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

arrived. Who is he?”
    Quinn knew who it was but she pushed past him anyway. She cupped a hand over her eyes to block out the bright rays of afternoon sunlight.
    “That’s Jeremy. He’s a friend.” She walked back into the workshop. “He can get a bit protective. He’s just looking out for me. He was a friend of my niece.”
    “Was?” said Nuria.
    Quinn chewed her lip. “Take the crossbows and work for Benny. At least this once. I can pay you extra if that’s what you want.”
    “Do you think we’re stupid?” said Stone. His voice was a deep growl. “We’re not taking on the work unless you tell us why you’re quitting. We’re not going to walk into any mess you’ve left behind.”
    He glanced at Nuria.
    “No more Tamnica.”
    It was the same words he’d said at the riverbank, the moment they’d arrived in Ennpithia, but it was much more than simply words; it was a promise.
    Quinn blinked. “What did you say? You know of Tamnica? Benny once told me about that place. He said it was a death camp. They torture people and make black energy for the metal machines. Were you prisoners there?”
    Nuria folded her arms.
    “Look, I’m not trying to trap you. You can trust me. There’s no mess and I can give you with something better than crossbows. Maybe then you’ll realise you can trust me.” She took a deep breath. “I have outlawed weapons. You have to keep them hidden in the villages. All it takes is for one loose tongue and you’ll be marched off to Touron for a hanging.”
    “Why do they fear guns so much?” asked Nuria.
    “It’s not only guns.” She sighed. “To be Ennpithian is to worship at the Holy House and build for the future. One way of building for the future is to damn the weapons and tech of the past.”
    The words were flat. Nuria guessed it was a rehearsed speech, a mantra that had been passed down through generations.
    “It’s how we differ from the Kiven. That’s why Duggan thought you might be them. He hates them. The Holy House teaches forgiveness; not Duggan. I mean, he really hates them. They live in an old city, trying to kick start it back into life; metal machines, lights in the sky, that kind of thing.”
    She picked up a canteen of water, drank. “They live in the past. We live in the future. The words of the Holy House. Sometimes I think it’s the other way round.”
    “We don’t give a fuck about the laws of the Holy House,” said Stone. “What do you have?”
    For the first time, a smile broke across Quinn’s stocky face. She eased shut the workshop doors. In the near gloom, she shifted barrels and rolled back a frayed rug revealing a square of metal embedded in the dirt. She lifted it and Stone widened his eyes at a metal crate brimming with pistols and revolvers. He crouched and picked out a few handguns, feeling grips, peering along barrels, testing firing mechanisms.
    “Some of them are pieces of shit and I can only spare you a few bullets. I need some for myself.”
    She was right. Some of the guns were even constructed from crude plastic or wood and not metal.
    “Remember to keep them concealed. And if you get caught with them forget where they came from.”
    Stone offered Nuria a pistol. It was a similar model to the one she had trained with in Chett. He picked out a revolver with a good barrel and clean chamber. Quinn fished out a box and tipped out a dozen bullets. Stone studied them. They were not conventional bullets, like ones he had used in the past. They appeared to be no more than melted steel projectiles. He wondered how they would fire and how accurate they would be. Quinn saw his expression as he dropped them into the chamber.
    “They pack a punch. I just wouldn’t use them from any great distance.”
    Nuria’s pistol magazine would hold more than six but six was all she was given. She tucked the handgun into her pocket.
    “Keep the crossbows with you at all times,” said Quinn, pushing open the workshop doors. “Use the firearms