The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) by Laurence Moore Read Free Book Online Page A

parents left devastated.
    The Holy House service had finished and hundreds of villagers had gathered behind him but the children were unflinching with cold menace in their eyes as they stood brandishing wooden clubs fitted with coiled wire or pieces of razor sharp metal, ideal for close combat. None of the children carried the bows stolen from his men. It took years of practice to develop the muscles to handle one of those. Duggan had a dozen Churchmen soldiers with him, arrows notched. There were more at the barracks but a dozen was all he needed.
    Father Devon and Deacon Rush waited breathlessly for Duggan’s response. The captain boasted superior numbers and superior strength but none of that mattered; all that counted was the forbidden weapon of the Ancients held in Munton’s thick grasp; a long, twin barrelled shotgun.
    “We need to treat Billy’s leg,” called Duggan. “No one wants him to end up crippled, Sal.”
    “I don’t care what you fucking want,” said Munton, spittle flying from his mouth, the shotgun swinging toward the captured Churchmen. “My poor boy, Roger. And Daisy. How could you kill an innocent girl like Daisy? She’d been through so much and no one believed her. You don’t understand, Duggan, I saved her.”
    “How? By introducing her to a life of crime? You should have placed her with the Holy House.”
    “The fucking Holy House,” spat Munton, jabbing the shotgun. “I’m going to even the score and slaughter your men.”
    “That’s not the answer, Sal.”
    “Shut up,” roared Munton, scuffed boots angrily stamping across the dewy grass. “Just shut up.” Tears spilled from his eyes, mingling with the lightly falling rain. “My poor kids. I take care of them, you know that. I never hurt them. Why did you do it? Why, you bastard?”
    “You know why, Sal. You started robbing again, sending them here to take from folk who don’t have much.”
    There were heckles from the villagers.
    “Kill them all! They make our life a misery! Thieving scum! Little bastards! What are you waiting for?”
    The children seemed unfazed by the cries. Duggan held up his hand, took a step forward.
    “You hold it right there.” Munton cocked the shotgun, finger curled around the trigger.
    The captain stared into the black muzzles. He had not faced a weapon of this type for ten years.
    “You’re the one who killed them, Sal. I warned you what would happen. I told you to stop stealing.”
    “What else can we do? You understand nothing about us.”
    There was growing dissent amongst the onlookers, noisily suggesting that the Churchmen should fire their bows at Munton and his grimy faced looters. Duggan could sense this was going to turn very ugly unless he found a solution. He could not bargain with a man like Sal Munton. There was no reasoning about rights and wrongs with a man who had lived an untamed existence for nearly forty years, ploughing that doctrine of chaos through generations of his extended family. Duggan knew Munton would happily murder the Churchmen he’d captured - even if that meant sacrificing his brood or himself. But he’d fought in the war to stop faithless men like Munton. He knew there was only one answer.
    He opened his mouth to give the order for his men to fire, knowing he was risking the hostages, but it was Father Devon’s voice that was heard.
    “Mr Munton, I understand your pain.”
    Duggan glared but remained silent. The priest was one of the most senior men in the village. Only the retired Father William was older. Father Devon glided through the wet grass, tall and spindly, clad in black. His darkened skin was testament of his passion for gardening. Watery blue eyes angled toward a curved nose and his lips were tight and bloodless, hardly moving as he spoke. His sedative voice was nothing like the fiery rage often brought to Reverence Mornings.
    “Our Lord has taken your two innocent children from the very soil on which we now stand. But there is always a