

The Order of Britain

Book One: The Devil's Regiment

By Ben Myatt.

© Ben Myatt, 2015

All rights reserved.

##### Smashwords Edition

# Chapter One

Perkins wiped the sweat from his brow, and pushed his helmet back down onto his scalp. He cocked one eye at the unyielding sky, and cursed.

"That's enough of that Private." Sergeant Mortimer snapped. Perkins glanced at the man, squinting against the blazing sun. Somehow, Mortimer looked as if he'd just stepped off the parade ground, his red uniform clean and bright, his face dry.

"Sorry, Sarge." Perkins murmured.

The sergeant was staring out into the scrub lands around the fort, his eyes sweeping for enemies. Perkins took a moment to crouch behind the battlement, leaning his Henry-Martini rifle against the stone wall.

"Oh, don't mind me lad, I'll just keep watch on me own, shall I?" The sergeant griped. Perkins grinned up at him, and lifted his canteen from the floor, taking a deep drink of water. He passed the canteen up to the sergeant, who winked at him and took a drink.

"Do you think they'll come again?" Perkins asked.

The sergeant stood silently for a few moments, glowering out into the sparse vegetation.

"I reckon so, lad. Don't reckon they'll stop coming."

The private levered himself to his feet, and hefted his rifle up to his shoulder.

"What do you think they want?"

"Blood. Vengeance. Death. Whatever it is, they haven't got it yet."

Perkins grunted, his eyes scanning the terrain.

A shimmering wave of heat swept out of the desert. The two soldiers glanced at each other, and hefted their rifles.

"Here they come, lads! Make yourselves ready!"

The British soldiers rushed to the walls as the heat haze began to coalesce and solidify into the forms of men.

***

Callum leant on the balcony of his apartment, and stared down into the bustling streets. He slipped a cigarette into his mouth, and held up a finger.

A bright orange flame kindled into life, flickering at the tip of his hand like a tame insect. He touched it to the end of the cigarette, and drew in, relishing the warmth. He watched the people going back and forth moodily, his eyes flickering from blue to red-flecked green in the light of the embers. He rubbed a hand across his bald scalp, and blew the smoke out into the night.

"You know, gentlemen smoke pipes."

He glanced over his shoulder at Elizabeth Cartwright. The slim mage strolled into his apartment – as usual, uninvited – and sat on the wooden stool he kept on the balcony, crossing her long legs in front of her. Callum watched her from the corner of his eye, admiring the fall of her raven black hair across her shoulders.

"I never made much claim to be a gentleman."

His voice was neutral, unaccented and smooth. It was the voice of someone who never spoke unless they had something to say – but when that time came, he expected people to listen.

"I don't see how you can make much of a claim of being anything." She said primly. Callum shot her a grin.

"Why is it you're here, Elizabeth?"

"I came to check on you. You've not been very sociable since we came over from America."

"I haven't had much reason to be. Various members of your society have made it abundantly clear that they want nothing to do with me." He took another drag of the cigarette. "One of them even implied I was better off being drained to feed vampires."

"Is that why Montague is in the infirmary, nursing a broken nose?"

"That wasn't my fault."

"No?"

"He moved. I was aiming for his eye."

She rolled her eyes and stood.

"Well, it's good to see you still have your sense of humour. Come along, Clarence has a job for us."

"I can't wait." He muttered.

***

The Guild of Magic had existed for fifteen hundred years. In that time, it had seen Britain move from a collection of fractured  kingdoms, to a group of countries, and finally to an empire spanning the continents of the world.

And in all that time, it's role had been constant and immutable. The protection of Britain and her peoples against the forces of magic. Dragons, witches, werewolves and things worse besides, all of them fell under the remit of one organisation – the oldest branch of the civil service in the world.

Callum and Elizabeth strode into the main hall, the crowd parting as they moved towards the huge double staircase that led to the Star Chamber, the inner sanctum of the mages council.

Callum did his best to ignore the glares that people cast in his direction. To the members of the Guild, his half-blood nature at the very least making them uncomfortable, and at the worst creating outright hostility. Elizabeth's head snapped around as someone muttered a slur under their breath.

