On behest of @Cordak_the_Cynical_Makuta, I’m finally updating this
I’m just gonna post everything that’s left without breaking it into smaller bits
#Part Three
Eberhard stood with his head hung low, unsure of what to do next. His impassioned diatribe explaining his motives seemed to have rebounded off of Llewelyn and faded into oblivion. For what seemed a brief eternity, the sound of Llwelyn tearfully lamenting his fallen brother filled the chamber. The Blade of Erifurt, so important mere moments before, lay forgotten on the ground. In that small epoch of time, all that mattered was the sight of Eberhard’s closest friend hunched upon the stone floor, trembling profusely, wailing as if he wished the world were no more. Then, as suddenly as Eberhard had slain Gruffydd, Llwelyn fell silent and stood up, as still and silent as a blade at
rest. He proceeded to walk towards the exit, each step as cold and stilted as his demeanor. Before he could go too far, Tirem approached him and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“Leave your grief and wrath here. You cannot return from Suratis if you take them with you.”
“Perhaps that is for the best.”
“Then perhaps you should remain behind. If we are to return alive, we must not be burdened with your distraction.”
“’Distraction,’ you name it, as if it could simply be ignored. I will not dishonor Gruffydd by doing so.”
“If you think it a matter of honor, would it not be a greater dishonor to fail to complete your mission to deliver our people from the Nameless One?”
Another silent moment passed before Llwelyn spoke. “Your words are wise, master,” he said with
submission in his voice. “I will put my feelings behind me until our quest is complete.”
Tirem glanced down for a moment before replying. “Let us hope you can do so. Now, let us seek the portal to Suratis. Eberhard, take the Blade. As Agomnan’s chosen hero, you should be the one to carry it.” With that, he walked out of the chamber. Llwelyn spared a final glance back at his fallen brother, but wasted little time in following. Eberhard took a moment to recover the Blade from its resting place on the ground, exiting the chamber several moments after Llwelyn. When he caught up, he noticed that Llwelyn never glanced back.
After a few minutes of wandering through the labyrinth, Eberhard abruptly stopped. When Tirem looked back, Eberhard motioned for him to do likewise. He frowned for a moment, and then asked, “Do you hear that?”
“No,” said Tirem. “What is it?”
“I hear a faint hum coming from up ahead. It sounds unlike anything I have heard. It’s hollow, as if darkness were a sound.”
“That may be meaningful. It is said the portal to Suratis emits a strange noise. Since you alone can hear it, lead on.”
“I hear it as well,” said Llwelyn. “I will find it.” With that, he brushed past Tirem and swiftly marched in the direction of the sound. Tirem shot a pointed glance at Eberhard before following. After a few moments, the sound grew loud enough for Tirem to hear.
“I believe that is indeed the sound of the portal. We must be drawing near.”
“Why have we encountered no resistance?” asked Eberhard. “With Gruffydd gone, surely we should have triggered some trap or alerted some beast to our presence.”
“I do not know for certain. It could be that the maze is designed to let whomever wins the Blade leave freely. What snares it may hold would be little more than an annoyance to one who wields it. Or perhaps Agomnan himself has intervened so that we may finish our task with haste. Who can say?”
By this time, the hum was growing very loud. Talking ceased, as the minds of the three companions became filled with the sound of utter blackness, making it challenging to form coherent thoughts. Though their thoughts had been clear moments before, gradually everything started to blend into one great jumble, as if time itself were an illusion. When the throbbing nothingness was becoming too much to bear, they thought they beheld a large black orb blocking their path, though they could not be sure; they were scarcely aware that they were moving anymore. Then they walked into the orb, and all was silent.
Eberhard awoke first. He found himself sprawled on a rough, burnt surface. He opened his eyes and sat up. He and the others were atop a great cliff overlooking an endless expanse of charred, dead trees. Here and there the occasional smoldering fire or rock formation broke up the lifeless monotony. The frigid wind rustled the bare branches, a sound which made Eberhard feel as if his spirit had been petrified. He turned around to see a great twisted fortress in the distance made of the same shadowy material as the ground, but enveloped in flame. Instinctively, he knew this must be where Atukam kept the Tyrup. Inside, he felt a rush of relief that he had survived this far. He hoped slaying Gruffydd had not been too high a price to ensure that. Sobered by the thought, he turned to awaken Tirem and Llwelyn.
