be worrying about you right now. There's enough without you in the mix.

  It's my duty as a Rider to help the Varden win against Galbatorix. I've pledged myself to Nasuada. We must return to help fight.

  I said no Eragon. You'll be safe if you stay there.

  And if you lose I will be safe nowhere. There's nothing you can say to change my mind! Angrily, he broke the magic that held the connection open. He sighed, relieved that Arya

  was safe, annoyed at Mark for trying to make him stay.

&nbs
p; Saphira looked at him. We are needed.

  Aye. Why hasn't Oromis told us about this? He must know of it.

  Maybe he wanted to avoid disrupting our training.

  Troubled, Eragon wondered what else of import was happening in Alagaësia that he was unaware of. Roran. With a pang of guilt, Eragon realized that it had been weeks since he

  last thought of his cousin, and even longer since he scryed him on the way to Ellesméra.

  At Eragon's command, the mirror revealed two figures standing against a pure white background. It took Eragon a long moment to recognize the man on the right as Roran. He was

  garbed in travelworn clothes, a hammer was stuck under his belt, a hick beard obscured his face, and he bore a haunted expression that bespoke desperation. To the left was Jeod.

  The men surged up and down, accompanied by the thunderous crash of waves, which masked anything they said. After a while, Roran turned and walked along what Eragon

  assumed was the deck of a ship, bringing dozens of other villagers into view.

  Where are they, and why is Jeod with them? demanded Eragon, bewildered.

  Diverting the magic, he scryed in quick succession Terim – shocked to see the city's wharfs had been destroyed – Therinsford, Garrow's old farm, and then Carvahall, whereupon

  Eragon uttered a wounded cry.

  The village was gone.

  Every building, including Horst's magnificent house, had been burned to the ground. Carvahall no longer existed except as a sooty blot beside the Anora River. The sole remaining

  inhabitants were four gray wolves that loped through the wreckage.

  The mirror dropped from Eragon's hand and shattered across the floor. He leaned against Saphira, tears burning in his eyes as he grieved anew for his lost home. Saphira hummed

  deep in her chest and brushed his arm with the side over jaw, enveloping him in a warm blanket of sympathy. Take comfort, little one. At least you friends are still alive.

  He shuddered and felt a hard core of determination coalescence in his belly. We have remained sequestered from the world for far too long. It's high time we leave Ellesméra and

  confront our fate, whatever it may be. For now, Roran must fend for himself, but the Varden… the Varden we can help.