"Leave it." Callum said tiredly.

"You shouldn't have to put up with that."

"I've put up with worse."

They reached the foot of the stairs, and were greeted by Nathaniel Wittington-Smythe, his thin face broken by a wry smile as he spotted the pair. He extended a hand, and shook Callum's in welcome.

"That won't make you any more popular round here." Callum noted.

"You'd be amazed how little that bothers me. Come on, we've got a situation. Clarence is waiting."

***

The circular table of the high council had clearly been intended as a tribute to that first round table, so long ago. It spread across the room, twenty feet across, it's surface covered in interlocking designs of blue and gold.

For the moment it stood empty, but for one hugely corpulent man, his brownish hair slicked back over his head, a pair of glasses pushed down  to the end of his nose as he read the day's newspapers. A platter of cheeses sat at his side, and he reached out absently to take a piece, pushing it into his mouth and chewing thoughtfully as he read.

"You sent for us, sir?" Nathaniel asked respectfully.

Clarence Somerby's sharp little eyes snapped up behind the glasses to focus on the trio.

"I did?"

"That's what your note said."

Clarence frowned for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

"Ah, of course. My apologies, Nathaniel, my mind's been elsewhere. Or possibly elsewhen."

Callum and Elizabeth shared a glance, confusion showing on their faces. Nathaniel closed his eyes for a moment and sighed.

"Did you call us here for a reason, Clarence?" he said bluntly. "I do have other work to do, after all."

"The Order of Britain."

Silence filled the room. Nathaniel's eyes narrowed slightly.

"What about it?"

"How would you like to be a member?"

Nathaniel shook his head.

"The Order of Britain hasn't existed for two hundred years, sir. It was shut down by one of your predecessors." He smiled grimly. "He felt it was getting too powerful, too strong within the Guild."

"And I'm deciding to bring it back. I fail to see what the difficulty is here."

"The council will never approve."

"It's not their decision to make."

"Why?"

Clarence leaned back in the groaning chair, and smiled.

"Ah, one of the difficult questions."

He gestured to the seats nearest him, and, sharing a look, the three sat.

"The fact is my friends, that the world has changed. The threats we face are becoming ever more subtle. Look at the serpent cult – they haven't raised their ugly heads in three generations, and suddenly you're exchanging gunfire with them in America."

"Well, some of us were." Callum muttered.

Clarence smiled at the young man.

"And here we have our best reason to reform the order. A young man, the blood of dragons in his veins, working for the guild."

"I wasn't offered much of a choice, Clarence." Callum said quietly.

"Well, you've been given that apartment for your personal use. Now it's time to pay the rent, dear boy. I imagine you're going slightly mad in there anyway."

Callum grunted an acknowledgement, but said nothing. Clarence leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

"The Guild needs a strong right arm. You three are the most experienced agents we could put into the field at the moment – and I need you to prove that this will be worthwhile."

Nathaniel glanced at Elizabeth, who shrugged. His eyes flickered to Callum.

"Why not?" the dragon-blood responded. Nathaniel smiled.

"Alright, we're in."

"Jolly good show." Clarence enthused. "Now, as you've probably guessed, I have a mission for you. A spot of fun in the sunshine, one might say."

"Where?" Nathaniel asked, dread filling his voice.

"Why, India, my boy. Time to be of service to the empire."

# Chapter Two

"India?" Callum said flatly.

"Did I stutter?" Clarence asked mildly. "Yes, India. A situation has arisen at a British garrison based some six hundred miles from Bombay. They're rather isolated, as I'm sure you can imagine."

"That's the nature of the forces out there." Elizabeth noted. "There's an awful lot of isolated forts."

"Indeed, my dear. Yet, when one of them starts reporting that they are being attacked, the whole government takes notice."

"And is that who we're serving?" Callum asked.

Clarence smiled slightly.

"Callum, my boy, when the British government makes a formal request to the guild, we have to take notice."

"When it suits you."

"Of course. We're servants of Britain, not servants of her prime minister. Nevertheless..."

He pulled a dossier from beneath his pile of newspapers, and passed it to Nathaniel.