“So this is Suratis,” remarked Tirem upon gaining full consciousness. “It is as foul as the legends say, and more. Let us make haste to wrest the Tyrup from the Nameless One and leave this wretched place behind us.”
“How will we find the Tyrup? The Nameless One’s fortress is colossal.”
“Quite simple. We march up to the gate and demand a fair and honorable duel with him. He will be obliged to accept, for we come not of our own initiative but of Agomnan’s.”
“How can any of us hope to defeat him? Even with the Blade—“
But Llwelyn was cut short. Out of the smoky sky a winged creature of shadow swooped down, knocked him off of the cliff, and dissipated into smoke. Eberhard and Tirem, stunned as they were, didn’t even think to wonder why his screams were cut short long before he could have reached the bottom.
Llwelyn found himself plummeting to his doom. He had always expected to die fighting, in the company of comrades, not alone in the depths of Suratis. At least he would now be in the company of his brother. If only he had survived, he might have been able to spread his tale of the iniquities Agomnan had inflicted on him and Gruffydd. But it was just as well; they would have rejected him for denouncing the object of their worship.
His thoughts were cut short as the creature of shadow re-formed around him. Before he knew what to think, it was carrying him through the air at an incredible pace. It rose high into the air, so high that he could hardly see the ground, and swerved about. For several minutes it continued in a straight line, heading for an unknown destination. Suddenly, it plummeted straight down. It deposited him atop a
tower. Gushing flames largely obscured his view beyond, but he could tell that this was the fortress he had seen in the distance shortly before. He looked behind him. Standing there was a tall figure, clad in a black cloak and chain mail. If the figure had a face beneath its hood, Llwelyn could not discern it. When it spoke, its voice was like a shouted, ashen whisper.
“You are Llwelyn, apprentice of Tirem. You have come from Favauoc with your master and Agomnan’s
elected champion to wrest from me the Tyrup. But you have seen much along your way. Cruelty. Unfairness. The death of your brother. All because of Agomnan’s actions. Tell me, child, why do you continue in your service to him?”
Restraining his terror, Llwelyn replied. “Because I know no better way. The ways Master Tirem has taught me are ways of wisdom, dispensing mercy when possible and justice when no other course is available. Only recently have I found Agomnan, the purported originator of those ways, to be unworthy.” He paused, summoning up the courage to name the figure who stood before him. “And you, Atukam, for that is who you must be, can surely offer me no better way to live.”
“You have never encountered me before, child. You know of me only through hearsay, just as you knew of Agomnan. Now that you have encountered Agomnan, he is not at all what you were told he was. Perhaps I, too, am not what my reputation amongst your people would suggest.”
“You rule over an endless realm of shadow and fire. You command terrible winged beasts, and no doubt others I have yet to encounter. Your appearance and voice are terrifying. You are evil, and I shall have nothing to do with you, no matter how corrupt Agomnan may be, or how deep my grudge against Eberhard may run.”
“Ah, but you do not consider all the possibilities. Think, child. Perhaps I live here not out of
choice, but out of necessity. Once, I lived in a palace of light that teemed with life. But then Agomnan arose. He desired nothing but power. Since Power was what I had, he took it from me. He stole the power of the Kelbyaji and banished me to this place. I can go nowhere else.”
“But the legends say you ruled as a tyrant, and imprisoned the other Kelbyaji purely to enhance your own powers.”
“And you believe the legends told to you by Agomnan? It was the other Kelbyaji who were the tyrants. I imprisoned them and siphoned their power so that I could instigate a perfect world, where men were free. While I ruled, the peoples of the world could live as they see fit. Strife was all but unknown, for there were no obstructions to cause it. But Agomnan destroyed my paradise that he might rule. Destruction is his nature, child.”
“If what you say is true, perhaps I should join you. But I have no reason to believe everything you’ve said hasn’t been a self-serving prevarication. You have no proof.”
