The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) by Laurence Moore

him, almost nose to nose, and pressed the shotgun into the man’s chest.
    “It’s empty.”
    As he walked away, Duggan cracked open the firearm. There were no shells in the barrels.
    “How did you know?”
    Stone said nothing.
    “You always know,” said Nuria. “You can see it their …”
    Duggan turned his back on her and called to Stone.
    “I’m Captain Duggan of the Churchmen Regiment,” he said. “Who are you people?”
    “Dead,” snarled Munton, as he was dragged to his feet, blood coursing over his chin. “That’s who they are. They’re fucking dead. And you, Duggan. I’ll gut the lot of you knee benders. You bastards. My poor kids. You don’t know what you’ve done. You have to let me go. I can find him and kill him.”
    “Shut up, Sal,” said one of the Churchmen, as he clamped Munton in chains. “It’s the barracks for you.”
    “I can’t go to the barracks,” shouted Munton. “I need to protect the kids. You can’t put me in there.”
    “What will happen to him?” asked Nuria, but she realised the captain was ignoring her for a second time.
    “He’ll be taken to Touron,” said Father Devon. “He’ll stand trial in a court of law. I’m Father Devon of the Holy House of Brix. You’re not from here, are you?”
    Duggan saw his men begin to return from the woodland, having swiftly rounded up Munton’s gang.
    “Who are the children?”
    Duggan, having no problem hearing this question, snorted at her. “Children? Thieves, rapists and murderers. Not children, miss.”
    He marched away. Father Devon smiled apologetically. The soldiers chained the boys and girls and the villagers began to hurl abuse. A clot of mud was thrown, striking one of them; it was the catalyst, anger and frustration poured out and the villagers pelted missiles at the children. They buckled as they were repeatedly hit. The Churchmen dragged them back onto their feet and herded them toward the barracks.
    Father Devon and Deacon Rush hastily attended and their words began to soothe and disperse the unruly mob.
    “That’s Reverence Morning for you,” said Quinn, lowering her crossbow.
    Jeremy smiled, playfully, but said nothing; he was too busy staring at the two strangers. Then a third emerged from the trees, a man, bald and plump, arms thrust beneath his tunic.
    “What’s happening?” said the Map Maker.
    He paused.
    “They don’t seem very appreciative.”
    Stone didn’t care what was happening or whether their actions had been appreciated or not. The past few days had been terrible; he wanted food, drink and a decent fire. Gallen was behind them and if this was Ennpithia then he didn’t think much of it. He began to trudge toward the village. The air was damp and wreathed in fine rain. The lines on his face hardened. His mouth twisted into a snarl. Nuria and the Map Maker hastily fell in step alongside him.
    “I don’t think we should mention the men we killed at the river,” said Nuria, her voice hushed. “The man we disarmed is heading for trial. They have laws here, Stone. Better we appear to stick by them. At least for now.”
    “I don’t care about their laws.” His face grew sterner because he knew she was right.
    Duggan spotted the three of them on the move. He strode through the grass, opened his arms wide and blocked the way forward.
    “I’m only going to ask once. Who are you people and what do you want in Brix?”
    Nuria said, “We saved your men. Have you already forgotten that?”
    “You interfered,” said Duggan, pointing at her. “The situation was under control. We can enforce our own laws.”
    “You do that,” said Stone.
    “I want names. Or you go to the barracks.”
    “What is that building?” asked the Map Maker, suddenly, nodding toward the Holy House.
    Duggan was silent for a considerable time. A deep frown creased his weathered face.
    “It’s a Holy House,” he said, finally. “It’s the first Holy House of Ennpithia. How do you not know what it is?”
    He