Read Online The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) by Laurence Moore - Free Book Online
Authors: Laurence Moore
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alone in this world anymore.
Her family had passed when she was an infant. The early aspects of her life had been shaped by the discipline and routine of military school - but in the years that followed there had been only deception; her position in the military allowed her to witness the sour veins that ran through her home city. She had committed terrible crimes to maintain her identity within the hierarchy of Chett. But with a renegade group of soldiers and sympathisers, she had plotted to bring it tumbling down, slowly pushing out one brick at a time. Stone had stormed into her city and into her life and demolished the entire wall with one hefty boot. They had fled into the wastelands and she had been with him ever since. Mistrust had become acceptance. Acceptance had grown into friendship.
She eased her palms against the table, closed her eyes. Her skin tingled from the fire.
She wanted to be reborn in Ennpithia.
“Nuria?”
She opened her eyes.
He was looking directly at her. He seemed calmer. He wanted to say something but he didn’t have the words.
She nodded, smiled at him.
Stools scraped as the two men finished at the bar. The older man reached for the door. The younger one hesitated, angry eyes glaring at Stone and Nuria. His companion leaned toward him and tried to pull him outside but the younger man refused to budge. His dark eyes bored into Nuria. She stared back at him, unblinking. Stone eased back in his seat, watching.
Boyd, standing at the bar, looked on.
The young man’s spirit faltered. He stamped from the inn, slamming the door hard behind him.
The portly merchant wandered back to the table.
“Who are they?” asked Nuria.
“The older one is called Dobbs. The younger one is Farrell. Swordsmen for hire. No one you need to concern yourself with.”
Boyd settled at the table, unflustered, as Bertram carried over bowls of mutton soup, bread, hard cheese and mugs of beer.
“I’m Benny Boyd,” he said. “And you’re most welcome.”
“I’m Nuria. This is Stone. Why did you claim to know us?”
“I do. Sort of.” He grinned, tossed a piece of cheese into his mouth. “You’re both Gallenese.”
“First we’re Kiven. Now we’re Gallenese.”
“Oh, you’re not Kiven. I know that much about you already.”
“Does Kiven mean outsider?”
Boyd thought for a moment. “I suppose it does. In a way. Kiven are the people from the Black Region. Across the Place of Bridges. They live in the old city and the shanty towns. But you’re not from there. You’re from Gallen. Gallenese people are from Gallen. I was born in north Gallen. In Belsont. I recognise the look in the three of you.” He paused for a moment. “Where is your companion?”
“He was curious about the Holy House.”
Boyd reached to his chest where the wooden sign hung around his neck.
“What is that sign?”
“Sign? It’s a cross,” he said. “It’s a symbol of our faith and our love for the Lord in the Above. He even watches over Gallen, despite the brutality of that land. One day His Light will shine there.”
The two of them looked at him blankly. He drank, partly amused at their ignorance.
“Please, tuck in. You both look hungry. I know Gallen has no faith and I shouldn’t mock your lack of knowledge.” He fell silent for a moment. “My family were traders and had a shop in Belsont but my father sent us away when we were young. I had two brothers and young men were going missing in the area.” He patted his round stomach. “I haven’t carried this around all my life. I was fit and strong once.” He smiled, somewhat fondly. “We salvaged a boat and sailed here. Ennpithia. The promised land. The land of green fields. That was a long time ago now. We built a business and we thrived. I learned, years later, that the disappearances our father had saved us from were connected to a place called Tamnica. It was some kind of slave camp.”
Stone leaned across the table, eyes narrowed, lip
Her family had passed when she was an infant. The early aspects of her life had been shaped by the discipline and routine of military school - but in the years that followed there had been only deception; her position in the military allowed her to witness the sour veins that ran through her home city. She had committed terrible crimes to maintain her identity within the hierarchy of Chett. But with a renegade group of soldiers and sympathisers, she had plotted to bring it tumbling down, slowly pushing out one brick at a time. Stone had stormed into her city and into her life and demolished the entire wall with one hefty boot. They had fled into the wastelands and she had been with him ever since. Mistrust had become acceptance. Acceptance had grown into friendship.
She eased her palms against the table, closed her eyes. Her skin tingled from the fire.
She wanted to be reborn in Ennpithia.
“Nuria?”
She opened her eyes.
He was looking directly at her. He seemed calmer. He wanted to say something but he didn’t have the words.
She nodded, smiled at him.
Stools scraped as the two men finished at the bar. The older man reached for the door. The younger one hesitated, angry eyes glaring at Stone and Nuria. His companion leaned toward him and tried to pull him outside but the younger man refused to budge. His dark eyes bored into Nuria. She stared back at him, unblinking. Stone eased back in his seat, watching.
Boyd, standing at the bar, looked on.
The young man’s spirit faltered. He stamped from the inn, slamming the door hard behind him.
The portly merchant wandered back to the table.
“Who are they?” asked Nuria.
“The older one is called Dobbs. The younger one is Farrell. Swordsmen for hire. No one you need to concern yourself with.”
Boyd settled at the table, unflustered, as Bertram carried over bowls of mutton soup, bread, hard cheese and mugs of beer.
“I’m Benny Boyd,” he said. “And you’re most welcome.”
“I’m Nuria. This is Stone. Why did you claim to know us?”
“I do. Sort of.” He grinned, tossed a piece of cheese into his mouth. “You’re both Gallenese.”
“First we’re Kiven. Now we’re Gallenese.”
“Oh, you’re not Kiven. I know that much about you already.”
“Does Kiven mean outsider?”
Boyd thought for a moment. “I suppose it does. In a way. Kiven are the people from the Black Region. Across the Place of Bridges. They live in the old city and the shanty towns. But you’re not from there. You’re from Gallen. Gallenese people are from Gallen. I was born in north Gallen. In Belsont. I recognise the look in the three of you.” He paused for a moment. “Where is your companion?”
“He was curious about the Holy House.”
Boyd reached to his chest where the wooden sign hung around his neck.
“What is that sign?”
“Sign? It’s a cross,” he said. “It’s a symbol of our faith and our love for the Lord in the Above. He even watches over Gallen, despite the brutality of that land. One day His Light will shine there.”
The two of them looked at him blankly. He drank, partly amused at their ignorance.
“Please, tuck in. You both look hungry. I know Gallen has no faith and I shouldn’t mock your lack of knowledge.” He fell silent for a moment. “My family were traders and had a shop in Belsont but my father sent us away when we were young. I had two brothers and young men were going missing in the area.” He patted his round stomach. “I haven’t carried this around all my life. I was fit and strong once.” He smiled, somewhat fondly. “We salvaged a boat and sailed here. Ennpithia. The promised land. The land of green fields. That was a long time ago now. We built a business and we thrived. I learned, years later, that the disappearances our father had saved us from were connected to a place called Tamnica. It was some kind of slave camp.”
Stone leaned across the table, eyes narrowed, lip
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