The Devil's Regiment

by Ben Myatt

  He slumped back into the seat, and his eyes closed. A low, rumbling snore escaped from his mouth.

  Elizabeth looked at Nathaniel. The pair had worked together for years, first as master and apprentice, and now as fellow agents. He knew what she was going to say almost before her mouth opened.

  “We can't let him keep channelling that much force Nathaniel. It's liable to kill him.”

  “I know – but do you want to be the one to tell him that?”

  She stared moodily at the sleeping dragon-blood.

  “He's the only one here who can use the void stone. We need to protect him Nathaniel. And if he won't accept that protection...”

  Nathaniel nodded, and grinned.

  “Then he doesn't have to know about it. I like it.”

  “Of course you do. It's underhanded.”

  ***

  Roger Carlisle felt exhausted. His eyes felt like sand had been rubbed in them, and his head pounded like a kettle drum.

  Despite that, he also felt strangely exultant. He had fought, he had killed, but most importantly, he had survived. He pulled one of his cigarettes from the pack at his side and lit a match, taking a deep draw.

  He leaned on the wall, and stared out into the scrubland, his eyes alert for any threat. The few hours sleep he'd got before had done him the world of good. He felt refreshed, almost reborn.

  Ward was watching him carefully, for any sign that the lieutenant was starting to get a bit too overzealous. He'd seen this too many times, officers that had their first taste of combat got cocky, and got themselves and others killed.

  He sat at the edge of the courtyard, and drew his sabre. Taking a whetstone from his pouch, he began to sharpen the blade in long, smooth strokes.

  The rasping sound of the stone on steel drew Carlisle out of his reverie. Smiling slightly, he drew his own sword and inspected the blade. The sabre had been a gift from his father on his commission, one of the finest that could be bought from the Wilkinson company in London. The blade had worked hard over the last few days, and in the last fight had taken a deep nick. He frowned, and began to dig in his own pocket for a stone to polish it to razor sharpness.

  “How you managing, sir?” the sergeant asked.

  “Tolerable, Ward. I'm starting to think we've got the measure of them – if we can hold for two more days...”

  “Easy enough to say, sir.”

  Carlisle smiled bashfully.

  “I suppose your right. It all depends on our three magicians, doesn't it?”

  “Well, they seem to know what they're doing – at least I think they do. Half the time I have no bloody idea what they're talking about.”

  Carlisle laughed.

  “You're not alone in that, Sergeant.”

  Around their leaders, the forty-eight remaining defenders of Kasharim did their best to relax, as they waited for the next attack.

  Chapter Seven

  They were waiting until the next afternoon for the bloody work to resume. Once again, the heat washing off the scrubland solidified into ranks of men, who swiftly began to march towards the fortress, their weapons lowered. This time, the Sergeant stood back, out of range of the British Rifles. Volley after volley clattered like hail against the walls, forcing the defenders to cower behind the battlements from the constant stream of fire.

  There were more of the phantom soldiers than ever before. Rank upon rank firing their muskets at the handful of defenders.

  And so the soldiers cowered, and tried to filter out the sound of gunfire. Some thought of home, some of lovers. But all of them were combined in their hatred of the demonic besiegers.

  Callum walked across the courtyard towards the walls as the constant barrage continued. The force of channelling the fire spell into the siege towers had drained him, but nothing was more frustrating than being forced to wait while the enemy attacked.

  He could feel the spell they had infused into the wall building by the minute, a ticking time bomb of magical energy approaching the critical amount they needed.

  He could feel time playing with him. The seconds ticked away and every one brought them closer to victory.

  “Callum! Get your arse up here!” Ward yelled from the wall.

  The dragon-blood sprinted towards the steps, and took them two at a time towards the top. Ward was crouched behind the battlements, staring out into the distance.

  “What do those look like to you?” He snapped.

  Callum squinted, and swore.

  “Those are cannons.”

  The horde of dead redcoats ceased their fire, and silently stood to attention. In the distance, Callum could see men standing by the cannons. A moment of clarity pierced his mind.

