“You’re perfectly safe here, Mr Stone. You can take your hand off your firearm. And, Benny, please take your hand away from your pistols.”
“So you don’t object to these forbidden weapons?” said Nuria, arching one eyebrow. “These weapons of sin?”
“Sin is determined by a man’s actions,” said Albury. “The tools he carries is irrelevant. In my view.”
Stone smiled thinly. “The courtyard was too quiet. You should have left a few men on the walls.”
The fire crackled, torches flickered.
“A good soldier will always spot a trap,” said Albury. He appeared sincere. His voice was still bright and energetic. “But this is not one. Not unless you want it to be. If you tell me the truth then you will walk away from my chamber the heroes you were before you entered. But if not, then the twenty soldiers outside in the courtyard will subdue.”
Nuria rose slowly to her feet. “Why are you people this way? You’re no different to Captain Duggan.”
“That’s Ennpithians,” said Quinn, speaking for the first time. “Saving all their gratitude for the Lord.”
“Calm down,” said Albury. “My soldiers are a precaution.”
“But not a very good one,” said Stone. “Because they’re out there and we’re in here, with you.”
He whipped out his revolver and pointed it at a frustrated Boyd. Nuria hurriedly disarmed him and pocketed his pistols. Boyd fumed at them. Stone checked the door; silence outside and no one trying to force their way in.
He eased the chamber door shut.
“Am I now a hostage?” asked Albury.
He seemed unperturbed. He placed his hands on his hips, calmly drumming his fingers.
“What truth do you want from us?” asked Nuria.
Albury glanced at Stone’s revolver. Stone nodded, lowered it but kept his finger against the trigger.
“Thank you, Mr Stone.” He moved to the fire and folded his arms. “Since the winter we have received an emissary from Kiven. His name is Rondo and he is a member of the League of Restoration. He was dispatched by the Alliance to seek a trade treaty with us. Naturally, I was suspicious of this man, he was Kiven, after all, but the war was a decade ago and time does march onward. Rondo spoke of the changes in Kiven, the supply of energy into homes, the rebuilding of schools and libraries and the development of black energy to power motorised vehicles. He even spoke of a burgeoning religion. It’s a city that fascinates me.” He touched the cross around his neck. “Understand that I’m a man of the Holy House, a man of faith with devotion to the cross. But I’m not in agreement with every aspect of our religion and I have a mind and I have thoughts and I have opinions.” Boyd grumbled. “Benny, we both take liberties with Holy law.” Albury turned his attention back to his guests. “Life is too short. The Lord urges us to be fearful of the past and the period of history known as the Before because of the destruction that was caused. But I would prefer to be wary of it, rather than frightened. We want the Kiven to learn from us and allow the Lord into their hearts, yet it seems we do not want to learn anything from them. That’s ignorance, in my view.”
Stone kept thinking of the soldiers in the courtyard. “I knew a man once called the Thinker. He liked to talk, a bit like you. And when he finished talking he used the men around him to inflict horrific pain.”
Stone nodded at Nuria.
“We tore his world apart.”
Albury looked at them evenly. “I’m not planning on hurting anyone. But you need to understand why those soldiers are outside and that we are prepared to defend ourselves against you, Mr Stone. Or do I call you the Tongueless Man? Or is it the Wasteland Soldier? Well?”
Both Stone and Nuria stared at him.
“How do you know those names?” whispered Stone.
“Let him talk,” said Boyd. “Time is running out and you have to understand what’s going on here.”
“Thank you,” said Albury. “As you are now aware, Benny is one of our most important spies. The first thing he discovered about Rondo is that he is not a man suited to negotiation.”
“I have sources inside Kiven,” said Boyd. “Information can be smuggled out. He identified Rondo as the League of Restoration’s enforcer. The man is a killer. Not a statesman. He served under the previous governor, Traore, and now serves the new one, Omar. The man we now know to be the Engineer.”