"I feel that this case will intrigue you."

Nathaniel opened the dossier, and quickly scanned over the first few lines. His eyes flicked back up to Clarence, who sat impassively watching the trio.

"Alright – if Callum is in."

He slid the dossier to Callum, who began to read the report out of the remote fortress of Kasharim. Elizabeth craned over his shoulder, her eyes flickering down the page.

"They're being attacked by phantoms?" She said, her voice disbelieving.

"More than phantoms. They're experiencing something physical."

Elizabeth raised a cynical eyebrow, and glanced at Callum, who was still reading the report.

"How old is this?" He asked.

"A week, or so."

Callum leant back, an drummed his fingers on the surface of the round table.

"...it could be nothing. Too much sunshine has odd effects on people."

"True." Clarence acknowledged.

"But you don't think it is, do you?" Callum asked.

"I do not, no." Clarence looked firmly at the dragon-blood, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Let me be clear, I am not reforming the Order as some token gesture or because I feel I have no better way to use the guild's resources. I am reforming the guild to deal with problems that more earthly forces cannot. I believe this is one of those problems."

Callum smiled grimly.

"I agree with you. Something about this doesn't smell right."

Clarence smiled.

"Very true. Although that could be the brie."

Callum glanced at Elizabeth, then at Nathaniel.

"Alright, I'm in."

***

It was a queasy looking Callum who stood at the rail as the ship moved into harbour at Bombay. Elizabeth, dressed in lightweight muslin shirt and skirt, approached from the forward stateroom, her hair tied back into a ponytail.

"You look bloody awful." She laughed.

He glared at her, then returned to staring at the harbour, trying not to lose his breakfast overboard.

"I take it you don't travel well."

"What gave you that impression?"

"Well, cheer up, we'll be on solid land soon."

He turned around, and leant back against the railing, gulping in fresh air.

"Any idea where we go from here?"

"Army headquarters. Nathaniel wants to check in with the situation before we go in."

Callum nodded his approval, and braced himself as the ship nestled up against the dockside. He watched with palpable relief as the sailors threw mooring lines across, securing the ship against the capricious tide.

As the crew began to run the gangway out onto the quay, Nathaniel approached from amidships.

"I've arranged for our baggage to be brought up, so we can get straight to work, if that's alright." He squinted at Callum. "You look bloody awful."

Callum glared at him in response.

***

The trio were escorted from the front gates of the army's headquarters, through a series of corridors, until they were invited to sit in a long anteroom. Callum sprawled on one of the comfortable armchairs, and fished a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. As he raised his hand to light one, Nathaniel held up a warning hand, and tossed him a pack of matches. Callum raised a quizzical eyebrow.

"Lets not show off all our secrets yet." The senior agent said. "The walls have eyes in this sort of place."

"You're worried about the army?" Elizabeth asked.

"Not necessarily, but India hasn't been the most stable place the British have ever been. Let's not give away any advantages."

Callum nodded, and struck a match, kindling the cigarette.

"Did you get a chance to do any research before we set off?" he asked.

"Nothing that I'd care to put money on. There's a lot of old superstitions out here – and I can't be sure which of them are based in fact and which are just holdovers."

The dragon-blood nodded grimly, and took a long drag of his cigarette.

"Something doesn't feel right here, Nathaniel. I can feel the tension in the building. They're nervous about us."

"They should be. That letter I brought from the guild gives me legal authority to request anything I damn well please – that sort of thing worries military men."

"I wonder why."

An orderly stuck his head around the door, his eyes surveying the three.

"Mr Wittington-Smythe? Major Thomas will see you now."

***

"I am not happy about this, sir. Not happy at all."

"You've mentioned that Major. Repeatedly, in fact." Nathaniel coolly remarked. "Nevertheless, you may notice that this letter is not only signed by your superiors at Horse Guards, but also Her Majesty the Queen." He leaned forward, planting his hands on the major's desk.

"Your feelings in this matter are irrelevant. Your actions are not. Are you going to assist us, or will I have to take the matter back to your commanders?"

The agent paused for a moment, then snapped his fingers.