“Indeed, I have none, child. But consider who you would rather serve. Your first option is a being you know to be malicious, who has done everything in his power to spite you, from denying you an honor because you showed mercy to enslaving your brother, and who controls the world. Your second is a being who might be evil, but can help you overthrow the one you know to be evil, enabling you to replace his tyranny with justice. Which is the wiser choice?”
“Your argument is eloquent. But what if you are evil? I will simply replace one evil with another. There is no point in that.”
“If reason will not convince you, then I must appeal to your emotions. Serve me, and I shall return your brother to the realm of the living.”
“You bluff. Such a thing is impossible.”
“Is it, child? Behold!”
Llwelyn looked to his side. Standing there, in perfect health, was Gruffydd.
“Hello, Llwelyn,” he said. “Perhaps we can start anew, on better terms than in the labyrinth.”
“He can be here for but a moment,” said Atukam. “While Agomnan possesses my powers, there are great limits on my capabilities.”
“You must aid Atukam, brother,” said Gruffydd. “You must do it to avenge my years of slavery at the hands of Agomnan. You must do it because it is the right and proper thing to do.”
Llwelyn bowed his head in resignation. He could not refuse his brother, nor the chance to be reunited with him. Turning back to Atukam, he asked, “What must I do?”
Eberhard and Tirem had been walking for hours, but they were finally approaching the fortress. It appeared much more frightening now than it had from afar; not only could they better perceive its coiled towers, but they could discern ethereal gargoyles, much like the beast that had flung Llwelyn off the cliff, crawling all across its infernal surface. But the pain of Llwelyn’s loss overshadowed any feelings of fear they might have had.
“Why did the beast take Llwelyn?” pondered Eberhard. “Why not me? I am Agomnan’s chosen one; it should have slain me! It would have been a just punishment for slaying Gruffydd dishonorably. Why did it not take me?”
“Do not worry yourself about such things. Death must come to all in time; it comes to many earlier than it should, and there is nothing to be done about it. Neither life nor death comes with any assurance of justice.”
“That may be so, but it makes the loss no less painful.”
“It was not meant to. Nothing can do that but time. But now you understand, and some good may come from that.”
“I hope so.”
They continued on in silence. Though only a short distance remained, to Eberhard, in his contemplation, it seemed like miles. When they reached the foot of the steps to the fortress’s gate, they stopped.
“Now that we have arrived, what must we do?” Eberhard inquired.
“We must summon the Nameless One,” answered Tirem. He bellowed out, “You-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named! Come forth, that we might negotiate the terms of an honorable duel for the Tyrup!”
The massive ebony gates flew open impossibly fast. Behind them stood Atukam, his pose menacing despite the fact that he was simply standing upright. He walked down the steps as if they were a sheet of ice and he was sliding on it. He came face-to-face with Tirem, and said, “I have been watching you, my child. I know your desires. Your apprentice, Eberhard, is to duel me. The winner shall possess the Tyrup.”
“You are correct,” said Tirem, as firmly as he could despite being taken aback at Atukam’s knowledge.
“But you know it will not be a fair fight. Even with the Blade of Erifurt, he stands little chance of emerging victorious. However, if you so desire, I shall allow a champion of my own to fight in my place.”
“Who is this champion? How can I be assured that he will be a more even match for the Champion of Agomnan?”
“He is a Human, a Syrochii, who is possessed of similar abilities to Eberhard’s. This I swear by the Flame of Lanret.”
“Then I accept your offer. Let your Champion come forth.”
Atukam snapped his fingers. The echo resounded across the blasted landscape. A figure emerged from the fortress gates and descended the steps. He was resplendent in shimmering sable armor, replete with jagged edges and great spikes on his pauldrons. He stopped in front of Eberhard, to the right of Atukam and Tirem. He lifted his visor. Eberhard inhaled sharply and turned deathly pale.
“Llwelyn!” Tirem exclaimed. “What lunacy is this?”
“It is not lunacy, master. It is lucidity. You do not see the truth, for you have been deceived by Agomnan.”
“No. the Nameless One has imposed falsehoods upon your mind. How do you not recognize this?”
