On his way to report his findings (such as they were) to Lord Spaulding, Steven met up with Amie. It was clear that she had been badly hurt somehow, she was limping noticeably and her clothing was ragged and torn. But her expression was one of determined triumph, and she was carrying two large objects that looked a great deal like eggs. Specifically cockatrice eggs, which Steven had seen a few times in the forest and trained his guardsmen to leave very much alone, for he knew that the cockatrice was a very protective parent and exceptionally dangerous animal when provoked.
His first thought was to demand to know what foolishness had caused Amie to take the risk of stealing eggs from under the watchful eyes of a pair of cockatrice (Cockatrices? Cockatri? Cockapodes? Steven supposed he would have to do some more reading. Later).
But instead he asked in mild tone, "Are you alright?"
"Me? I'm fine," Amie replied, but her forced smile was more of a painful grimace.
Steven had been injured enough times to know mauling when he saw it. Even had that not been the case, the presence of the eggs was evidence to suggest what had happened to Amie during he latest foray into Freedonia's forest.
Thus, he persisted, politely, "Are you certain? I could fetch the physician."
"You keep that fool bloodletter away from me!" Amie snarled, her eyes flashing behind the mask, "I can take care of myself. I just need to get these eggs to Everett."
"The blacksmith?" Steven asked, surprised, "Has he come around so soon?"
"It's amazing where some nicely broiled swordfish will get you," Amie replied.
Steven didn't need Amie to elaborate. He knew without being told that she had simply invited herself into Journeyman Smith Everett's home, and begun using his oven, probably ignoring his protests as she did so. Amie had a way of doing that, which at first seemed rude, but she was such a skilled cook that even gruel tasted good when she fixed it, so any offense at her boldness tended to fade rapidly. He knew very well that a good meal did wonders to improve one's mood.
"But you're hurt," Steven pointed out, "Shouldn't you at least go home and rest?"
"I have better things to do than rest," Amie replied with a touch of ferocity, "Besides, I've learned a new spell I'm just dying to try out. I only wish I'd known it sooner, because it's a healing spell. Would've made some things a whole lot easier."
"You're going to test a new spell out on yourself?" Steven asked in some disbelief.
"Why not?" Amie asked, "The worst it can do is fail, and anything is better than going to the physician and having her ask me for money again."
Amie and Steven had encountered one another at the top of the hill just outside the throne room. Thinking of the long trip downhill to the square to visit Everett, and -more importantly- the steep uphill climb to return to the bridge leading to the homes of the wizard and physician, and remembering how difficult he had found a similar climb from the training yard to the barracks when he had been wounded, Steven tried a new tactic.
"What if I deliver the eggs for you? Then you could just go home and cast your spell," Steven suggested.
"Haven't you got any work of your own to do?" Amie asked, somewhat impatiently.
"Nothing that can't wait," Steven replied honestly.
Dedication to his work bade Steven report back at once to Lord Spaulding, but there was really no rush to tell the monarch that he still didn't know what had happened, as that wouldn't be news in the strictest since. Thus, Steven's chivalrous heart won out in demanding that he offer aid to a lady in need, particularly one who was injured.
"You're doing that thing again," Amie said after gazing at him in silence for a moment.
"What thing?" Steven inquired.
"The thing where you're kind to me when you don't have any reason to be," Amie replied.
"What if I'm being kind to you because I don't have any reason not to be?"
"We both know it's easier not to be kind," Amie said.
"And we also both know I've never been wise enough to take the easiest path," Steven reminded her, "Now, let me take the eggs; you go home and tend to that wound."
Amie hesitated a moment, though Steven was not sure if it was her pride that was getting in the way, or the fact that she was afraid of letting the precious eggs out of her sight. But finally she handed them over, admonishing him to be careful with them. After assuring her that he would do just that, he bid her a polite farewell and headed down to the home of the blacksmith.
Smith Everett was a relative of Minstrel Rhianwen, evidenced by the deep black of his plentiful hair and mustache, the particular shade of his brown eyes and the color of his skin. Unbidden, Steven's memory recalled Rupert's "poem" describing Rhianwen's beauty. He managed to avoid any outward expression of amusement as he presented the pair of cockatrice eggs to Everett.
"Magus Amie wanted these delivered to you."
"Oh yes!" Everett said brightly, taking the eggs, "These will do very nicely."
Steven, surprised by his enthusiasm, said almost involuntarily, "I was under the impression you weren't very interested in the Philosopher's Stone project."
"Oh no, I'm very excited about it," Everett replied, taking the eggs to his forge, "It's just the wizard I can't stand."
"Amie?" Steven said, "I admit she can be difficult to get along with at times, but her heart's in the right place."
Looking over his shoulder, Everett asked slyly, "Want to bet on that?"
Knowing compulsive gambling when he saw it because he'd seen it enough times in his guards, Steven replied, "No. It would not be fair to place a bet, knowing in advance that I would win."
Turning to his work at the forge, Everett remarked in a falsely casual way, "You seem very fond of this wizard. You wouldn't happen to have... feelings for her, would you?"
With purposeful obtuseness, Steven replied, "I have many feelings for many people. What feelings, specifically, are you referring to?"
Everett laughed, and did not answer, presumably uncomfortable with discussing the topic in anything less than veiled terms. Steven had presumed that would be the case. He considered whatever feelings he did or did not have for Amie (or, indeed, anyone else) were his own business and no one else's. It occurred to him that Amie would probably have handled it by angrily snapping at Everett and telling him to mind his own business. But such was not Steven's way.
