The Prelate turned to the knight on his left shoulder. "Sir Anarg," he said to him, "you have leave to speak."
Sir Anarg was perhaps the second- or third-oldest present after Keldorn and the Prelate, but in his own way, he carried a greater sagacity than either of them — not in his sharp, clean-shaven features, or his skin, burned to the shade of leather and mottled by the sun. But his eyes were dark and deep-set in the fine lines on his face; they seemed as though they could have glanced into the soul of another without revealing anything about himself.
He cleared his throat, then straightened up in his chair. "If we must have someone stand for us, let it not be this one," he said. "Prelate, this is a child of Bhaal tutored by spellfiddlers; she serves a subversive, second-rate god that makes his home among the worst dregs of society and takes orcs for his priests. And if that were not enough, she has laid her sword at the feet of Amn's enemies, obstructed the rights of nobles, and executed members of our Order."
Lidia figured that someone would object to how she'd handled the Baron. Membership in the Most Noble Order conferred nobility in its own right, and Sir Anarg was dressed to subdued but expensive tastes, every word he spoke well-rehearsed. She hoped it wouldn't damage her case too much that this person happened to be high on the chain of command.
"The Order are meant to be the best of humanity, examples to follow," Sir Anarg said. "This godspawn would make us cause for mockery, and we have enough difficulty cultivating the appropriate reputation among our enemies. We cannot allow it."
"Then what would you suggest be done with her?" the Prelate asked him.
"Our law demands that for the shedding of the Order's blood, a price must be paid," Sir Anarg replied. "Regardless of her intent or purpose, this law still holds."
Lidia said nothing in reply but shuffled off the pack from her back. Lady Irlana and two of the guards instantly tensed, ready to spring forward on a single word.
Lidia kept her hands out as she held the package in her hands. For a moment, she glanced up to the face of the tall statue of Torm above her, its stern eyes awaiting her plea.
She turned her thought towards the ring seated in front of her. Somehow, they seemed much less intimidating than before.
She said, "I know that my words alone may not convince you that I disown the Lord of Murder or that my calling is true. Judge me by my actions, then, for I will live and die by them."
She removed Azuredge from its case, holding it forth in her bare hand. The axe's whispers on the edge of her thought grew louder as though she were muffling excitement.
Lidia said, "I surrender this weapon to you now, Prelate."
Prelate Wessalen leaned forward, solicitude replaced now by curiosity. "That is Azuredge, isn't it? Where did you get her?" he asked.
"She was loaned to me from Sir Shamus," Lidia replied. "He was wise to wield her. We couldn't have defeated the Shade Lord otherwise."
The Prelate asked, "Are you aware of her history?"
She replied, "There wasn't time for details, but I'd like to hear it now."
He sat back with a pleased look, folding his hands. The other knights shuffled in their chairs, glancing at each other, but they said nothing.
The Prelate began: "The story in Athkatla is that one Gulen Rockfire crafted Azuredge to fight the undead, but in truth, he was only one of many who have wielded her, as the Candlekeep sages tell it. Three hundred years ago, at the beginning of the reign of the Masked Lords of Waterdeep, part of the last warlord's spirit was bound to this axe to protect Waterdeep and combat evil extraplanar creatures, as well as the undead.
"The sages suspect that, after the Time of Troubles, Azuredge arranged her departure from Waterdeep; she seems to have deeply disliked being at the beck and call of the Blackstaff." He lowered his strong chin. "It is also said that she chooses her wielder — and refuses all not firmly on the side of good."
Cathras said, his quill scratching furiously on parchment, "Shall we enter an axe's opinion into evidence, then?"
A faint laugh flitted among the ring, though he seemed more inclined to skepticism, not jest.
"Not at all," said the Prelate, "but it does confirm what Sir Grady told us of Azuredge's whereabouts, and it is yet another show of good faith on her part that Lidia is inclined to return this weapon. There are no shortage of fences — or even the Cowled Wizards — that would pay a year's wages or more for it. Yet all the gold in the world would not sway Azuredge's judgment, nor mine." He leaned forward, momentarily glancing towards Sir Anarg.
"Very well, Lidia. If you stand for us against the Baron, then survive, you may atone for the loss of our knights by serving the Radiant Heart Auxiliary in their stead for the standard term of five years."
Five years. Lidia's face remained unchanged, but her heart sank. As much as she'd dreamed of something like this, as fitting a tribute to the five knights' memory it would be, as much of an honor this opportunity conferred — and she hated to think upon the cost of her refusal — she couldn't put her search for Imoen on hold for five years.
"That seems just," said another knight. "The dragon would wish her death, and the dead would not, had they known who it was they fought."
The Prelate addressed Sir William: "As the knight-captain of Sir Jurian's party, is that acceptable to you?"
Sir William stared at Lidia thoughtfully for a moment. "Among our circles," he said, "the symbol of Ilmater is seen as a sign of covert loyalty to the throne of Tethyr. But among the common people, that symbol is better protection than plate. Aye, I am satisfied with her defense, and I would accept her service — but not if Sir Anarg dissents."
Sir Anarg refused to look her in the eye at first, but he turned to Lidia and replied, "As many marks as there are against you, you have defended your actions admirably, both in speech and, yes, in deed as well. Truthfully, I struggle to think what more you could possibly do to convince me."
He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "Forgive me. The iron crisis, the matter in the Coronet, this wight you battled — at the heart of it, I may simply find your talent for disruption unsettling. But that is hardly something you can help, is it not? 'Chaos will be sown in their passing,' as the sages say."
Lidia did not fill the silence he gave her.
"If the power of Bhaal can truly be put to use in our cause — if such a thing is even possible — then I withdraw my objection," he said.
"For your part, Anomen," the Prelate said, "you are cleared of any accusations of wrongdoing, and are free to continue your preparations for your Test."
The convocation was soon dismissed, and before long, only Lidia remained to speak with the Prelate at his request.
"I sensed some hesitation on your part," the Prelate said to her, his deep voice lowered. "I cannot think of a better way forward for all of us than having the Order become your patron. Please help me understand your doubt."
"Your offer is a great honor, but my time isn't my own," she said. "I have a mission of mercy for a friend that I must carry out, if I can."
She had to admit that "mission of mercy" seemed too great a name for a potential jailbreak on the Shadow Thieves' coin. She half expected to be told as much.
Instead, however, the Prelate treated this with the same amount of gravity she had. "I can assure you that you will not need to neglect your own quests or crusades," he said. "But serving the Order will be a major commitment, nonetheless, and you ought to give it the consideration it deserves. Take the next day to think it over, and return to us by sundown tomorrow with your answer."
Lidia thanked him, then wound her way towards the cedar double doors, where Anomen was waiting for her.