“Because I am capable of discerning what is veracious. Consider: You follow the ways of the Tabocim, allegedly laid down by Agomnan. But has Agomnan adhered to any sort of morality of late? He punished me for showing mercy. He abducted Gruffydd needlessly, for his own gain, and corrupted his mind. And when his Champion slew Gruffydd unjustly, he did nothing. Agomnan knows not the meaning of morality, and thus is unfit for worship, unfit for rule, and unfit to continue unchallenged. Thus, though I do not wish to slay my former friend, I must take on Agomnan’s Champion in combat, for the Tyrup must remain with Atukam if sanity is to remain in the world.”
“It is true that Agomnan has done some things that appear unsavory to us,” said Tirem. “But that does not make him a force to be despised. Everything he has done has been to ensure that the Nameless One shall remain ensnared in this place. In a position such as his, there is no room for
blunders, for even the slightest one could mean the Nameless One’s escape. And you forget: even if Agomnan is less than worthy, he still is far worthier than the One I do not name.”
“So you believe that such petty things as rules need not adhere to Agomnan. Then he can do anything, if it is deemed ‘necessary.’ That cannot be right. If he is to be considered worthy, he must act in a befitting manner. There are some deeds that never can be justified, for they are wrong. I shall follow my conscience, not what I am told to think. And how do you know that Atukam is less worthy than Agomnan? All you have heard of him comes ultimately from Agomnan. It might well be all untrue. At worst, Atukam is no fouler than Agomnan.”
“You delude yourself, Llwelyn! Come back to us, to what you know to be right! You can justify your service to the Nameless One all you desire, but in your soul you know it to be wrongful. Renounce the Nameless One now, before tragedy ensues.”
“I cannot do that. I must do as my conscience dictates.”
“Then there is nothing more that can be said.”
“Yes, there, is,” interjected Eberhard. “Llwelyn, I will let you inflict on me any punishment you think just when we have completed our quest. But you must abandon the Nameless One.”
“It is not my place to deliver justice to you. It is Agomnan’s. Let him deal out punishment, if he will.”
“You cannot be serious! All your life, you’ve trained in the service of Agomnan. All your life, we’ve been as brothers. And now you turn your back on all of that. You are a traitor, Llwelyn.”
“Perhaps I am. But I have explained my reasons. And do not tell me that we were as brothers! You destroyed that bond when you slew Gruffydd. Prepare to fight.”
With that, Llwelyn drew his sword. Eberhard, seeing no other choice, did likewise.
“When I snap my fingers, you may commence,” said Atukam. Eberhard and Llwelyn stared into each other’s eyes for a long, tense moment. Both saw equal amounts of doubt and resolve in the other’s gaze. Then came Atukam’s snap. Eberhard swung his blade at Llwelyn, who parried with ease. The clanging of swords continued for what seemed an hour. Both were more determined to win than they had been in their previous match, for the cost of losing was far greater than it had been. The Blade of Erifurt ensured that Eberhard had the upper hand for much of the contest. But eventually, the inevitable occurred. Llwelyn, the more skilled warrior, landed a blow across Eberhard’s thighs. Eberhard fell to his knees. He screamed in pain and dropped his sword. Reluctantly, Llwelyn lifted up his sword for a finishing blow. He could not afford to show mercy this time. But just as he was about to slay his old companion, he felt a peculiar sensation in his stomach. He looked down. A blade was sticking out from his midsection. He turned around. Tirem stood there, his face contorted by his resolve not to weep for what he had just done.
“Forgive me, Llwelyn,” he said.
“I shall, not because you have commanded it, but because it is right.”
Then Atukam snapped his fingers again, and the world abruptly went mad. Eberhard felt as if he’d been struck on the head with a blunt instrument. When he regained awareness, Tirem lay motionless, and Llwelyn was nowhere to be seen.
“The rules of the match have been violated,” declared Atukam. “The violator has been given the fate he deserves, and my Champion has been taken to a safe place to recover. Since he is unavailable to finish the duel, I shall take his place.”