  “Everybody off the wall, now!”

  The soldiers glanced at him, and as one, turned to sprint for the dubious safety of the courtyard.

  The demonic cannons fired, their deadly payloads flying from the barrels towards the fortress. The cannonballs smashed into the wall, and exploded.

  In the courtyard, the soldiers were thrown flat by the energy of the blasts.

  “The buggers cheating!” Ward yelled. “Cannonballs don't bloody do that!”

  “Did someone bring in a rulebook while I wasn't looking?” Callum retorted, getting shakily to his feet, and staring at the wall. A crack was running down the sandstone edifice.

  “It won't take much more of that.” Carlisle noted in a strangely detached voice. Callum nodded.

  “Get everyone back into the main building. We're going to have to spring our trap a little early.”

  He moved swiftly to the door of the building, and opened the door as the cannons thundered again. A horrifying crunching sound came from the wall, and blocks of stone crumbled away from the top. He paused just long enough to see the gate begin to buckle, then stepped inside the keep.

  In the sudden coolness and silence, he could almost believe the world was at peace. The thunder of the guns dispelled that hope. Elizabeth and Nathaniel ran to join him from the mess hall, their weapons at their side.

  “We need to do this now.” He said bluntly.

  Nathaniel shook his head.

  “There isn't enough power Callum. The spell’s too finely balanced – if we activate it now, the results could be catastrophic.”

  The building shook as a cannon round sailed clean over the wall and struck one of the upper stories.

  “Do we really have a choice?” Elizabeth said. She rammed a bullet into the breach of her carbine, and headed for the door. As she laid a hand on the handle, she glanced back at the pair.

  “Are you two coming, or do I have to do this on my own?”

  Callum grinned, and drew his revolver.

  “Lets do this.”

  The three agents stepped into the courtyard, and raised their free hands towards the wall. Callum felt their minds join, a strangely intimate feeling, a feeling of belonging. He'd fought alongside these two, worked with them, cast spells with them, but as their minds joined to release the spell they'd made, he felt something between them he'd never felt before. The doors between them opened, their individual powers combining to release the spell.

  As a volley of cannon fire slammed into the sandstone wall, it exploded, not inwards, but out towards the waiting redcoat army. A blaze of golden fire followed the stones, flaring outwards like a wave breaking on the sand.

  Held in place by the demonic Sergeant – who could only stare as the wave approached, the redcoats merely stood and waited as the wave washed over them, annihilating them in droves as they silently waited for oblivion.

  “Keep it up!” Nathaniel shouted in the depths of his mind. He felt the others push harder, trying to maintain the wave of dispelling magic that obliterated the troops. The three mages had built the spell into the very walls of the fortress itself channelling their powers through the stones that protected them.

  But without having had sufficient time to build, the spell was already starting to fade. Holes were forming in the soli
d sheet of magic as it swept outwards. Finally the wave fell into the ground, fading away and vanishing.

  The multitude of redcoats had been wiped from the face of the earth, but clustered around their Sergeant, there remained enough to outnumber the British soldiers by at least three to one.

  And now they had no wall to defend them.

  As the dust settled, the redcoats began to march towards the keep.

  “Get those bloody doors open!” Sergeant Ward yelled. “Form two ranks, ready to fire! Come on, you useless bastards, it's time to be heroes!”

  He pulled his sabre loose of its sheath, and rested it on his shoulder. Carlisle stood beside the second rank, and took the same stance.

  The redcoats were marching on, their dead eyes fixed on the exposed keep. They began to slow as they reached the tidal line of rubble from the exploded walls.

  “First rank, fire!” Ward screamed, sweeping his sabre downwards. At his signal, the front row of soldiers squeezed the triggers of their rifles, sending a volley of .45 calibre carnage into the enemy. The front rank knelt, reloading their weapons

  “Second rank, fire!” Carlisle yelled. A second volley scythed into the massed ranks of the enemy. Still they marched closer.

