The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) (32 page)

“I hate it here,” said Stone.

She listened.

“They’ve wanted to arrest us from the moment we arrived.”

Still she listened.

“We should make our way back to the coast. Find a boat. Head for Gallen.”

“And go where?”

“Follow the shoreline east. See what we find. Maybe a place we can stop. What do you think?”

“Is that what you really want to do?”

He scratched at his bearded jaw and wandered away, revolver dangling in his right hand.

She saw his left fist clench, unclench.

“We’d better get going then,” said Nuria. “If that’s what you want.”

He turned around.

“What do you want to do?”

She placed her hand on the girl’s head. “Put things right.”

“I’m sorry,” said Father Devon. “The Archbishop has fallen ill. He stayed behind in Touron. We must pray for his recovery.”

“But you were going to present me to him,” said the Map Maker. “You said he could verify my identity and confirm that I’m who we think I am. Do you think I should ride to Touron?”

“I need you here. Our people are frightened, Map Maker. It doesn’t matter whether the Archbishop believes in you. I believe in you. And Ennpithia will believe in you once they hear you speak. I have known, all my life, that one day you would return and now in our darkest of hours you are here.”

Father Devon placed a wrinkled hand against the Map Maker’s chest.

“Your wisdom and kindness will save us. Your Light will flood the unknown days ahead.”

Shauna placed her hand on the Map Maker’s arm.

“You’ve already answered my prayers, Map Maker; you brought my family back from Great Onglee. We all heard the cry last night, thinking the Shaylighters had come for us. But you told me it would be okay and it was and you spared the families of Great Onglee. You conjured boats for them to escape. And the men who hurt me have been punished. An eye for an eye.”

The Map Maker looked at them both. He had been
elevated.

Look how they worship you. Look at their hands upon your mortal body. You are a natural leader, my son.

“I think Father Devon is right. You
can
do good here. We all need you. I need you.”

The Map Maker looked down at the wooden cross resting against his chest. Father Devon had proudly hung it around his neck this morning. He had no idea it had belonged to the disgraced Deacon Rush.
He looked out across the village and saw fear in the eyes of the villagers. The mutilation of his hands had brought him to this place and the Holy House had revealed his true identity. Yet there was something, a flicker in the dark recess of his brain, a tingle; he was no fool. He was missing something but he didn’t know what it was.

You can hear me, my son. I have waited so long for you. You are finally here, after all these years.

“What?” he muttered.

“You look troubled,” said Father Devon. “Do not be. I will be gathering the congregation this …”

“No, that’s, that’s not it.”

Beads of sweat popped onto his forehead.

“What’s wrong?” said Shauna.

I have waited a lifetime for your return, my son. I never gave up on you. Not once. It is now our time. You will reclaim what is ours, my son. You will lead us. You will lead us.

“I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

Whatever it takes to reclaim our land, my son. You have been our most powerful seed.

“You can hear me?”

Father Devon and Shauna exchanged puzzled looks.

“Where are you? I want to see you? Hello? Hello?”

Ta tu sa bhaile, my son. Welcome home.

“Arrested?” said Quinn. “That’s outrageous.”

“Murder, kidnap, trespass, forbidden weapons,” said Duggan, lowering his pipe. “I can’t blame it on Sal Munton this time.”

Sunlight filtered through a single barred window. She stood with her crossbow over one shoulder. Her arm was a dead weight, numb and sore, but thankfully the bullet had gone straight through.

“They were hunting a child abuser. This man abused Clarissa.”

“Pretan isn’t a child abuser.”

“He used to beat Jeremy. Is that not abusing a child?”

Duggan nodded. “He can be loose with his hands but it hardly looks like he was wrong in beating the boy. Not after what you told me about him. He should have beaten him a lot more.”

“So you believe me about Jeremy but not about Stone and Nuria. This poor girl, Kaya from Great Onglee even recognised Jeremy’s voice and …”

“Well, she’s dead so she can’t help us. Look, I don’t care who they
think
they’re hunting. This isn’t the Black Region. We have laws here. We worship the Lord, we pay our taxes and we get on with our bloody lives. Now they have to obey the law like everyone else. I will not tolerate them marching from one corner of our land to the other doing whatever the fuck they want.”