"Quickly, Major, I haven't got all day."

Major Thomas's bushy moustache bristled, his face turning red with anger. With a visible effort, the officer bought himself under control.

"I am a servant of Her Majesty, Mr Wittington-Smythe. I have been ordered to assist you in this nonsense, therefore I will."

"Good decision." Callum murmured.

"Very good, Major." Nathaniel said. "We'll need weapons, horses and supplies."

"It shall be arranged." The Major snapped.

"Good."

"I shall also be arranging an escort. I don't trust you, Mr Wittington-Smythe, and I certainly don't like this pandering towards the superstitions of the rank and file."

Nathaniel, who'd turned towards the door, glanced back over his shoulder at the officer.

"I hope you're right about it being superstition, Major. God help us if it isn't."

***

"You were rather hard on him." Elizabeth noted.

"I liked it." Callum grinned at Nathaniel as the trio walked through the corridor towards the stables.

"I don't have time to massage his ego." Nathaniel said, striding ahead of them. "If Clarence is right, then we need to get to that fort as soon as possible – lives depend on it."

"And do you think Clarence is right?" Elizabeth asked.

Silence hung between them as they walked.

"Let's just get to the horses."

Evidently word had reached the orderlies of their approach, because three horses and a platoon of riders were waiting for them when they reached the stable. Whatever else he might have been, the Major was certainly efficient. Nathaniel surveyed the troops as Callum went immediately to the horses. The mount he chose shied away as he got close, smelling the difference between him and the pure-blood humans around him.

"Does that always happen?" Elizabeth asked, as he grasped the horse's reins and tried to calm the suddenly skittish beast.

"Every time." Callum said sourly. "They can smell the magic."

"That's going to make this trip interesting." She said sweetly.

Callum shot her a cold glance, and lifted himself into the saddle. The horse froze for a moment, then relaxed as the dragon-blood stroked it's neck. Elizabeth raised an eyebrow in response, Callum grinned at her.

"It's a knack."

"Of course it is."

***

"So Reg, what do you make of this lot?"

Corporal Reg Dunwit glanced up from securing his rifle to the holster on his horse's flank, and glanced at Private Harry Cavill.

"The girl's pretty enough, but they're bloody civvies. Ain't got not place coming out to the fort with us."

"Lieutenant reckons they're inspectors." Cavill said darkly, shooting a look in Callum's direction. "And that one gives me the bloody chills."

"Should be thankful for that in this heat." Dunwit grinned.

"Alright ladies, enough blathering on. Get those weapons secured." Sergeant Ward said, his Welsh lilt musical amid the London accents.

"Yes Sarge."

The pair started laying boxes of ammunition and supplies into the bed of the cart, stacking them neatly to prevent any unwanted accidents. Soon, sweat was pouring from their faces.

Callum, having steadied his mount's somewhat fragile nerves, dismounted and strolled over to them.

"Want a hand?"

Dunwit and Cavill glanced at each other. Their instincts were crying out to say no, but before they could come to a decision, Callum had picked up a box of bullets in each hand and was walking over to them. He passed a box to each of them, and turned back to the stack by the wall.

The two soldiers looked at each other. Each of the boxes weighed nearly thirty pounds. They heaved the boxes into the cart, then turned to watch as Callum turned back to them. Whilst the pair of them were sweating in the heat, the young man's features were dry, his face calm.

Dunwit took the box from him, and shook his head.

"How are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"Lifting those boxes."

A sly smile flashed across Callum's face.

"I eat a lot of vegetables. They keep me healthy."

The two troopers stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

# Chapter Three

Twenty-four people left the city of Bombay that night, and struck out for the distant fort of Kasharim. Accompanying the three members of the Order of Britain were twenty troopers, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any hint of a threat as they marched, and one rather young Lieutenant.

From a balcony above them, a young girl watched, her dark auburn hair pulled back from pale skin, her blue eyes watching with concern.

"Lucy, come back inside."

She turned at her mothers call and went back inside, trying to shake a sense of foreboding from her mind.