  “Front rank, fire!”

  “Second rank, fire!”

  Ward glanced at his lieutenant, who nodded.

  “All men withdraw to the keep!”

  With practised discipline, the soldiers swiftly moved inside the building. Callum and Nathaniel slammed the door shut behind them, and barred it. Elizabeth conjured a spell, and threw it at the door, which shone briefly before fading back to it's usual colour.

  “That'll buy us some time.” She said.

  “How much?” Ward asked.

  She glanced at Nathaniel, who shrugged.

  “An hour, maybe two?”

  Ward nodded, and turned to the dust-covered soldiers.

  “Alright lads, I want barricades across this corridor. Seal off the two rooms at the side, and fall back towards the rear of the building – Dunwit, you take charge of that. Move!”

  A volley of musket fire sounded from outside. It struck the door with a sound like a bell ringing, then fell silent. The soldiers stared at the door for a few moments, before Carlisle spoke quietly.

  “You've all got your orders. Get moving. Sergeant, lets get to the mess hall and see what we can come up with.”

  The sergeant nodded, and followed the officer towards the mess hall. The trio of mages headed towards the officers quarters, and the entrance to the crypt.

  “You think it's time?” Nathaniel asked as they strode through the dust of the abandoned fortress.

  “I can't see any alternatives. At least if I've got the stone, that bastard doesn't.” Callum replied. A faint smile touched Nathaniel's face.

  “Is suppose you're planning on being heroic about this, aren't you?”

  The dragon-blood winked at them, then his face turned serious.

  “When I face him, I want you two to hold back. I don't know what kind of magic this is going to unleash.”

  Elizabeth shook her head.

  “If you think we're going to stand back while you take all the risk, you're off your rocker Callum. We're in this together.”

  Something passed between the three of them then, a mutual understanding that they were in for a penny, in for a pound. Callum shrugged, smiled, and kissed her on the cheek in thanks, then did the same to Nathaniel. The three stood there, grinning for a moment, before Nathaniel shook his head and laughed.

  “Alright, if we're going to do this, let's get it over with.”

  Callum nodded, and opened the silver-bound door to the crypt. He strode to the sarcophagus, and lifted the lid.

  The warm white glow of the void stone filled the room, bathing them. Callum took a deep breath, and reached forward.

  There was no shock this time, no feeling of hot or cold, and no otherworldly girl to discuss things with. He simply lifted the stone, and held it in his palm.

  “Now what?” Nathaniel asked.

  Callum concentrated, speaking within his own mind.

  “Help us.”

  The stone pulsed briefly in acknowledgement. It communicated with him without words, a series of impressions filling his mind. The void stone began to pulse in his hand, it's light beginning to flow like liquid up his arm. Elizabeth and Nathaniel watched with bated breath, feeling the impressions flowing from Callum to their minds. The bond between them showed them the power flowing from the stone as it wrapped around Callum's arm.

  There was a blinding flash and when their vision returned, the dragon-blood's right arm was covered in an intertwining silver design, his skin coloured in a tattoo of power. Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.

  “Well, Callum, it's very pretty, but I'm not sure it'll help you in battle.”

  “We'll see about that.”

  Callum flicked his wrist, and a sword appeared in his hand. It was heavier and longer than the sabre he'd been using, it's crossguard glittering silver and it's blade shining steel. Callum sliced through the air, the blade leaving a flickering silver trail as it passed through the stillness of the crypt. He flicked his wrist again, and the sword vanished. The tattoo on his arm flashed once, then faded to black.

  “That might even the odds a bit.” Elizabeth breathed. “Is there anything else it can do?”

  Callum grinned.

  “I'm sure we'll get a chance to find out.”

  ***

  They returned to the mess hall to find Carlisle and Ward preparing the barricades. Ammunition crates and tables had been overturned to form rudimentary fortifications. The lieutenant glanced at the design on Callum's arm, but said nothing, and turned back to Ward.

