"The Pit Beast? Die? Impossible," Rupert scoffed, "That thing has been here since before the first human set up a hut in this area generations ago. The Pit Beast is immortal."
Stepping back from Steven, Amie turned to Rupert, anger flickering behind the mask, "You would doubt the foresight of your king's wizard?"
"Amie," Steven ventured, but she ignored him.
"You, who have never been outside the familiar safety of Freedonia's borders?" Amie continued, "The Pit Beast belongs to a reality much larger than yourself or Freedonia. It is ancient yes, but it is far from immortal."
"But people tried to kill it for centuries before we put it to its present use," Rupert argued.
"And how many have come for our Captain Steven with death in their hearts? How many of them has he turned back? And yet, do you think he is immortal? He is not. And neither is the Pit Beast."
Sharply had she put her point into focus, for Rupert knew full well how often Steven had faced down bandits while on patrol, and challengers at home, this aside from the occasional tournament or witch trying to do him in. Equally well, he knew how often Steven had been hurt doing so.
"Why is it going to die, Amie?" Steven interjected, "What's going to kill it?"
"That I don't know yet," Amie replied, having recovered her composure after the hysterics she'd been in when she first arrived, "All I know is that I was scrying into the future and I saw the Beast was dead. More importantly, I saw the future of Freedonia if the Beast should die during this war."
"What happens?" Rupert asked, worried now he'd been converted to the idea that The Pit Beast was not as eternal as it had always seemed to be.
Amie answered, "Freedonia's criminals will lose their fear of punishment. The other territories will not only cease to feel safe within our borders, they will feel free to do whatever they wish. Thefts, kidnappings, assassinations, war not only within our borders but inside the village and even the castle walls. Freedonia will be in ruin."
"All because of the death of one Beast?" Steven inquired, not disbelieving, but hard pressed to even imagine it.
"The Beast's death itself will unsettle the fabric of the world, and the consequences for that will be far reaching. But the ruin of Freedonia in the near future will be in part due to her people's reaction to the death of the creature. Consider this: most people believe the Beast is immortal, just as Rupert said. What happens when a constant in the world, something which has always been and should always be, is suddenly ripped away from an entire kingdom without explanation?"
"Chaos," Steven said quietly.
"Precisely," Amie agreed, "For the sake of Freedonia, and her people, we must find out what causes the Beast to die, and we must prevent it at any cost. All I know is that it seems to be some sort of illness, or... or poisoning that happens somehow. I do not know how, or even when. Steven, I came here to ask for your aid, as you once asked for mine."
"Of course," Steven replied, "But what can I do?"
"Speak with Executioner Bailiff. You and he are on good terms, and no one knows the Beast better than he does. Perhaps he can tell you something about the Beast's health, what it is fed and how it is cared for. In the meantime, I will search the wizard archives for any reference to the Pit Beast."
"What am I? Overcooked gruel?" Rupert objected.
Amie narrowed her eyes to glare at him and replied, "Yes."
Steven was more tactful, "Rupert, you have a wedding to plan. Besides, it may be that this business with the Pit Beast will occupy much of my time. I may need you to take on some of my duties so that I am not missed. We don't want to cause a panic. See to the guards' schedules, and patrols, particularly the ones monitoring activity in Tredony and Aarbyville."
"Well..." Rupert looked suspicious that he was being left out, and a bit hurt, but Steven was more than his friend, Steven was also his commander, "Okay. But I have a bad feeling about this, Steven. So... be careful."
"Please," Steven said lightly, "I feed the Beast three times a week. It's not as if I'm going to jump into The Pit looking for answers. I'm just going to talk to Bailiff. What is there to be careful of?"
"I don't know," Rupert replied, "And that's what worries me."
"Hey!" Amie snapped, rapping Rupert on the head with the end of her staff, "You leave the scrying to the wizard. Just do your own job, let Steven do his, and I'll do mine. Okay?"
Without waiting for an answer, Amie turned and left.
Rubbing the rapidly forming bruise on his head, Rupert said soberly, "I don't trust her."