Eberhard’s mind went blank. Too much had happened at once. Between his shock at Tirem’s sacrifice, Llwelyn’s disappearance, and Atukam’s announcement, he could not decide what to think or feel. Deciding that it was best to focus on the duel, he dragged himself to his feet and stumbled towards Atukam. He felt the Blade grow hot in his hand, but rather than burning his flesh, it gave him strength. One moment, he went from limping to walking; the next, he was running, charging at Atukam with the ferocity of a Retnom. Atukam had barely drawn his sword when Eberhard reached him. Their swords clashed, but it felt different for Eberhard this time. The Blade seemed to dance in his hands, guiding his movements and allowing him to swing impossibly quickly. Atukam, taken aback, was quick to blunder. He swung his weapon too far, allowing Eberhard to stab his chest before he could block.
“You may have won this day,” Atukam spat, “but Agomnan will fall. It is inevitable.” With that, he vanished. Where he had stood, a small object lay on the ground. It was made of shimmering metal, and shaped like a miniature bush with no leaves. Instinctively, Eberhard knew this to be the Tyrup. He sheathed the Blade and picked it up. It seemed to call out to him when he touched it, as if asking him what he wanted. Its shimmering appearance reminded him of Minaru. As he thought that, a massive slab of the substance appeared before him. Intrigued, he wondered how Atukam planned to use the Tyrup to make Agomnan’s Minaru useless. Immediately, the slab of Minaru lost its luster. It looked like an ordinary stone. He understood now what the Tyrup was: a device to manipulate, and even create, Minaru. Atukam’s plan had been to somehow use it to rob all Minaru of whatever properties Agomnan needed from it. But now, Agomnan would have a limitless source of it. Astounded, he turned around, not yet having thought about how he was going to leave. But it mattered not: he found another black orb facing him. It caused none of the disorientation the other orb had, perhaps because it was in its natural environment. Eberhard stepped through it.
He found himself on the outskirts of Favauoc. He immediately went to the hut of one of Agomnan’s priests. The priest led Eberhard to his counterpart, and had him recount the entire tale of what had transpired since he left Favauoc.
“For all time shall this be remembered,” said the first priest. “Delivered us, you have. Repaid, this cannot be.”
“Furthermore, once the Tyrup safely to Agomnan is given, no more must we gather Minaru, for he shall have a supply unlimited,” added the second priest. “Come, let us to the Temple hasten.”
When they arrived at the great tree, the priests uttered a strange incantation and placed the Tyrup on the altar. When they had finished, the Tyrup vanished, and the mysterious red glow once again appeared.
“Wherefore hast thou summoned me?” Agomnan’s voice boomed.
“Completed has the quest for the Tyrup been. The rest, we believe your Champion shouldst say.”
“So be it,” said Agomnan. “What have you to say, my Champion?”
“I have served you despite hardship and treachery of the worst kind. It is my honor to deliver to you the Tyrup, the device that can produce Minaru out of nothing. With it, you shall never be in need of it again, and we shall no longer have to gather it as an offering to you.”
“Your words speak volumes. You say you no longer shall gather Minaru. That is mine to decide, mortal! Why might thou desire to cease to collect Minaru? I see clearly the answer: Your words reveal in you a disrespect for my rule. No doubt by my sycophantic priests were you instructed to say
them. But that matters not. I now have, as you say, Minaru unlimited. I have also a Champion and priests of dubious loyalty.”
“I meant no disrespect!” interjected Eberhard. “I would give my life to serve you.”
“A hollow attempt to your impudence conceal. You deceive me not. But you, my priests, and your village now irrelevant are, for I am in no need of Minaru. Thus, for your disrespect, you shall be punished. What you know not is that Minaru is the most potent substance of destruction in the world. Why think you that Atukam in Suratis remained always? It was because he knew I could with Minaru destroy him if outside of the underworld he set foot. Now that all the Minaru I shall ever need, I have, I shall destroy you in retribution for your infidelity. Even if ye and your kind had in your hearts no treachery, ye could serve no purpose in my future plans. Ye shall meet the fate deserving of your antediluvian nature.”
With that, the glow vanished. Eberhard and the priests looked at each other, unable to believe that the object of their worship held them in such low regard that he would destroy them for an innocent remark. Then a loud hum came from behind them. It was another black portal. Seeing little other choice, they stepped through, prepared to face whatever they found on the other side.