“Benny showed me the slingshot carbine,” said Albury. “It’s a weapon the Kiven used in their war against us although I believe they have more advanced weaponry now. I also believe they intend to use it against us. The trade agreement is a ploy, a distraction, whilst they arm the Shaylighters to stoke up trouble in the west. We are on the verge of a two front war. And we do not have enough men to fight both enemies.”
He paused.
“When Benny’s messengers arrived I made the decision to recall four hundred Marshals from the Place of Bridges. The regiments will arrive at dawn.”
“Then you’ve made a terrible mistake,” said Stone.
“Benny told me your thoughts on the matter and I agree with you. That was an interesting analogy. Untying one hand only to tie the other.” He nodded. “But the Marshals will not be deployed against the Shaylighters. They will remain here. Concealed. If this man, Omar the Engineer, has constructed an elaborate plan to weaken our border then, in his eyes, it will have worked. Now his hand will be forced. He will have to make his move. Let’s see if he truly wants peace and trade or all out war. The Marshals can be sent back to the Place of Bridges if the Kiven invade and we will crush them.”
Nuria frowned. “What about the Shaylighters?”
“I believe Captain Duggan is resourceful enough to counter them. He is forewarned of their intentions, unlike at Great Onglee. He has good men and a village prepared to fight. A messenger has already been sent to Brix to destroy the beacon. That will give them some time. The Shaylighters will wait and when they realise it’s never going to be lit they will turn back to Mosscar.”
“That’s a gamble,” said Quinn. “It sounds as if you’re prepared to sacrifice Brix. That village is my home.”
“Not anymore, I understand, isn’t there a banishment order on you? In fact, on all of you?”
Stone shrugged. “We’re going to ignore that.”
Albury smiled. “I do like you, Mr Stone. You would make a fine Captain in the Marshal Regiment. I will write to Captain Duggan and have those orders scrapped. You will be free to travel back there. Now, to this other business with Rondo. A few days ago we finally signed the agreement with the Kiven to establish a trade route; food for iron. But a few hours ago Rondo drove back here with a wild story to tell.”
“Is that his buggy in the stable?”
Albury nodded. “You have very keen eyes. Yes, the vehicle belongs to him. He’s waiting for you to be arrested. He claims a man named Stone is an assassin, wanted in Kiven for the attempted murder of Omar.”
“We’ve never been to Kiven,” said Nuria.
“You can’t trust them,” said Quinn.
“I tend to agree with them, sir,” said Boyd.
“I allowed you in here with your weapons,” said Albury, smiling. “I would’ve hardly done that if I feared for my life. You shed blood fighting for our people. My heart tells me you’re an honest man and my eyes confirm it, despite your surly nature and readiness to draw that weapon. However, my head wants to know more. Did you attempt to kill this man Omar in Kiven?”
“I don’t know who he is.”
“Do you know Rondo or anyone else in Kiven?”
“No.”
Nuria said, “Did Rondo give you those names?”
“Yes, he did. But this is confusing. In the midst of such a dangerous plan why would the Kiven be so concerned about one individual?”
Stone’s mouth curved into a grim smile.
“I think we should find out.”
Rondo heard the voice and sat up sharply; he must have dozed. He grabbed his rifle, rolled in his
seat. The young messenger ducked down, covering his head with his hands.
“Please, don’t shoot me.”
Rondo looked around the barn and saw no one else. He eased his finger off the trigger and jumped down from the buggy. The messenger was little more than a child. He lowered the rifle and demanded to know what he was doing here.
The boy slowly uncovered his face. “Governor Albury needs to see you urgently. He says the man is here and they have arrested hum.”
Smiling, Rondo put the rifle back into his vehicle. He had only expected to deliver the message; he had never anticipated Stone actually being here in Touron. Omar would be elated.
“Lead the way,” he said.
The messenger pulled open the barn door. Rondo stopped in his tracks. A dozen arrows were pointing at him.
Omar was in the underground car park, standing with a mechanic beside a large armoured vehicle, when a car sped down the ramp and skidded to a halt. The driver scrambled out, leaving the engine idling, the door hanging wide open. His leather clothing was dusty. He tugged down the scarf covering his mouth.
