As Lidia crossed the gate, the entire world seemed to muffle itself around her, an eerie silence settling inside her brain. Her mind turned into a muddled, wordless mire, until she plucked one thought out: My hands will know.

Her fist tightened around the staff, the tip of her boot pressing a small circle in the wet sand as she waited.

She did not spare any energy towards parsing the words the priest raised to the gods above or to the small gathering in front, but the instructions directed to her were clear enough: ten steps ahead, away from her opponent.

The priest went to the other side of the fence, where most of the onlookers were waiting, and observed the fight from a distance.

With the blow of a horn, Lidia turned in place, raising the staff into a guard.

Lanka rushed forward first, closing the twenty paces with all the swiftness of a frightened deer, raising her staff overhead with a wild cry.

Their staves crossed with the sound of a crack, their wood shivering up and down their length as Lanka's blow clashed against Lidia's block.

For several rounds it went on like this, back and forth at arms' length. Every time the staves connected, they remained locked for a moment, the unfinished oak releasing small splinters at every contact, trapped together until forcibly parted.

It was no graceful dance, but clash after clash after clash, becoming a contest as to who would break first from the cascade of teeth-rattling shocks.

Lanka remained largely on the attack, growing more aggressive as each overhead blow was countered and locked into place.

Then Lanka flourished her staff the right. Her opponent took the bait.

Before Lidia could counter Lanka's doubling back, a blow smote her left side.

Lidia nearly crumpled, but remained steady on her feet. Even in the haze of pain, though, she heard or felt the whisper of movement from above.

In the nick of time, Lidia raised her staff again, deflecting the coup de grace aimed towards her head, locking Lanka's staff one last time and driving it towards the wet sand.

Lanka stumbled forward but quickly recovered, steadying herself on her feet. She retreated a few paces back, breathing heavily, visibly tired.

She opened her right hand to reveal an upheld her holy symbol, an oak leaf burned into a small piece of wood. She intoned a spell.

The lines of the oak leaf remained dead and inert. The druid's brow furrowed with an unspoken question.

Lidia leaned against her staff, breathing deeply to ease the burning in her lungs. She watched Lanka try again.

Lidia spoke up, with some effort: "No…no spells here. Dead magic."

It took Lanka a moment to parse this. A spark of realization crossed her face, and she let loose with an impressively foul string of insults directed towards the Baron.

"He could have had almost anyone else here," Lanka said bitterly. "Hells, he'd probably do better himself, if he was so gods-damned determined to keep Imnesvale under his heel."

Lidia said. "I doubt it."

Lanka threw down her staff. It landed on the arena floor with a thud, impressing a long divot in the wet sand.

Lanka folded her arms, staring at the staff with a look of satisfaction. She turned to Lidia. "I've fought for him for ten years, with my words if not my weapons. No more."

Lidia straightened up, giving her something of a puzzled stare. "What now?"

"I don't know," Lanka replied. "I brought the bill of sale with your signature to Metrich. I was ready to leave him then and there. When the Baron bought me, the Cowled Wizards placed me under a geas. You may have fulfilled the geas, but the Baron claims that only the Cowled Wizards can do that," she said angrily. "In any case, my orders were to fight you, and I have done so. That also may satisfy the geas."

It took Lidia a moment to comprehend what Lanka was saying. "And if not?"

"I die free," Lanka said. She raised her voice and spoke in Justice Heller's direction: "I forfeit this duel to the Order."

The priest turned to Sir Crolus as he leaned on the other side of the fence, then asked the knight: "Will you go to take Lanka's place?"

Sir Crolus glanced towards the ring, where Lanka was heading towards the gate.

"I will not," he finally said. "It's over."

Lanka headed to the gate with her head held high, her steps quick and confident.

Lidia followed her out shortly behind. She passed through the gate. Despite her sweating limbs and burning lungs, and a rapidly developing welt on her side, a renewed burst of energy came to her steps, as she passed through, a sense of clarity rushing in.

Lanka doubled over, screaming in pain, clinging to the fence with her free hand.

Sir Crolus and Lidia both ran towards her. He got there first.

"Lanka, is it —"

Lanka lifted her head for a moment. She was deathly pale, her skin burst into a cold sweat. She doubled over again, hot tears streaming down her face. She whispered, "Oh gods, oh gods…"

Her legs gave way, and with a whimper she wilted towards the ground.