Quinn was startled by his outburst. “Do you envy them? Is that it?”

“Don’t be so bloody childish.”

She left it; she’d touched a raw nerve.

“Did you speak to Boyd this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Did he tell you about Great Onglee?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know how bravely they fought. The people that arrived in the boats last night are only alive because of them. You can’t do this, Duggan. Please, it’s very wrong.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“I’ve never seen you this way before; angry, frustrated.”

“War is a brutal thing, Quinn. And it’s here. It’s a horrible mess.”

He shook his head.

“I’m not a cruel man, you know that, but I have to arrest them. I’ll try to make sure they don’t hang. Perhaps banishment. A lesser sentence for their crimes.”

“Their crimes? This is insane.”

She paced the cramped room.

“Did you know Boyd was a spy?”

He hesitated. “Yes.”

“And you never told me?”

“You’re my friend, Quinn, but my loyalty is to the laws of Touron and the Holy House.”

He let out a curl of smoke.

“It always has been.”

“It’s not much of a secret now.”

“No.”

“Will you arrest him?”

“What for?”

“His truck is from the Before. It’s forbidden. And he carries firearms. Also forbidden.”

“Boyd has an arrangement with the Holy House that allows him to …”

“For fuck’s sake,” said Quinn. “Do you have to be this pig headed?”

She washed her hands over her face. There was an awkward silence. Duggan cleared his throat.

“I was sorry to hear about Daniel. That must be very upsetting.”

She nodded.

“And Jeremy.”

“He murdered two of your men and an innocent girl. He was a traitor.”

“And I would have preferred him to stand trial for it. You killed him and you killed him with a pistol.”

“He was going to rape me. Should I have let him?”

“I didn’t mean that. It’s another complication. That’s all.”

“I’m sorry his cock was a complication. I’m glad the cunt is dead.”

He lowered his pipe. Met her eyes.

“Boyd is leaving for Touron to meet with the Albury’s. It’s too late to stop the signing of the treaty but I can’t see how it can go ahead, not whilst one of the Kiven officials – this Governor Omar - is smuggling weapons to the Shaylighters. That has to stop before we trade anything with them. And he also needs to discuss his plan with them. I can’t share the exact details but …”

“We all know what he’s going to ask. Everyone is talking about it. It’s only a matter of time before the Shaylighters attack Brix. Rush escaped last night and once he tells the Shaylighters that it will be us lighting the beacon to draw them in then they’re going to attack without hesitation.”

“We don’t need the Marshals. I can defend Brix with the Churchmen.”

“That’s what Sergeant Clayton thought in Great Onglee. And you know what happened there.”

“He made a tactical mistake. We won’t do the same thing here, Quinn.”

“Go to Mosscar and you’ll realise how much we need the Marshals. We need anyone who can fight. Including Stone and Nuria.”

“What I need is for Boyd to arrive safely in Touron. The decision about the Marshals is for the Albury’s; not you or me or Boyd. You’re the best escort and you know the roads well. Will you do it?”

He waited for an answer. She remained silent.

“I know it’s been a rough few days for you but I need someone I can trust.”

“Then trust in Stone and Nuria. They’ve already agreed to take him.”

“In exchange for freeing Sal Munton? A murderer? That will never happen. They’re mercenaries, Quinn, nothing more. They’re probably in cohorts with Munton. That incident with the shotgun might even have been planned to trick us.”

She leaned onto his desk.

“Stone saved me in Mosscar and asked for nothing in return. I was dead, Duggan, make no mistake. And the way they both fought in Great Onglee against the Shaylighters, risking their lives to protect Ennpithians. You weren’t here.”

He raised his voice. “Dobbs and Farrell are dead. Pretan claims that Stone and Nuria went onto private land with forbidden weapons. They’ve kidnapped one of his daughters.”

“The twins are at home. A neighbour is with them. What is he talking about?”

“I don’t like them. I don’t trust them.” He rose from his chair, shouting. “They’re faithless, Quinn. We can’t rely on people like that.”

