The Devil's Regiment

by Ben Myatt

  “Imposing.” Callum said.

  “That's one word for it.” Elizabeth agreed.

  They marched steadily towards the stronghold, their weapons slung over their shoulders, trying to keep their appearance as non-threatening as possible.

  “Halt, Who goes there?”

  The cry came from the fortress's battlements, but no face presented itself. It was as if the featureless stones had asked the question.

  “Lieutenant Carlisle, twenty-fifth cavalry!”

  The fort was silent for a moment, and then the gates began to open. Carlisle held up a hand, and gestured his troops forwards. They marched onwards, their tired horses walking forward into the dusty square of the fortress. Carlisle dismounted and glanced around. A lone soldier was leaning against the door of the main building, his eyes glaring at them from under the rim of his helmet.

  “You there.” he snapped. “Have you forgotten how to salute?”

  “That's a bit abrasive.” Callum murmured to Ward.

  “I rather like it. Good to see the lad show a bit of backbone.”

  The soldier by the door straightened a bit sheepishly, and saluted smartly.

  “Sorry sir. Things have been a bit relaxed around here lately.” He said.

  “Your name, private?”

  “Perkins sir.”

  “Alright Perkins, where's your commanding officer?”

  “Sergeant Mortimer is in the mess hall, sir.”

  Carlisle paused.

  “You've got a sergeant in command? What happened to Lieutenant Coldfield?”

  Perkins looked edgy for a moment, Then frowned.

  “It's... hard to explain sir. You'd better speak to the sarge first.” He shot a curious glance at Callum, who was walking towards them at Ward's side. Carlisle tried to hide the irritation on his face.

  “Perkins, are you being deliberately obscure?”

  “No sir.”

  “Ah, it's natural talent then. Alright, I concede defeat, lets go find your sergeant.” He glanced at Callum. “You coming, Mr Drake?”

  Callum paused momentarily, and glared at Nathaniel.

  “Was that your idea?”

  “Of course. Off you go and speak with the sergeant, Mr Drake.”

  Callum fixed him with a foul look and followed after the soldiers, grumbling to himself. Nathaniel turned and glanced at Elizabeth.

  “Let’s go take a look at the battlements. It should be a bit quieter up there.”

  They headed towards the stairs that led to the battlements, and walked up to look out over the plain.

  “What do you think? You're more sensitive about this than I am.”

  “And Callum's more sensitive than me.”

  “Callum also has a knack of intimidation. He knows how to fight – and knows how soldiers think.”

  “Yes. Strange that. He spent all that time in the cult's pocket dimension, yet he can use a sabre like he was born to it.”

  “Well, it's not like he's human Elizabeth.”

  She glanced at him, then returned to staring over the battlements.

  “He's human enough to bleed.”

  ***

  Sergeant Mortimer was slumped over a bowl of watery porridge when Perkins ushered the three newcomers into the room. He glanced up at Carlisle, and stood hastily to attention. The lieutenant took one look at him, and saw the tiredness in his eyes.

  “At ease, sergeant.”

  Mortimer gave him a grateful look, and sank back into his seat. Callum sat opposite the man, and squinted at him.

  “What's going on here, sergeant?”

  “Mr Drake...” Carlisle began. Callum shot him a look and the officer subsided. Mortimer looked between them, then shrugged.

  “Well, nothing much, sir. Just that we've been getting attacked every other day, and we're down from a complement of two-thousand to less than five hundred”, he said mildly.

  “Attacked by who? Rebels?” Ward asked?

  “No, mate. Near as I can tell, we're being attacked by the devil's own troops.” He leaned back in his chair. “It started a couple of months ago. Up until then, this had been a pretty quiet post – no bugger was stupid enough to try and attack this place. You've seen it from the outside – you'd have to be mad.”

