INHERITANCE: Memorandum Of Scales

THE FORSWORN

Morzan frowned at the table despite the smell of honeyed meats and the sweetened wine that were laid out before him. He had no appetite, and he was annoyed by Galbatorix's good humor.

The Forsworn were gathered around an ebony table that bore a vast buffet, meticulously prepared by Galbatorix's hand-picked chef. There was roast pig drizzled with honey, fine fish baked until the skin was crispy and brown, warm bread that melted like butter within your mouth. All of the food mixed together, creating a plethora of smells that swam up to Morzan's nose. But he ignored all of the pleasantries, they meant nothing to him.

The Egg had hatched. An Imperial mage  scryed Durza, and the Shade in turn told Galbatorix himself.
The King waved off the news as if it was nothing.

"What danger does a fledgling Rider pose to us?" He had said, laughing. But Morzan remembered his dream. There was danger to be found with this new Rider, a danger that could mean the death of all that he and Galbatorix had sacrificed to achieve true peace. He shivered as he poked at his own meal, a modest cut of pig with bread, dipped in butter.

"Morzan, you've barely touched your food. Would you prefer to have a meal of omens and parchment?" Alauinel said wryly as her full lips pursed into a smile. Morzan simply glared as the others laughed at Alauinel's jest. The Elf herself laughed curtly within her chalice, eyeing Morzan as she drank.

"He's still brooding." Galbatorix said with a wave. He lifted his goblet with a dumb grin.

"More wine!" He cried, and in seconds a serving girl came and filled his chalice.

"Ah. One hundred years past and Morzan still enjoys his brooding..." Kinure giggled into his own cup as a lock of blond hair fell over his eyes. The Rider's hair had gotten even longer to Morzan's disgust, nearly reaching his knees.

"Tell me, Morzan, how fares your Dragon? I hope he can forgive Gintoss... they did not part on good terms, like their Riders." Kinure placed his cup on the table and filled his mouth with baked fish.

"He fares well. I'm sure he harbors no ill will towards Gintoss. It is said that time heals all wounds."
Morzan remembered the event like it was yesterday: Gintoss and his own dragon flying above Uru'baen, spitting fire and cutting each other with their massive talons. They had fought over who would mate with Caomhim's dragon, the only surviving female.

In the end it did not matter. She died before either of them could mate with her, along with Selena, Caomhim, and Morzan's two infant sons.

"Dangerous things they are, Dragons." Farland spoke in a nasally voice that was grating and deep. He stroked his beard, which bore streaks of white down the middle of it. He was well built as ever, with massive arms and shoulders that were barely contained in his white tunic.

"Barrion was noting on how easy it would be to burn the cities we flew over down. I told him it would be unwise, and he agreed. One does not anger the king." Farland said with a smile as he lifted his cup to Galbatorix. The King grinned graciously, his handsome face beaming.

Hossa shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "We have lost the south, my lords. Karem has fallen."

Galbatorix eyed him with veiled rage.

"When were you planning on telling me?" He asked, leaning forward.

"I was just told by one of my own sorcerers. He scryed me as I shaved."

"Well? Who has taken Karem's holdings?" Galbatorix pressured. Hossa hesitated, thin black hands pulling at his collar.

"It was the Varden." He said finally, sighing greatly. A blanket of silence fell over them, and Morzan felt fear, so unfamiliar to him, creep up his neck and tighten. They had always heard reports of the Varden, a raid here, a theft there. The biggest blow they had given them was when the rebels acquired one of the dragon eggs, which was being moved from Uru'baen to Gil'ead, for Durza's study. Durza was forced to ride out and attain the egg, but failed in that regard, capturing only the Elf and killing her company.

"You should have killed the boy." Avela commented, his accent thick and rich, dark hair curling above his brow. When Galbatorix had killed the last king, a severe man named Larkin, he had spared the man's young son. The boy fled to Surda, where eventually he grew and was able to capture the region, which was weakly defended. He bore more sons and now, nearly one hundred years later, small houses were flocking to the Varden, which was centered around placing the most recent Langfeld, Orrin, back on his rightful throne.

The matter concerned Galbatorix little, who had practically given them Surda. He had beyonder tribes hassle the kingdom, keeping them busy, but now that Karem was defeated...

"We must take action, before they gain more strength. Karem's defeat will rally more to their cause. Some still remember the old Kingdom." Morzan said grimly. Alauinel nodded in agreement.

"More and more Elves run into the arms of the rebels. It will not belong until they hold a session, in which all three races of elfkind will decide on a course of action," She flipped her hair as she spoke. "Judging from their confidence.. it would seem they have forgotten the gift I gave them."

Alauinel led legions of men into the far eastern lands, burning and killing all that lay before her. The Elves were forced deeper into the east, into the uncut forests and cruel mountains. They had placed a spell on the land that Alauinel had won, however, and now it was nothing but a barren waste, unable to grow anything except thorns and mummified corpses.

Galbatorix cocked his eyebrows. "How do you know Elves rally to the Varden?"

Alauinel shrugged.

"I see their tracks. I see their abandoned camps. But when it comes to actually seeing them, they elude me. My keep lies on the edges of our Kingdom, and I often times patrol the deadlands. They pass, but I do not know when or where. They are coming through, and they are not heading here to pay homage."

Farland smashed his fist on the table. "Damn them!" He swore, snarling.

"The Varden cannot only be situated in Surda. There are more- Traitors among us. A minor House's holdfast... Mayhap even some larger Houses... those that bended the knee just to survive, but in the darkness still pray to the Old King..."

"Weed them out, then. It should be simple. A few hundred mages could-" Hossa began, smiling like a black devil. Morzan had to resist rolling his eyes. Where magic was involved, Hossa found his joy. He believed that everything could be solved with a spell.

"That would take time and resources. Not to mention it would probably garner more support among the lesser houses. We need to crush them on the battlefield in open war. Destroy their spirit." Morzan spoke loudly so all could hear. Galbatorix nodded his head slowly, agreeing with Morzan.

"Yes, that is the way. The Varden no doubt will plan to attack soon. We shall let them gather strength, for the time being. Then, when they think they are ready, we will crush them." Galbatorix picked up his glass and broke it between his fingers as demonstration, not wincing as the sharp shards cut through his fingers. The Forsworn clapped then, all but Morzan. Somehow, he knew that this rebellion would not be quelled by winning one battle.

Who could the egg possibly have hatched for?
who? The thought troubled him to no end.

This is no mere coincidence.

Morzan finally decided to take a bite of his meal. He chewed slowly, tasting nothing but the ashes of his own madness. Was his vision coming true? Or was this another false dream, sent to corrode his mind and drive away all that cared for him?

  Alauinel laughed quietly, placing a hand over her mouth as she spoke.

  "No matter what happens; no matter what they decide to do, we are the absolute power within these lands. It will be a simple thing to remind these canting fools who they serve." Her eyes gleamed with bloodlust.

The Forsworn concurred in agreement as they ate, leaving Morzan alone in his ruinations.