The bells of the Holy House began to ring. Loud and shrill across the village. One bong after the other.

“Father Devon is calling a special congregation. He feels the people need it.”

“So this is Ennpithia,” she said. “Faith in the deeds of someone you can’t see and mistrust in the deeds of someone you can.”

She shook her head.

“Go talk to the women and children who escaped from Great Onglee. Stone and Nuria are heroes.”

“Not in the eyes of the law.”

“Then the law is shit and you’re not the man I thought you were. You’re a puppet, like the rest of them.”

The bells continued to ring.

“You’ll need to attend the Holy House service.”

Quinn narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“I’ll have you arrested if you don’t.”

“I’m a servant. I’m excused.”

“Your brother is dead. You can’t hide behind him anymore. Escort Boyd to Touron and I’ll overlook it.”

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

He blinked, surprised at her acceptance. Before he could probe further there was a sharp knock at the door.

Duggan barked. “Come.”

An excited soldier poked his head in. “Captain Duggan, sir, it’s Stone. He’s coming, sir.”

TWENTY FIVE

Stone rode slowly toward the ambush.

The horse was old and grey coloured; he had pushed her hard last night, through filthy weather and across uneven terrain. He reckoned she was enjoying this lazy trot back into the village. The ground was flooded and the mud was clinging to her shoes as they plodded toward the two armoured Churchmen, sunlight glinting off their iron helmets, heavy swords hanging from their belts, bows held one handed, arrows notched, tips aiming at the ground.
Although they carried no firearms it made him no less wary of their weapons; he knew the damage a single arrow could inflict when fired by a man who’d trained with a bow since childhood.

He nudged his horse forward, one hefty clump after the other. The trail began to slope and the low buildings took shape ahead, smoke curling from chimneys, the taste of freshly baked bread on his lips.
Stone’s eyes narrowed and shifted from left to right as he passed trees and undergrowth, still shiny from the heavy rain. His mouth was drawn into a tight line. The two soldiers were idly chatting, ignoring his approach, his presence unimportant, non-threatening; though he knew they watched him from the corner of their eyes and saw one of them glance furtively at the hidden men.

Still talking, the two men began to peel apart as he approached. Their voices had become more animated as the humour of the conversation increased but it was all a thinly disguised attempt to mask the purpose of the seemingly innocuous move.
They had now become two targets instead of one and would attempt to flank him as he drew closer. Stone tugged at the reins, the horse stopped and snorted. He glared from his saddle. For a moment, no one spoke. The wind rustled the trees and the undergrowth and whipped at his shoulder length hair. The men realised he wasn’t coming any closer. They took a few cautious paces forward.

“Good morning,” said the first one. “Did you spot any Shaylighters?”

Stone said nothing, kept watching them.

“Finally stopped raining,” said the second one, peering up the sky. “Do you mind getting down from your horse, sir?”

Stone climbed down, arms loose. He could see the heads of the bowmen inside the village, crouched with the white-haired Pretan, the tall man folded uncomfortably behind the large wooden wagon.
The sentries began to move for him, the angle of their bows rising.
His right hand was fast, too fast for them, and he shot the first man in the leg. He howled, dropped his bow and fell to one knee, clamping his hands around the wound as blood spurted out. Stone went for the second man and pushed the barrel into his face before he could fire off his arrow. He looped his left arm around the young man’s throat, tightened it, and jammed the revolver into his back.

There was movement in the village as the soldiers emerged from the wagon, bows raised. Stone could hear Pretan shouting. He couldn’t hear what was being said but it didn’t take much to figure out he was encouraging them to shoot.

“What’s your name?” growled Stone.

“Leonard,” replied the soldier, his voice shaking. “Leonard, sir. Everyone calls me Lenny, sir.”

His fellow soldier writhed on the ground, moaning, his leg streaked with blood.

“Listen to me, Lenny. Can you see your friend down there? Can you see him?”

“I can see him, sir. Yes, sir.”

“Your friend has a leg wound. That’s not too bad.”

“It fucking hurts,” he snarled, rolling around. “You bastard.”