“The Marshals have left the Place of Bridges, Omar. Long lines of them are marching west.”
Omar hesitated. He saw the excitement in his scout.
“How many?”
“We counted four regiments.”
He nodded, dismissed the scout and walked slowly away, leaving the mechanic staring after him. He unclipped the oblong shaped black box hanging his belt and pressed a button.
“Hello?” said a voice, hissing with static.
“This is Omar,” he said. “Prepare the missiles.”
TWENTY EIGHT
The Map Maker watched from the cottage. He knew it was the one place he would be safe.
No one would think to search for him here. Not that anyone would search for him anyway. He was no one worth searching for. Pathetic and useless, even his blood had abandoned him. Stone and Nuria, his only friends, had left him behind. He had brought them into the promised land but they had fled. Sadie had loved him. She probably still did. He wondered what she would make of the name Harron. She had called him Doug, an invented alternative to the Map Maker. His child would soon emerge from her belly. Maybe it already had. But he could not go back. There was no way back. There was no way forward. He was beginning to understand the only answer that remained.
What had he done? How had he arrived here?
It was musty and cluttered inside the cottage and he saw dark patches of dried blood on the floor.
Death and more death. No!
A pain gripped his chest and his brow dripped with sweat. He could feel the flare of stomach cramps. He had not experienced them in a considerable time; not since the city of Maizan, where he had been captured and brutalised. He knew fear sparked them. And he was afraid, miserable, alone and horribly afraid.
He shrunk from the window and retreated into a chair that creaked beneath his weight. He swallowed hard, an uncomfortable feeling in his throat. For a moment, he thought he was going to be sick. He doubled over and dry retched. He looked at his stumps and began to cry thick tears.
Duggan claimed that only thieves had their hands chopped off. Not prophets. He was no thief. But he was no prophet, either. He was a fool, a stupid fool. After all these years he had allowed himself to be tricked.
The Messiah, the Second Coming, the Bringer of Light …
No.
The overweight, bald, aging, handless fool …
He could hear singing from the Holy House. He listened with salty tears and remained in the darkness where he belonged.
Lannast.
She could not be his mother, it was impossible, he would not accept it; she was half his age. Yet she had steered him here, his inner voice, calling to him for a lifetime, across thousands of miles. He wasn’t from Chett. He wasn’t even from Gallen. He was a man of deception. Mosscar was his home; his bloodline was wreathed amongst its ruins. But Lannast wanted him for a singular purpose. To use him as a tool. Like the men in Chett had used him. He had mapped their desert city, street by street, building by building, even discovering the underground streets with the metal lines. He had spent his entire youth mapping the city, committing every aspect of it to paper and memory, only for them to steal it from him and toss him out into the wasteland to suffer at the hands of marauders and thieves and men like Stone; the drifter, the warrior, the wasteland soldier; a man who could steal his maps in one breath and behead the man who had brutalised him in the other.
Where was he? He needed Stone. Stone needed Nuria. The three of them should have remained together.
What would happen once the beacon was lit?
He already knew the answer.
Harron.
His people would come.
And hundreds would die.
He did not want Shauna to die.
Harron.
“It’s a stupid name, stupid, I hate it and I hate you. Get out of my head. Go away, go away.”
He was panting. He stumbled onto his feet.
Light the beacon, Harron.
“No.”
Callart awaits your signal. Our warriors grow restless. We must strike. We must taste their blood once more.
“I won’t do it and I can’t do it. I have no hands.”
You will do it, my son. Tonight. Now. Light it. Light it. Light it. Return to our warriors and lead them.
“You light it.”
Silence.
“Well? Why don’t you do it? Show yourself, Lannast. I’m not scared anymore. Not of you.”
He vaulted from the chair. Shook his head. Rubbed at his temples with his stumps.
“Get out. Get out. GET OUT!”
He dropped to his knees.
“You’re not my mother. You’re not my mother. You’re not my mother.”