Lieutenant Roger Carlisle hadn't thought he would be drummed into action this quickly. He'd been assigned to the regiment in India in order to gain valuable experience – a trait firmly lacking in many of her majesties officers in these fat days of empire and peace. The young man desperately wanted to be a good officer, but to the hard bitten troops under his command, he was like a puppy – good, but rather too soft.

Sergeant Ward rather liked the lad – he certainly didn't want him to be killed first time out by a pack of the rebels who haunted the hills and wastelands of British India.

The veteran warrior glanced back at the three civilians. He hadn't wanted them on this trip, but his experienced eye was at least satisfied by what he saw. Wittington-Smythe was – ostensibly – in command of the trio, but treat the other two as equals. He and Miss Cartwright sat on the running board of the supply cart, their eyes as wary as any of the cavalry troopers. With an inward smile, Ward noticed that Nathaniel's hand was never far away from the service revolver he'd been given. He was surprised, however, by the professional way the girl held the Martini-Henry carbine.

Callum, on the other hand, was a mystery. He held himself like a fighter, but the only weapons he'd taken were a revolver and – strangely – a sword. The curved blade was slung across his back, easily reached over his shoulder. His hands, however, remained firmly on the reins, guiding the horse through the patchy terrain.

Of all the people in the small column, Callum was the only one who didn't seem to be unduly worried. If anything, that made Ward worry even more. The veteran turned back to his officer, his eyes querying.

"When did you want to set up camp, sir?"

Carlisle squinted at the horizon. A couple of miles in the distance, small rounded hills obscured the sky. He looked nervously at the sergeant.

"Just before those hills? I don't want to be moving through uneven terrain in the dark."

"You're in command sir." Carlisle flinched as Ward responded, the mild words striking as hard as any rebuke.

"Lets do that, then."

Ward nodded, and glanced back at the platoon.

"Stephenson, Cole, go find us somewhere to bunk down!" he called.

The two troopers peeled off from the group, and rode ahead towards the hills, their mounts kicking up dust from the dry ground.

"Thankyou sergeant." Carlisle said.

Ward shot him a piercing look, and wheeled his horse. He turned the beast to ride alongside Callum, who had passively watched the exchange.

"Can I ask you something, sir?"

"Only if you don't call me sir. It's Callum, sergeant."

"Alright then, Callum. Why are you here?"

"You don't know?" The young man said lightly.

Ward glared at him. Callum gave him a slight grin.

"All I know is that you're unsettling my lads, and I won't stand for that."

Callum's eyes went cold. For a moment, the hairs stood up on the back of Ward's neck, but he held the young man's gaze. Eventually, Callum's face split into a wide grin.

"We're here to deal with an unpleasant situation, Sergeant Ward. We're not inspectors, and we're not here to scare your men. But it's probably good that your men are on edge."

"Oh aye?"

"Definitely."

"And why is that then?"

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. But there's far worse where we're going than me."

***

Nathaniel stepped down from the footboard of the cart, and stretched. Around him, the process of setting up camp had already begun, the outriders having already got a campfire going, it's warm glow fading into the darkness as the sun set behind the foothills.

Elizabeth shouldered her carbine and dropped to the ground.

"Any chance of a cup of tea?" She asked him.

"Do I look like the butler?" He glared.

"A little bit, yes." She grinned.

He laughed, and headed for the nearest cook fire. Lieutenant Carlisle wandered over, a tin mug in his hand. The young officer gave her a smile, and handed her the mug. The delightful scent of freshly brewed tea wafted up to her nostrils. She fixed him with a  ravishing smile

"Why, thankyou kind sir."

He grinned slightly.

"Well, we have been ordered to provide you with whatever cooperation we can."

She flinched inwardly. Evidently Nathaniel's roughshod treatment of Major Thomas had made an impression.

"We didn't mean to cause this much fuss – and I'm sorry if we've caused you problems." She said sincerely.

"No more than I had already, Miss Cartwright." He said regretfully. "I'm starting to think I'm not really suited for this sort of thing."

She patted his shoulder awkwardly.

"I'm sure it'll come to you. Trust me, if you can make it through this mission, you can make it through anything."