“Now, Lenny, you try anything and I’ll put a bullet in your spine, not your leg. Do you understand what will happen if I shoot you there?”

“Please don’t shoot me, sir.”

“Do you know what happens if I shoot you in the spine?”

“I’ll be crippled.”

“That’s right. So stand still in front of me so none of your men get the smart idea of taking me down with their arrows. Do you understand?”

“I won’t move, sir.”

“Do you understand me, Lenny? You move a single inch and I’ll put a hole in your spine.”

Lenny swallowed. “I’m not going to move. Please don’t shoot me, sir. I have a son. Please.”

“Then keep still or your boy gets to wheel you around for the rest of his life.”

“I promise, I won’t move.”

“Good.”

“What about me?” said the wounded man.

Stone looked down at him. “Shut up.”

The soldiers edged along the trail, bowstrings tense.

“No further,” called Stone. “Get Duggan out here.”

Duggan and Quinn were outside the Holy House when they heard the gunshot.

Stone or Shaylighters?

He drew his sword. Quinn took her crossbow from her shoulder. The shot had come from the northern edge of the village. The two of them started in that direction but then the double doors to the Holy House were flung open and hordes of villagers stampeded down the steps into the bright sunshine. Hundreds of men and women and children began to swarm around them and Duggan and Quinn were swiftly caught up in a surging crowd.

Father Devon and the Map Maker stood in the open doorway, barely ten or twenty parishioners remaining. The bald headed man looked crest fallen as the crowd pushed along the lane. His moment had passed. He had not even been introduced to them. It was a sign. It was surely a sign he
was not
who Father Devon thought he was. He massaged both temples with his stumps, attempting to conjure the voice, but was met with an eerie wall of silence.

“I want to see the book,” he said, abruptly.

“I’m sorry?” said Father Devon, looking away from the disappearing crowd of villagers.

“The book. I want to see it. I have to know the truth.”

“I’ve already read the passage to you. Your coming was foretold, Map Maker. Do you not know this?”

“I have to see it for myself.”

“But the book is very personal to me; a voice from a millennia ago. I’m not sure it will do any good.”

“Do you defy me?” said the Map Maker. “I don’t want to ask again.”

Father Devon nodded. “Then follow me.”

“Now this is all very familiar,” said Duggan, letting out a whistle. “I wondered how long it would take for a man like you to show his true nature.”

He stood twenty or so paces from Stone, sword in hand, the blade angled toward the ground.

“Only this time you’re the one holding a weapon to one of my men.”

“But this time it’s loaded.”

Stone looked past him at the hundreds of villagers gathered on the trail. A few jeered and whistled.

“Whatever Pretan told is a lie,” he shouted. “The man is guilty of abusing your children.”

“My family have lived here for centuries,” roared Pretan, waving his arms. “This man is a sinner. Are you going to believe his lies?”

The captain held up his hand, silencing the old man. “Pretan told me you went onto his land with forbidden weapons and kidnapped his daughter who lives there.”

“He did, damn him. I was terrified. Shoot him.”

Lenny began to fidget.

“Keep fucking still,” said Stone.

Duggan stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“You murdered Dobbs and Farrell. Two well liked men. You shot Dobbs and you tortured Farrell. You butchered him like cattle.”

“Dobbs and Farrell worked for Pretan,” said Stone, addressing the crowd more than Duggan. He knew
they
were ones he really needed to convince. “He paid them coin to steal your children and take them to Winshead.”

“I’ve heard the story,” said Duggan. He crossed himself. “It’s sick and I don’t believe a word of it.”

The crowd was growing increasingly vocal. Duggan could sense the anger amongst them and hardly any of it was being directed toward Stone. The captain looked down at his man, white faced.

“Let my men go and we can talk about this privately. Just the two of us. I promise I will listen to you.”

Stone was silent.

“I give you my word as a Captain in the Churchmen Regiment and a worshipper at the Holy House.”

“He’ll listen to you,” said Lenny. “Duggan never goes back on his word.”

Stone called out. “Did Pretan tell you about Essamon?”

Duggan frowned. “What about him?”