  “Then, one night the bell started going like bloody hell – begging yer pardon sir. We all ran up to the walls. The lieutenant, he was the first up there. He was one of the first to die as well.” He shook his head. “They were bloody redcoats, sir. Like in the old paintings they have up in headquarters. They even had bloody muskets – bayonets and all.”

  Carlisle raised an eyebrow and glanced at Callum. The dragon-blood leaned forward, his eyes boring into Mortimer's.

  “Where's the Lieutenant now, sergeant?”

  Mortimer's haunted eyes rose to his.

  “Where do you think? He's out there with them.”

  Out in the courtyard, the bell began to ring.

  ***

  Elizabeth and Nathaniel stared at the scrubland, as the heat washing off it began to form into two ranks of men. Their red coats shone brightly in the afternoon sun, brass buttons gleaming. They spread out across the dusty ground, their muskets held upright, bayonets catching the light. Silently, they began to march towards the fortress.

  “Go get our weapons, now. I'm going to try and get a ward spell in place.” Elizabeth paused. He glared at her.

  “Go!”

  She took off at a run for the stairs, leaping down them two at a time towards the cart in the courtyard.

  Nathaniel reached out with his mind, and began to pull in the strands of magical energy that floated around the earth. He raised one hand to the sky, and pointed a finger at the ground in front of the marching phantasms.

  The sky clouded over, suddenly and without warning. Lightning flashed from overhead, a long streak of energy that blasted a scorched line across the scrubland.

  The phantom regiment halted, coming perfectly to attention. At the end of their ranks, a soldier wearing a battered shako and sergeant's stripes stepped forward, and walked towards the line in the dirt where the lightning had struck.

  On the parapets of the fortress, the soldiers of Her Majesties army watched as the sergeant reached out and pressed his hand against an invisible wall of energy. Electricity crackled from around his fingers as he pushed at the ward Nathaniel had put in place.

  The leader of the three agents began to tremble as he pushed back with his own will, energy against energy and force against force. He felt Elizabeth lay her hand on his left shoulder, and then Callum's lay on his right. He felt their wills join with his as they fought a tense, invisible battle against the being at the edge of their defenses.

  Carlisle glanced at Mortimer, and called out.

  “Stand ready men!”

  Along the wall, the sound of rifles cocking filled the air. Although they didn't understand the action the three mages were taking, they could see the result before them.

  The sergeant of the dead brought up his other hand, and pushed against the ward with all his strength. Nathaniel's vision began to fade, blackness creeping in at the edge of his sight.

  “Help me!” he called silently.

  He felt his consciousness shoved to one side as Callum took the load of the ward. The dragon-blood began focusing his own substantial magical energy into the shell Nathaniel had created. Through their shared link, Elizabeth and Nathaniel could feel the depths of power Callum could tap. There was no end to it – but it was chaotic, and unless it was tightly controlled, it could spin loose, causing untold damage to the universe.

  The two fully human mages began to move at the edges of the stream of energy flowing from Callum, funneling it, channeling it to where it needed to be.

  The sergeant of the dead stared up at the walls, hatred burning from sunken eyes. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Callum grinned back at him. He could feel the tight mesh of energy his friends had woven around his power, and he focused his mind
down that channel.

  And pushed.

  Along the line of the ward, fire sprouted from the bare ground, flashing upwards in a wall of flame. The red-coated sergeant leapt back, and dropped his hands as the flames faded away. With one final look of hatred at the walls, he turned to his troops, and gestured back the way they had come.

  The line of redcoats turned, and marched away, their forms fading into the heat haze.

  A ragged cheer went up along the wall of the fortress as the phantoms vanished.

  “Enough of that!” Ward shouted. “I want sentries posted, and changed out every hour. I want fresh eyes up here all the time, and that's a bloody order. If those buggers come back, I don't want to be caught with my arse out of my trousers, is that clear?”

  “Yes Sarge!” Perkins said, snapping to attention.

  Mortimer tiredly grinned his thanks at Ward, but his fellow sergeant was staring at the three agents of the Order of Britain.