"Well, Miss Cartwright, that's a rather large if, isn't it?"

***

Callum dreamed dreams of fire. He knew the dreams from long ago – the time he'd spent crucified in a pocket dimension, his blood being slowly drained to empower the serpent cult's tame vampires. During all the time, kept unconscious and in agony, he'd dreamed of the fire of his father.

The dragon Gorton had been another slave of the cult, and Callum's desperate attempt to rescue his reptilian sire has led only to his own capture and humiliation. He'd been kept insensate and powerless until being rescued by Elizabeth and the Werewolf gunslinger, Jim Ashwood.

And now Callum had debts. He owed Jim for saving him, and he owed Nathaniel and Elizabeth for bringing him to England. He owed the guild for giving him a life and place to stay.

He turned in his sleep, and grumbled to himself. His blanket was caught around his ankle.

The explosion bought him to wakefulness in an instant.

***

Dunwit was been standing on picket, his pipe in his mouth, the curls of smoke slowly winding up into the darkness at the edge of the campfire's light.

"You're not meant to be smoking on duty, corporal."

Dunwit flinched as Sergeant Ward stepped from the darkness. The Welshman grinned viciously.

"I'll need to confiscate that, Dunwit."

The corporal rolled his eyes, and plucked the pipe from his mouth. He passed it to the welsh sergeant, who popped the stalk into his mouth and took a deep puff.

"Where did you get this rubbish, lad?"

"Regimental stores, same as everyone else."

"No wonder it tastes like shite, half that stuff's bloody sawdust." He took another long drag anyway, and passed the pipe back to Dunwit. The two men had served together long enough to keep their vigilance even in this companionable moment.

A noise in the darkness caught their attention, their hands leaping to their weapons. In the silence, the smoke from the pipe curled slowly upwards.

Their instincts kicked in automatically, and the pair dropped to  their knees as a rattle of rifle fire ripped the silence apart.

"Enemies!" Dunwit yelled. He levelled his carbine at the flash of the barrels, and squeezed the trigger. A scream of pain answered his shot, and he pushed down the lever on the martini-henry. The spent brass case racketed out of the back of the rifle, and he pushed a fresh round into the breach. Next to him, Ward sighted and fired, trying to hit targets they had no way of seeing.

Around them, their fellow soldiers ran to their aid, weapons in hand. One of the troopers screamed and fell as a bullet struck him in the torso, a red bloom of blood spurting from his back as the round travelled through his body.

A barrel came rolling from the darkness, a fuse hissing in it's bunghole.

"Everybody down!" Ward screamed.

The British soldiers threw themselves flat as the barrel exploded, it's cargo of black powder spraying earth and vegetation across them.

Ward glanced over his shoulder as Carlisle threw himself flat next to the veteran, and saw the trio of agents running for the cart.

"Where the bloody hell are they going?"

***

Nathaniel pulled the revolver from the holster next to his bedroll, and rolled to his feet, thumbing back the hammer as he rose. Across the campfire's glow, Elizabeth was already crouching, her carbine held ready.

"Where's Callum?"

"I'm here." The dragon-blood said from the shadows. His gun was in his hand, his eyes were sweeping the darkness around them. Nathaniel checked the load on his gun as adrenaline surged through his system.

"Right, let's get to work."

He took a step towards the firing line of soldiers, but Callum dragged his arm.

"They're trying to flank us – they're going after the weapons cart!"

"How do you..."

But Callum was already running. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew the sabre he'd secured back in Bombay, freeing the blade from it's leather scabbard. He raised the revolver in his left hand as the first of the Indian rebels appeared from the darkness, and levelled an old musket at him. Callum dived to his right as the man pulled the trigger, and brought his pistol to bear. He pulled the trigger, and the Indian dropped, blood spurting from his chest. He rolled to his feet, and fired wildly into the darkness. A volley of rounds answered him, and he dropped flat, the rounds tearing over his head.