“Essamon is dead. The freak with the hat of feathers is rotting under the sun. I killed him last night.”

There were gasps and mutterings amongst the crowd.

“Did you really kill him?” said Duggan.

“His box of light is no more,” shouted Stone. “Anyone who was in Great Onglee knows how terrifying that weapon was.”

There were cheers. Then he dealt his ace card.

“Essamon was at Pretan’s farm in Winshead last night. And this morning the traitor Deacon Rush arrived.”

Duggan tensed as the hostility swung toward Pretan and his soldiers. Stone had won the crowd. Quinn stepped forward and thrust her crossbow at Pretan, making things even tougher.

“How can you trust anything this man says? He was collaborating with the Shaylighters and his son, Jeremy, was a traitor.”

The crowd began to heckle and swelled forward. Lumps of mud whipped through the air.

“Silence,” shouted Duggan. “Stone has still committed two murders and carries a forbidden weapon and he’s badly wounded one of my men.”

“Who cares about Dobbs and Farrell?” shouted a voice. “They were kidnapping our kids.”

“You should have done something about them years ago, Duggan.”

The crowd continued to badger him. Duggan nodded to his bowmen.

“Take him.”

A volley of shots burst from the trees and ripped the ground around the Churchmen. They halted.

“Send her down,” called Stone.

The people watched as Nuria emerged from the trees, a pistol in one hand, the hand of a child in the other. Pretan shrank inside his wrinkled skin as they came down the grassy bank. Heads craned to study the girl; her eye was patched and her skin was deeply mottled but she still resembled Pretan’s twin daughters. Even Duggan stared. A third child? The girl knelt beside his wounded man and calmly placed her hands against his shaking leg. The hundreds of onlookers were hushed in fascination.

“They’ve never seen anything like her,” said Nuria.

“Let’s hope it’s enough.”

“What’s she doing?” asked Lenny.

“Shut up and learn,” said Stone.

The soldier on the ground was speechless. There was no pain. Nothing. He could see through the hole in his trouser leg where the bullet had passed through but the skin appeared unbroken. Frowning, he tore at the fabric, exposing more of his leg, but there was no scar anywhere. Gingerly, he got to his feet and took a few steps. He shook his head, looked skyward and made the sign of the cross. Stone relaxed his grip on Lenny, pushed him away. He heard the bowstrings strain but Duggan ordered his men to lower their weapons.

He walked slowly toward the child healer.

“How did you do that?”

The girl looked at the cross on his uniform.

“Am I in trouble?”

“No,” said Nuria. “You’re not in trouble.”

“It’s all true,” shouted Quinn, circling Pretan, her crossbow aimed at his head. “The strangers are telling the truth. You’ve seen it with your own eyes. The girl can heal with touch. That man had a bullet wound and now he’s walking as if nothing happened.”

Duggan wheeled around. “That’s enough, Quinn.”

“Dobbs and Farrell have been stealing our children and giving them to Pretan. They took my girl, Clarissa. Pretan beat her and abused her and used his own daughter to hide her wounds. This man used his daughter’s gift to cover his sick crimes. He’s a monster. The children call him the Predator. And none of us believed them. Tell me your children haven’t come to you with this story. Tell me.”

“Quinn, no more.”

Heads dropped in the crowd. A child bent down, picked up a rock and threw it.

“Stone and Nuria are heroes. Pretan is your enemy. Pretan is the one who should be arrested.”

“This is all lies,” hissed Pretan.

“No, it’s not,” said Quinn. “You fucking cunt.”

And she struck him, swinging the crossbow, cracking the stock across his face, splitting the skin.

“Cunt.”

She planted her boot into his face. Repeatedly. Blood flowed. And then someone shouted.

“Kill the bastard.”

And they rushed forward. Nuria scooped up the girl as her father disappeared inside the mob. Duggan rallied his men and sent them into the pack but it was hopeless and his men began to scatter, running back into the village. Duggan seethed. He could hear Pretan screaming as he was jostled and punched. His body was stripped. The villagers kicked him. Stone tucked his revolver into his belt, rested one hand on the butt and stood watching.