The cottage door creaked. He tasted bile in his mouth. He spat. His stomach churned over. Dripping with sweat, he mustered the effort to push himself onto his feet.
The beacon will burn, my son.
Rondo was silent.
Albury had reasoned with the man, drawing upon the friendship they’d awkwardly shared since that first meeting, but a mask had come down upon the face of the Kiven emissary. He was now a captured soldier behind enemy lines; expressionless, eyes betraying nothing, and whatever had gone before was forgotten in an instant. Albury, visibly disappointed, instructed Boyd to question him, in a more vigorous manner, but the beating did nothing to break the man’s resolve. Boyd rubbed his bruised knuckles. Time was being wasted. Stone demanded to be allowed at him but Albury refused. He wanted his own people to handle this. Reluctantly, he ordered the man to be taken below for torture.
“Where’s he going?” asked Nuria, as they were escorted back into the hall.
“To pray,” said Boyd. “Governor Albury presides over a society where a man stands trial for the crimes he has committed and is found innocent or guilty by Holy men. He does not advocate torturing prisoners, the way his father had in the past, but he knows time is running out.”
Dangling from the ceiling of a basement cell, chains cutting into his wrists, Rondo said nothing as two men stripped off his shirt. Even if he confessed, he would be put to death, immediately or at trial. He gritted his teeth and grimaced as they sliced his flesh. He cried out as they pulverised his groin with clubs. He screamed as they burned his feet. He choked and sobbed as they took him down and plunged his head into a bucket of water. But he never spoke. He never said a word. Not one.
Upstairs, in the hall, Boyd was deep in conversation with Quinn.
“What do you think that’s all about?” said Nuria. “Do you think she’s telling him about Omar and the sickness weapon?”
Stone shrugged. “Do you think we should?”
“I don’t know. I want to help her,” said Nuria. “And I know you do. But what are we going to do about this weapon?”
“I was thinking about that.”
He motioned with his head. She fol
lowed him outside into the courtyard. It was night. The sky was filled with stars. Soldiers manned the walls of the compound. The town was lit by hundreds of fires.
Nuria folded her arms. “Well?”
“Let’s say this Omar is going to attack and use this … this sickness weapon … how will he do it?”
She thought for a moment. “You’re not going to get close enough to inject a soldier with it.”
“No, that’s what I thought, which means he has another method of deploying it.”
“A cannon?”
Stone nodded. “That’s what I was thinking. He places all this … sickness weapon … inside a container that will open on impact. Then fires it against the Marshals.”
“A cannon isn’t very mobile.”
“No, but they have vehicles in Kiven. Assembled on a flatbed, constantly moving and firing, it could be devastating.”
“He’s devious, this Omar.”
“He is.”
“And he claims you tried to kill him.”
“I don’t know anyone named Omar.”
He walked away, into the shadows, leaned against the wall of the compound. Nuria followed him.
“I’ve killed a lot of men, Nuria. But I don’t remember the name Omar.”
“Well, this is one you tried to kill.”
“I don’t leave them alive.”
They were both silent for a moment.
Nuria shivered. “You left one alive.”
Stone brooded. His brow clenched.
“It can’t be.”
“We were in Tamnica prison for a long time. Long enough for him to have made it across the sea and carved out a new life.”
“No.”
“Perhaps Omar is his real name. You never knew it, did you?”
“No.”
Foulness rippled through his stomach; his skin prickled.
“Think about how elaborate this plan is. You told me how he held the children hostage in Ford, using their own explosives against them. Albury said Omar is not Kiven blood. Where else could be from?”
He stood over the Cleric, on the harsh sands of Gallen’s Southern Desert, darkness all around them. The warlord of the Blood Sun tribe was alone, his vehicles destroyed, his men dead. The blood on his clothes belonged to Tomas, his corpse miles away, stabbed to death whilst Stone was held captive in a truck, helplessly listening to his only companion die.
The Wasteland Soldier, Book 3, Drums Of War (TWS) Page 35