  “I still think we need to be able to fall back further.”

  “There isn't anywhere else we can fall back to sir. If we go back to the officers quarters, we’re in a dead end, at least here we've got other routes out.”

  “I know, Sergeant, but it also gives them other routes in.”

  “I'm open to bloody suggestions Sir.” Ward snapped.

  “There's no need to take that tone.”

  “I think we should make our stand here, Lieutenant.” Callum said quietly. “There isn't enough space to fight hand to hand in the officers’ quarters, and we're going to be doing that before long.”

  Carlisle threw up his hands in mock surrender.

  “Well, if you've all made your minds up, who am I to argue?” he grinned.

  A volley of musket fire sounded from the front of the building, and the door rang with it's bell like music. The five of them turned to look in the direction of the corridor.

  Corporal Dunwit stuck his head round the corner, and tossed off a half-hearted salute.

  “They've started Sir. We took a look out the upper windows, and it seems more of the buggers have arrived. There's about three hundred of them now.”

  Ward shot a glance at the three mages.

  “He’s been summoning soldiers by the thousand before now. Why so few?”

  “Part of the effect of our spell was to temporarily use up all the magical energy in this area. It takes a while to build back up.” Elizabeth explained. She glanced at Nathaniel. “I think that whoever the Sergeant has got with him now, that's all he can bring in.”

  “So, three hundred of them against fifty-one of us.” Carlisle said. “Long odds, aren't they?”

  “Oh, I've faced worse in Cardiff on a Saturday night, sir.” Ward said cheerfully.

  “They're breaking through!”

  The shout from the corridor roused all of them to their feet, and they sprinted for the long corridor that led down the centre of the fortress. Wordlessly, the soldiers took up firing positions on either side of the corridor, their rifles held ready.

  A thudding blow hit the doors, causing the bar to jump in it's hooks. Another blow followed, then another.

  The wooden beam barring the door began to split, a crack appearing
down it's centre as the doors buckled.

  With a wrenching sound, the doors burst open. Sunlight flooded into the corridor, silhouetting the phantom redcoats against the sky.

  The final, bloody battle of Kasharim had begun.

  Chapter Eight

  There was a moment of curious stillness as the two groups looked at each other, dead eyes meeting the eyes of the all-too-living. It was Ward who shouted the order.

  “Fire!”

  The Martini-Henry rifles of the besieged soldiers spat fire in the gloom of the corridor, scything into the dead soldiers. The front row of the redcoats collapsed, forcing the others to step over the bodies of their fallen comrades. A second volley flared from the rifles, pushing back the redcoated foe. In the front rank of the soldiers, Perkins worked the lever on his rifle, slid a new round into the breach with practised hands, and resighted. Next to him, Dunwit did the same.

  “Didn't expect to end up fighting in here.” the private murmured.

  “Well, you're here at the end mate. Make the most of it.”

  The second rank of riflemen fired, and the two prepared their weapons. They sighted on the redcoats, and pulled the trigger, before reloading.

  “Slow buggers, ain't they?” Dunwit added.

  “Lots of them, though.”

  “That's alright, we've got lots of bullets and all.”

  Callum aimed his revolver, pulled the trigger, and thumbed back the hammer. He could feel the void stone's power pulsing in his arm., begging to be unleashed.

  The void was the stuff of creation, the foundations of the universe. And he had the power to manipulate it. A part of him now understood why the demonic Sergeant wanted the stone so badly. He could feel the temptation to use it, even as he resisted and used his more conventional weaponry.

  In his distraction, the hammer clicked on empty. He swore and opened the gun, tipping the empty shells to the floor. He fumbled in his pocket for fresh rounds, and ducked behind the barricade. Elizabeth stepped forward to take his place, her carbine uttering it's sharp crack in the confined space. He glanced through a gap in the stacked ammunition boxes, and swore. Redcoats were starting to come from the side rooms, their overwhelming numbers pushing into the choke-point of the corridor. Elizabeth crouched and started to reload.