"This will take a few hours," Everett told him, then gestured towards the forge with his hammer, "I'm not very good with this thing yet."
Steven took that to mean that Everett didn't want someone peering over his shoulder while he worked, and excused himself by saying he had some errands to run, and that either himself or Amie would be by later to pick up the completed Stone.
Intending to now go and deliver his report to Lord Spaulding, Steven stopped when Adora suddenly hopped into his path in the square.
"Can I help you?" Steven asked with a sigh.
"No, but I can help you," Adora replied, and held up a tattered book, "The journal of that crazy ship captain, sure to shed some light on the mystery," she smiled coyly, "Now, what am I offered in exchange for this extremely valuable artifact?"
After reaching an agreement for payment with Adora, Steven returned home with the journal, and sat down to read it. The early portions of the journal were difficult to read because Steven didn't know the terminology, and was unfamiliar with a number of the locations mentioned in the journal, so he kept having to check a map. The later portions were more difficult still, and Steven eventually figured out that it was because they didn't make sense. Thoughts and sentences were fragmented, incomplete or in entirely the wrong order. But amidst all the incomprehensible drivel and sailing terms, there was one word Steven did recognize: Animus.
It took him some time to remember, but he figured out that it was a word he'd encountered in a book he'd read. One of the books in Lord Spaulding's parlor that Steven had read. No, not a word. A name. But which book was it from? It hadn't been terribly interesting to him, he remembered that. But... demons. Yes, that was it. It was supposedly a book of fables about demons and devils.
Animus had been the name of a sword. A sword which had allowed a monarch to save his kingdom by defeating all of his enemies with it. And then... well something else had happened, but Steven didn't recall what. Possibly he'd fallen asleep. The book had been pretty dull, and it had been the middle of the night, when he did most of his reading. And it had been awhile ago now.
Still, it couldn't be a coincidence that the people in Kullervo were talking about demons, and that the ship captain's journal referred to Animus, a sword from a book about demons.
Steven decided he should talk to the captain again before he made his report to Lord Spaulding. Partially it was because of a feeling that the captain knew more than he was telling, but mostly it was because Steven was loathe to return to his monarch metaphorically empty-handed.
Not for a moment did it occur to Steven that he might be about to get in over his head. He had faced a powerful evil witch all on his own. He had won at kingball without knowing what he was doing. He had managed to out-drink someone who had Inebriated as part of his title. He had won a tournament duel against all odds. He had jumped headlong into The Pit, and nearly been swallowed by The Beast that lay therein. He had slain Great Bear and Grimbeast alike, and seen off many challengers of Sir Stabsalot's ilk (most of which had skills much more formidable than those of Sir Stabsalot).
A feeble, crazy old captain of a fishing vessel did not seem very dangerous when compared with all of that. Especially since Steven much doubted the man had a magic sword. More likely, the fisherman was a nut who had picked up an old sword in the forest and, remembering a fable read as a child, mistook it for the mythical blade. If he was dangerous at all, it was because he was crazy, and his crew had not expected him to turn on them (if, indeed, he had).
Even if the sword was truly Animus, and the fisherman truly dangerous, risking his life for the safety of Freedonia was Steven's stock and trade. He was undisputed as the greatest fighter in the kingdom and its annexed territories. He had not insignificant experience with magic and mysterious creatures. Only someone like Magus Amie would be more knowledgeable. As Amie was currently badly hurt, Steven could not see asking her for help at this time, and he knew time was never a thing he should waste when it came to potential threats to Freedonia.
This was especially the case in light of the growing hostility of the Aarbyville gangs. Steven didn't have time to mess around with a crazy fisherman and his debatably magic sword. He needed to resolve this quickly and refocus on finding a way to deal with the rising threat from Aarbyville.
As Steven had told Amie, it had never been for him to take the easiest path. If that had been the case, he would never have taken up the mantle of Freedonia's Knight.
The fisherman was being detained down at the docks until this mess was untangled, so Steven was not surprised to find the man standing on the beach. It struck him that most people would be killing time by whittling, or have a pet bird or something. But the fisherman just stood there, swaying gently as if from a breeze. Only there was no breeze.
The fisherman stared at Steven as he approached, his head angled oddly, and a strange smile on his face. Steven didn't trust that look, and approached with caution.
It was well that he did so, for the fisherman suddenly reached under his ragged cloak, as if to grab something. Steven didn't want to fight this man, because he was either just a weak old lunatic, or a wielder of a magical blade of unimaginable power. Either way, Steven wanted to stop this before it started. Thus, he did not stand back for the man to draw his sword as he normally would have, but instead lunged forward to intercept the motion, and took the concealed object from the fisherman.
A wave of dread hit him as he touched the hilt of the hidden sword, followed by a crushing dark force that was both recognizably similar to being Cursed while also being totally alien. Steven felt a flash of doubt, and almost hesitated in disarming his foe. Shaking off the feeling, he withdrew the dark sword from wherever it was the fisherman had been hiding it under the cloak.
At once, Steven felt something he could only describe as utter darkness rushing up through his hands and arms from the blade, which he saw glowed a sickly -yet aberrantly seductive- purple. On its hilt was written a more complete name: Animuslaver.
It was a hideous name, but Steven found he liked the sound of it.
In fact, the blade was all he saw or thought of now. He did not see the fisherman collapse to the ground, nor hear his final uttered word, "Free." He did not see the Grim Reaper rise in a cloud of black smoke to take the soul of the fisherman away. From the moment he took hold of the sword, Steven's world distilled down to one object, a single obsession: The Sword, Animuslaver.
It was his now. With it, he could do anything.
Anything.