"She means well," Steven replied, hoping he was speaking truthfully rather than hopefully, "She's just not always nice about it. She's often cruel, Rupert, but she's not evil."
"Just the same," Rupert insisted, "You watch your back around her."
Remembering his first encounter with Amie all too clearly, Steven offered Rupert a half smile that was meant to be reassuring and said, "Always."
It frequently being one of Steven's duties to feed The Beast, he had grown used to the nature of the Judgment Zone as a place of noisy depravity. But it had been a little while since he'd visited the area. In truth, it had been some weeks since he'd been assigned to feed The Beast. It hadn't occurred to him to question it, but now he suddenly knew why anyway.
The Judgment Zone was noisier than usual, and more crowded as well. In fact, the whole area around The Pit was absolutely packed. Steven recognized most of the people standing around as prisoners he'd helped offload from ships coming in from Tredony and Aarbyville. There was no mystery in why they were here, it was clearly a queue for being tossed into The Pit.
Steven had once questioned why no one seemed to resist Executioner Bailiff's throwing them into The Pit, but Bailiff had told him it simply wasn't done. Steven still didn't understand it, but it certainly seemed to be the case that nobody argued with Death, or even one of Death's servants. He hoped he'd never have to find out firsthand why that was.
Working his way through the throng, Steven tried several times to engage Bailiff's attention before finally succeeding.
"Yes, sir?" Bailiff inquired.
"There has been some concern expressed about The Pit Beast's continued good health," Steven began tactfully, "And no one knows The Beast better than you, so it seemed prudent to ask you."
"I see, sir," Bailiff nodded, then went on, "Truth is, Griselda is sick, I think."
"Griselda?" Steven asked.
"That's her name. The Pit Beast, sir," Bailiff explained, "Or it's the name I call her by anyway."
It had never really occurred to Steven that The Pit Beast might have a name. He supposed that shouldn't be too surprising. After all, people had names, birds had names, territories had names, ships had names, mountains had names, ruins had names, nondescript flat places had names, so why not The Pit Beast as well?
Bailiff was going on, "She's started spitting up some things after she's eaten them."
"Like what?" Steven asked.
"Weapons, armor, bits of this and that people had on their persons when they were thrown into The Pit. I don't pay much attention to what, really, sir. I just take it and bury it around so it doesn't get in anybody's way."
Laying aside the fact that things like weapons and armor could fetch a good price, they could probably be melted down and reformed into something else by a skilled blacksmith. Not that Freedonia had such a person, but surely she traded with territories who did, and that wasn't nothing.
It had never occurred to Steven that the people he and his guards were guiding into the kingdom and towards the Judgment Zone were carrying things like armor and weapons under their regular clothing. He would have assumed they would have been stripped of such articles before being brought in. There was something quite bizarre about how the whole prisoners thing worked, but Steven didn't figure it was his job to suss it out.
"I don't suppose you have anything Griselda has spat up that you haven't buried yet," Steven said, thinking it might be advantageous to examine these objects.
Not that he had any hope of understanding what he was looking at. It wasn't as if he was a physician or anything. But maybe he could figure something out. Or bring back the objects for Amie to figure out, assuming she could do that. If either of them could, it would probably be her. She was no substitute for a physician, but she was closer to one than Steven. Besides, she was magically inclined, and Steven had a suspicion that The Pit Beast was at least magic adjacent, if not actually magic itself.
"No, but I have this map. I've marked all the places I buried stuff. I'd dig them up, myself, but I have all these people I need to throw into The Pit. You understand, sir."
Steven decided not to question why Bailiff had made the map, and simply took it. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do with the map. Looking at it, he wasn't even sure what the various squiggles were supposed to represent. He tried turning it over, but that didn't seem to help any.
"You'll need a shovel, sir," Bailiff said helpfully.
"I see," Steven replied absently, trying to make head or tail of what he was looking at.
Steven had been quite pleased with himself over learning how to read maps despite Greta's attempts to keep him from figuring them out, but this hand drawn map on scrap paper was thoroughly incomprehensible to him. Still, he figured it best to take the map, go buy a shovel in the village, then come back and try to dig up the various bits of things The Executioner had buried.