  “Who are they, sir?” he asked Carlisle.

  “I don't know, Ward, but I intend to find out.”

  ***

  Elizabeth rubbed her hand across her tired eyes, trying to push life back into them through her palms. Beside her, slumped against the wall, Nathaniel's wan face spoke louder than words how much the magical battle had taken out of him. Callum sat heavily down next to him.

  “Well, that was fun.”

  Nathaniel offered him a wry smile.

  “Those wards won't hold off too many attacks Callum – and we can't fight that thing off forever.”

  “So why don't we just evacuate?”

  “Do you really think it'll let us?”

  Callum's silence was all the response Nathaniel needed.

  “We need to figure out why they're attacking.” Elizabeth said solemnly. “This sort of incursion doesn't just happen out of the blue – there has to have been a cause.”

  “Whatever it is, we need to find it quickly.” Callum added. “That bloody thing we fought isn't human.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Carlisle asked, storming over to them. “I demand an explanation!”

  “Well, Lieutenant, that's what we were sent here to find out.” Elizabeth said tiredly. “And until just now, we didn't have any better idea than you did.”

  “And who are you, Miss Cartwright? How did you three end up involved in this?”

  Callum got to his feet, and stared into the young officer's eyes.

  “We're the Order of Britain, Carlisle, and we're here to try and make sure good men don't die. And in case you didn't bloody notice, we were the ones just defending your troops from an enemy with god only knows what powers – and frankly, it was bloody knackering, so will you let us get some rest?”

  Carlisle glared at the young dragon-blood.

  “This isn't over, Mr Drake.”

  “I dare say you're right, lieutenant, I dare say you're right.”

  ***

  That evening, the group gathered in the mess hall in the hope of coming up with some kind of plan. With several hours to cool his heels, Carlisle had settled down into a more reticent mood – but his face still showed resentment as the three agents sat at the table. Nathaniel noticed the look, and despite himself, allowed his irritation to get the better of him.

  “Alright everyone, we need to get to work – and lets make one thing clear, we have been granted the authority to take whatever steps we need to in order to solve this problem. I'm going to do my best to make sure everything goes smoothly, but I don't have the time or energy to play nicely anymore. If we tell you to do something, we need you to do it, not stand around asking questions, is that clear?”

  Carlisle's jaw dropped, and Callum groaned under his breath. He readied himself for the table to burst into argument, when Ward and Mortimer began to laugh. The officer and the agent turned to stare at them, their mouths agape.

  “Bloody typical, isn't it Mortimer? All the bloody Ruperts think they're in charge – and they always forget that it's really the sergeants the boys listen to.”

  Callum leaned back, and put his boots up on the table, Nathaniel and Carlisle glared at him.

  “Well, sergeants, its good to know that someone around here isn't acting like children.” He looked from the agent to the officer, his eyes cool.

  “We don't have time for you two to have a pissing contest gentlemen. I don’t know about you, but I'm more concerned about the army of dead soldiers that keeps knocking on the door.”

  “He's right.” Elizabeth said. “Currently, we're holding the wards together as well as we can, but I don't think they'll be able to hold back a sustained attack. Sergeant Mortimer, how often are the redcoats attacking?”

  “Every couple of days, miss. There ain't no particular time they choose – that's why we're all so bloody ragged trying to spot them.”

  “Was there anything strange happening when this all started?” Callum asked Mortimer.

  “Well, they were starting to expand the officers quarters.” Mortimer said dubiously. “The Lieutenant and the Ensign brought in native workers on orders from headquarters to expand the fort. Seemed they wanted to beef up our complement – at least before all this started. The Indian lads all took off sharpish just before this all kicked off.”

  The three agents glanced at each other.

  “It has legs – and it seems awfully coincidental.” Elizabeth acknowledged.

  “Has anyone been back to the officers quarters since all this happened, Sergeant?”

  “No sir. We've all just been trying to survive.”

