The massive, deathly pale corpse of a man loomed over Lidia as she lay in her bed.
The corpse's skin was drooping, decaying. Its bare chest and arms sagged, lacerated and weeping black from the wounds, but the corpse was no dead thing shorn of power: its massive hand reached down, blackened fingertips at the end of a powerful arm, as though it would carry her away in one swoop. A fell laugh and a foul stench issued from the thing's throat, its long teeth bared under black lips into a wolf-like grin.
Lidia lurched from sleep, fists balled and ready to battle the thing with all she had.
First she jerked from one side, then another. But she saw nothing except a slim ribbon of deep blue light emanating from the wooden door of the barracks at the Radiant Heart Keep.
She raised herself on one elbow, rubbing her eyes with the other hand, then flicking a piece of straw from her face from the paillasse below her. She supposed she could try to get some more sleep, but she knew from hard experience that effort was usually futile.
This particular dream had been incredibly vivid, too. She could almost feel the thing's icy touch now, its black ichor dripping onto her blanket, its dark-rimmed lips and void-like mouth releasing a stench that could fell a treant.
She shook it off. In any case, it might be for the best that this morning was early. She was to duel Baron Metrich today.
She swung her legs over the side of her wooden bedstead, her bare feet immediately hitting the cold floor with a quiet thump. In this thin-walled, somewhat drafty wooden house that served as one of the Order's barracks, she was more or less alone; in the row of twelve bunk beds, maybe one or two other members of the Order were still sound asleep, both spaced far apart from where she was.
Still, she did her best to disturb no one as she pulled a small pack from underneath her bed, got dressed, and left the barracks to get washed.
She was alone. She knew she was alone. But as she treaded through the courtyard to the baths, she checked behind her every now and again, just in case.
That morning, half a tenday since Lidia first arrived at the keep, turned out to be fine and clear, the bitterness of winter almost entirely absent. Most years, spring came to Amn with little fuss.
Still, here and there, fires burned, both for drying and cooking, as a small cloudburst had passed through last night. The dirt was wet enough to mold itself around passing feet but dry enough to stay in its place. Within an hour or two of sunrise, the roadways along the keep's courtyard were filled with an array of footprints from people and beasts alike, both small and great.
Luckily, the parade grounds were dry enough that the duel could go ahead. Unlike the tournaments, this particular event was subdued, attended by only a couple dozen at most: officials from the Order and the Council of Six, along with small clumps of curious bystanders. Several members of the Company had traveled here too: Minsc with Boo and Aerie, Yoshimo, Anomen. Even Mazzy had made it from Imnesvale — there hadn't been much time to talk, regrettably, but she said she'd come to bring news back to the village once the duel had finished.
Almost as soon as Lidia came to the parade grounds, armored in her little-used mail and with one of the Order's longswords in hand, she was led inside a walled tent made of red-orange canvas and asked to remain inside under guard. Until her opponent arrived, she had little to do but think. The white-haired and white-bearded priest of Tyr was the only other one inside, and he made clear early on, small black eyes tucked inside the wrinkles on his face, that he was here to ensure the proceedings were on the up-and-up, not to hold a conversation.
She felt ill at ease. She'd trekked to the parade grounds every day since she'd arrived, trying to get accustomed to the sensations she'd experienced inside the dead-magic zone. But whenever she crossed the fence around the parade grounds, she was cut off from the divine strains woven into her being, leaving her sapped and unfocused.
It was neither a physical nor mental ailment but something deeper than that. Regardless, she'd have to fight through it anyway.
Still, the weight of the mail on her shoulders was comforting, like an old friend clasping her shoulder. She'd spent long hours patrolling the wall in Candlekeep, walking up and down the battlements through two watches while similarly armored.
Even if magical protections should fail now, old-fashioned steel would suffice, anchoring her down against the dreaded hollowness she'd feel inside the ring.
Likely the Baron would show up in full plate, though. She hadn't seen him around, which she thought strange, but she could picture him clearly enough. She tried to clear her mind of all assumptions and kept from guessing what he was likely to do. As for how she'd counter him, she'd have to trust her training, especially now.
The red-orange canvas flap in the front of the tent opened, letting in a small sliver of clear blue from the sky above. Lanka entered, fully armored in the brutal, green-brown chitin of ankhegs. This had been the first time Lidia had seen her since she had flown from the keep some days ago.
Lidia acknowledged her with a nod, pulling herself back to the present.
But no one followed Lanka inside the tent. Instead, the druid remained alone, turning to the priest of Tyr and muttering something into his ear, then approaching Lidia.
"Greetings — glad you made it here. Where's the Baron?" Lidia asked, shaking Lanka's hand.
"Baron Metrich is indisposed," Lanka said, her face a blank. "He has requested that I face you in his stead."