As Steven set off in the direction of the path to the village, Bailiff returned to his work, namely taking people one at a time to The Pit and pointing sternly to the plank hanging out over it. The prisoner would obediently walk it and step off into The Pit. A battle would ensue, and the residents of Freedonia would gather around and applaud The Pit Beast. People rarely escaped after being thrown into The Pit, but the show was generally pretty good, or so Steven had been told.
Halfway to the village, Steven still hadn't puzzled out the map. So engrossed in the task was he that he almost ran into someone familiar.
"Ho! Captain Steven Westmoreland, Knight of Freedonia! Just the man I was looking for! Have at you!" Steven had barely a moment to react before Sir Stabsalot swung a sword at him.
In the brief moment Steven had to step back to avoid the sword, he felt an odd sense of unreality as he realized that Sir Stabsalot was making the exact mistake he had once made himself.
Sir Stabsalot was a foreign fighter from parts unknown, who was dead-set on becoming the greatest warrior of all time. Since Steven had last seen him, Sir Stabsalot had acquired heavy plate armor which Steven found startlingly familiar, for it was the same armor Steven himself had worn during his first duel with Sir Geoffrey the Inebriated, easily identifiable by the shoddily repaired break where Sir Geoffrey's scimitar had slashed through. Heavy plate armor meant fatigue would not be long in coming, and that would severely cut into Sir Stabsalot's stamina.
Sir Stabsalot had a different sword as well, but Steven couldn't readily identify it. He at least managed not to bury it in the ground and get stuck this time, though whether that was a measure of skill or sword quality Steven was uncertain.
Since his first confrontation with Sir Stabsalot, Steven had adopted the light but tough Advortonian Scale which he had fought so hard for. The sword he carried now was Frostfang, a sword that was exceptionally light and well-balanced, making it easy to use with great precision.
"Trying to take me unaware without challenging me is the mark of an assassin, not a knight," Steven spat as he settled into a restful stance, "And it does not become you."
"Advantage by any means," Sir Stabsalot retorted.
"Is this really necessary?" Steven queried.
"Only if you want to survive," Sir Stabsalot replied, hefting his sword and trying to run Steven through with it.
Steven deftly evaded this, and said, "Very well, if you insist."
He drew Frostfang from its sheath, at which time something occurred which startled both him and Sir Stabsalot so much that they nearly forgot their quarrel. As Steven drew the sword, he felt a rush go through him, like snow prickling across his skin. At the same time, an ice blue glow manifested, but it seemed to come from within Steven himself as the sword remained gold in color. Forgetting for a brief moment to keep his eyes on his opponent, Steven looked down and was shocked half out of his wits to find that not only himself but his armor as well had acquired not just a blue tinge but full blue color, and also become faintly transparent. His feet had gone almost entirely. He would have been interested to know that his hair had gone snow white as had his eyes.
It took the heart of battle right out of Sir Stabsalot. He managed not to flee in abject terror, but he was less than a match for Steven, even aside from the disadvantage conveyed by the heavy armor. On the other hand, Steven himself was a bit off his game, as he hadn't expected this alteration to his existence, and he wasn't sure if it was permanent.
Sir Stabsalot swung repeatedly, but his aim was far off, making evasion from Steven almost unnecessary. Sir Stabsalot failed to dodge blows from Steven, either because of distraction or unwonted weight. In any case, Steven made short work of him and sent him packing.
"Maybe you should take up a new quest," Steven suggested to Sir Stabsalot, "As you seem to be stuck on this one."
"I'll be back," Sir Stabsalot promised, "You just wait."
"I'll do that," Steven sighed, watching his adversary go.
Steven then looked briefly at Frostfang, before putting it back in its sheath. He was relieved to find he was at once back to normal after putting away the sword, as the change to himself had thoroughly unsettled him. In fact, it had somehow reminded him of the cemetery, though he wasn't quite sure why that should be.
Shaking his head as he recovered his nerves, Steven continued on into the village.