Of course, Lidia thought. Of course, the Baron wouldn't try to clean up his mess unless he had any other choice.
For her part, Lanka looked as though she'd prefer to be anywhere else; she avoided looking Lidia in the eye as the priest of Tyr moved them into position inside the tent.
The priest, a man of at least eighty, garbed in a simple purple robe adorned with Tyr's hammer, moved first towards a small wooden podium, and on that podium lay a book. He asked Lanka to stand near his left, then Lidia to his right.
Several more people filed in: Sir Anarg, Sir William, and Sir Grady, along with several attendants that Lidia didn't recognize.
The only one representing Baron Metrich was Sir Crolus, who held himself stiffly as he took a place behind Lanka. All he would say is that the Baron sent him to represent his interests in the matter and nothing more.
Still, the priest of Tyr seemed satisfied with that. He opened his book, made a note on a fresh page with an ink-dipped quill, and with a sonorous voice, began speaking to the gathered crowd:
"You are here on behalf of two parties that moved to resolve their dispute through force of arms, in accordance with Amnian law. Here I will offer the chance for one final round of negotiations, so that the Council may be assured that all efforts at a peaceful solution have failed. Sir Crolus Geraint, what terms would Baron Metrich accept in order to prevent bloodshed?"
"Nothing less than dropping the suit altogether," Sir Crolus said. "The Baron believes that the Order has no say in what may be done with his land and his people, and that the fact that the courts have indulged the Order to this extent is a clear sign of their favoritism towards them."
"The court found the Baron shirking his responsibility," Sir Anarg countered. "Magistrate Ianulin had a peaceful solution: pay his people what he owes them. As for favoritism, it seems this appeal to arms allows him to shirk responsibility once more. Justice Heller, the Order has already tried several rounds of mediation with the Baron. Unfortunately, it has come to this on his insistence."
The priest was silent for a moment, then said, "In my judgment, then, this trial by duel must go forward with the representatives you have appointed. I call on Tyr and these combatants' patron deities as witnesses, as well as this gathering here: Lanka of Imnesvale, Lidia of Baldur's Gate, do you swear to abide by the strictures laid upon you by the law, and not to trespass them?"
They both assented.
The priest turned to Sir Crolus and the contingent from the Order. "I must speak with these two a moment. We will go out to the field, anon."
Everyone else filed out from the tent except for a guard or two.
The priest turned to Lanka and Lidia, "It is customary for the two parties to be given the same weapon, so that the conflict may be resolved with skill of arms alone. As the defender, Lidia, what do you choose?"
"Wooden staves," Lidia replied. Jaheira had once explained to her that druids were limited in the weapons they could wield, and Lidia figured that a staff might be one of the easier ones to find here. Daggers would have sufficed, too, but Lidia didn't want to have to make Lanka's killing that close.
"Very well," the priest of Tyr said. "Both of you will follow me to the parade grounds, then. A guard will follow behind. Neither of you is to strike the other, nor even to speak."
They did as he instructed, staring straight ahead as the priest shuffled towards the tent's entrance. As the front of the tent opened, spilling bright day into the filtered, red-orange light inside the tent, Lidia had to wonder what the Baron was hoping to accomplish by springing this on her — if it had anything to do with her at all, and this wasn't just the result of him making a last, desperate effort to save his skin.
Answers would have to come later, after she killed Lanka.
Lidia exhaled, waiting for her orders to come forward. They were both only instruments in this matter; she reminded herself. Neither had much choice.
She knew that wouldn't be enough to assuage the guilt afterward, but maybe it could get her through the next hour.
The call came. Lidia let Lanka go out first, then followed her into the mid-morning sun, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the achingly blue sky overhead. A warm, gentle breeze brushed over her shorn hair.
She felt oddly disconnected as she trod the soft ground, as two thoughts fought their own battle within her. One said: this was an awful waste of a fine day, unjust and unnecessary. The other said nothing, but was spoiling for a fight.
She tried again to clear her mind. Neither was helpful for the business of survival.
The priest of Tyr led them to the edge of the gate. On the other side of the ring, the stands were mostly empty, save for the interested parties and a few spectators.
The ring stood large and empty as a desert, bounded by a simple wooden fence. The rainstorm had left the sand hard and solid, smoothing out any old footfalls that had come before.
Two squires came forward with the solid wooden staves that Lidia had requested. One was placed into her gloved hand.
She could still smell the fresh wood — likely it had been sanded this morning. It felt solid and warm, even through her glove, and familiar, too. Likely this had been meant to be the shaft of a polearm, not so different from the ones she'd trained with back in Candlekeep.
The memories came back in a quick flood: hours and hours of drills until she could perform them in her sleep, endless rounds of sparring, the single-step advances and retreats, and how every movement could make the difference between life and death….
Though her mind might not be helpful inside that ring, her limbs and muscles would know what to do. They'd have to be enough.