  Nathaniel and Carlisle gave each other a hard look.

  “I think this is something we should look into Lieutenant.”

  “I think you're right Mr Wittington-smythe. And I'll be coming with you.” He grinned wryly at Ward. “I'm rather surplus to requirements here; the sergeant has made that abundantly clear.”

  “Sorry sir.” Ward grinned at his commander. Carlisle shot him a smile, then turned back to Nathaniel.

  “Besides, this is British army property. You should be escorted.”

  Nathaniel looked like he was about to argue, then caught the looks his fellow agents were giving him. He shrugged.

  “You're more than welcome, Lieutenant.”

  “Alright then.” Callum said. “We'll go investigate the officers quarters, while the two sergeants hold down the fort – as it were. Should someone stay with them to maintain the wards?”

  “I will.” Elizabeth said. “I'm already holding them, so it makes more sense for you two to go ahead. Besides...” She grinned. “If they do come back, I'm a better shot than you two.”

  Callum shot Nathaniel a sour look.

  “Was she always like this?”

  “No. she used to be worse. Let's go get some work done.”

  ***

  The officers quarters reeked of mildew and dust, a stale miasma that hung in the air as the three men picked their way through the abandoned building supplies. The dark corridor stretched out ahead of them like a throat, inviting them into some dark hell.

  “Callum, would you...?” Nathaniel asked nervously.

  Callum nodded, and raised his hand. A ball of fire formed above his palm, illuminating the empty rooms.

  “I will never get used to that.” Carlisle complained.

  “It comes in useful from time to time.” Callum grinned, and set off in the lead. As he wandered down the corridor, the flame hovering above his hand flickered.

  “There's a breeze coming in here.”

  “That shouldn't be possible. The back wall of the fort is built flush against the mountainside.” Carlisle said.

  Nathaniel frowned, glowering into the darkness.

  “Alright, let me try something.”

  He knelt, and lifted his hand, palm up. Three glowing orbs appeared above his palm. He smiled, and blew on them. They flew down the hallway, each turning off in a different direction as they investigated the empty rooms.

  “What on earth was that
?” Carlisle asked.

  “A seeker spell. It'll find any source of a breeze, and then come back to lead us to it.”

  Carlisle shook his head in confusion.

  “This is utter madness. I've got dead men attacking the fort and three magicians within it”.”

  Callum shot him a smile.

  “You're better off just accepting we're on the same side Carlisle. It'll be easier all around.”

  “That might be a bit difficult Mr Drake, since I'm not sure that we are.”

  With a sound like chimes, the seeker spells came back down the corridor towards them. The three orbs hung in the air for a moment, then coalesced into one solid form, suspended like a diamond in the darkness.

  “There we go. Let's get moving.” Nathaniel said with a hint of satisfaction.

  They headed down the corridor, the glowing orb leading the way.

  ***

  Ward and Mortimer paced along the battlements at a steady measure, stopping now and then to speak to the soldiers. Elizabeth watched, fascinated, as the two men neatly encouraged their men, readying them for action if need be. Corporal Dunwit, standing by the alarm bell, grinned at her.

  “Clever, ain't it miss?”

  “I'm sorry?”

  “The way they get everyone going. I've watched sarge do this for years, and no-one ever cottons on. The lieutenants alright and all, but it's the sarge we fight for.”

  “He said something like that himself. I'm not sure I understand why though.”

  “Because they don't think they're better than us. They didn't get their rank through being rich or having posh mates, they got it through fighting. We trust them because they used to be just like us. Officers come and go, but a good sergeant sticks by his lads.”

  “Stop talking bollocks Dunwit.” Ward said cheerfully as he approached. “If I had half the chance I'd leave you buggers behind, and you know it. Any sign of trouble over here?”

  “Nothing to report, sarge. Miss Elizabeth's magic spell seems to be holding.”

  “I reckon so, boyo. What exactly is it you're doing, Miss?”