Chapter 3: Drink Deep From the River of My Hate

Tzal recovered from his wounds from the spell cast by Lauretta but he then moved close to her and said, "All this is fine, but we cannot have you injured when we face Magunda next. You are our leader, after all." He unpacked his bag and took out the healing kit. Conjuring fresh water, he washed her wounds and started stitching them. Once completed, he applied ointment and then bandaged the area.

A nod of knowing respect was returned to the clockwork. "One of these days I'm gonna return the favor. Bring down some rampant Wizard creation together." Lauretta gritted her teeth and groaned as Tzal's stitching began. "Leader? I hoped to consider myself one, but it feels strange actually hearing it out of someone else's mouth. You're right though. We'll need our strength to show when that stand comes. My Heavenly Raiment will be prepared. And what I said to Renly goes for the both of you as well. If you need me, I'll be there. You're good men." If it weren't for the pain, she'd give an uncharacteristic smile. Once all was said and done, the Preceptor didn't look that much worse for wear.

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Over the course of his own recovery, R3N-L3 took his money and, with the innate thoughtlessness of someone who had forgotten how to bargain in life and knew no way to do so in death, purchased himself a breastplate that fit better over his original steel chest, as well as a much more elegantly crafted shield, courtesy of the grateful village smiths. They had also emblazoned decorative emblems of the High One and his Angels, but the Clockwork didn't seem to care, only caring how well it could block attacks after his old shield had been nearly bent in half by Invidian's fell might.

Lauretta stood with the forces of Auxen Vale until sunrise, shrouded in the golden light of the heavenly raiment she conjured for herself. As the dawn's light signals the likely retreat of the raiders, she allowed her unshakeable will to release its grip on her body. A heavy breath rushed out from her lungs as her form shook with exhaustion. Her best efforts mustered up something that could be a smile as the town and Father Montaine sung their praises. "Glad to be able to do good to you and your people; no debts necessary. Live well and help your fellows where you can, just as I aim to." Hell, I need to piss and sleep. Before the Preceptor could make her escape, Sir Reginald gave his own farewell. "Ah, an honor to you as well. May your path be one of virtue and peace, but glory if not the latter." Finally, she was free to find rest.

Although it did not elicit grief, the image of life leaving Invidian's eyes kept returning to her mind's eye. The archon's accusations did not shake her in the moment, but doubt crept around in the far reaches of her mind. It doesn't matter. I seek a life with fewer regrets, not answers. The High One offered me a path of virtue, and Invidian doesn't change that. The big picture is the same. A world I want to leave better. And I won't let anyone get in the way of that. Suddenly, the image in her mind's eye shifted to that of the cruel zealots that were also called Preceptors that she had met. No matter who they are.

Inspired by the wounds she received in the battle of the Vale, Lauretta hired the village smiths to reinforce her mail armor with plate. Additionally, she relinquished that old bow she carried in favor of a longbow. The rest of her coin remained in her pouch, satisfied with the humble additions to her armory. It wouldn't take her long to envy the glorious shield R3N-L3 carried.

Wolfram was glad to be alive. The odds hadn't been in their favor, but his group of companions had such strength, courage, skill, and loyalty that that alone had been enough. As they took a collective breath, Wolfram was tempted to place an arm around Lauretta when he saw her tremble from exhaustion, but he felt that would be unwelcome, and besides, he too was tired beyond any fatigue he had ever felt. They had done some good this day and the others preceding it.