A group of ten men charged out of the night, their weapons raised. A shot sounded from behind him as Nathaniel fired, the rebels scattering. Elizabeth helped Callum to his feet, then turned back to the fight. Callum leapt into action, his right arm flashing up to slap away the barrel of a bayoneted musket that was swinging to bear. He recovered swiftly, and thrust, the blade slashing through the throat of one of the rebels. He turned, his gun flashing up and firing at the nearest man.

One of the rebels shouted a command, and turned to run. Elizabeth looked calmly through the sights of the carbine, and shot him in the head as he turned. The man fell to the ground, his leg twitching.

The remaining rebels tried desperately to regroup, dropping their muskets and pulling rusted talwars from the scabbards at their sides. Callum leapt forward, parrying a clumsy swing from a sword and lashing his blade at his opponent's eyes. He kicked the rebel in the stomach, and moved onto his next target.

Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the battle to their rear. The soldiers were mopping up the remainder of their attackers, and had turned to see the fight at the cart. Carlisle and Ward were approaching at a sprint as the six remaining rebels closed in on Callum.

"Do something!" She yelled at Nathaniel. The agent shot her an aggravated glance.

"They're in too close. I can't shoot without risking hitting Callum!"

Carlisle and Ward sprinted past them, blades drawn. The Lieutenant barrelled into one of the rebels, his shoulder slamming into the man's belly, and knocking him to the floor. He spun, and deftly parried a strike from another Indian, rolling his wrist to flick the blade away, and running the man through the heart with a single deadly thrust.

Ward hadn't trained as a swordsman, and showed no such finesse. He hacked at the rebels like a man chopping wood, cutting through arms, necks, and any other piece of bare flesh he saw.

The rebels fell before them like wheat, their blood falling to stain the ground. When one remained, his arm hanging limp at his side, Callum waved the other two back. Carlisle and Ward stepped back, their weapons held ready. Callum took a pace forward, and plunged the tip of his sabre into the ground. He crossed his arms, and stared into the remaining rebel's eyes.

"Do you feel like dying today?"

The Indian man glowered at him, his talwar clutched defiantly in his one useful hand. He half raised the weapon as Callum approached him, but saw something in the tall man's gaze that caused him to drop the weapon. His eyes dropped to the floor. Callum glanced at Ward, who nodded, and stepped forward, grasping the rebel's good arm.

"Come on boyo. We'll make you a nice warming cup of tea."

***

"He's just another lad they've convinced to fight for them, really." Carlisle said, his arms crossed. Their prisoner sat on the far side of the first, a blanket around his shoulders. The young Indian sipped at a steaming cup, his eyes staring into the fire.

"That doesn't really explain why they started shooting at us."

"Well, if you English bastards turned up in Caerwys, I'd be taking pot shots at you and all." Sergeant Ward said cheerfully, bringing over a tray of tea.

"You do realise Wales is part of the union, don't you Ward?" Carlisle asked.

"No, sir, that's just what we like you buggers to think."

"We should interrogate him." Nathaniel said.

The group fell into silence. Callum sipped his tea.

"I agree with Nathaniel. He might have information about what's ahead of us."

"He's just a boy!" Carlisle objected.

"No, he's a rebel – and he may know where other rebels are. If interrogating him means we can avoid more of these little skirmishes, then interrogate him we shall."

"But..." The Lieutenant began to object.

"They're right sir." Ward interjected.

Carlisle glowered at the sergeant, who met his gaze impassively.

"...Fine. If you must."

Nathaniel glanced at his fellow agents.

"Who wants this?"

"I'll do it." Elizabeth said. "I'm more subtle than you boys."

Callum and Nathaniel shared a wry grin as Elizabeth walked over to the young Indian boy.

"Hello." She said brightly.

The boy gave her a startled look.

"Er... Hell...oh." He said in broken English, his mouth bending around the strange syllables. She gave him a happy smile.

"Alright, that's a good first step. Now, hold still, this won't hurt a bit."

She reached up, and gently rapped her knuckles on his forehead. The young rebel went stone still, his eyes going distant. Callum sipped his tea, and glanced at Nathaniel.

"How long does this usually take her?"

"Oh, a couple of minutes, depending on how deep the interdiction needs to go." He glanced at his pocket watch. "I can't imagine it'll be much longer. I don't expect this poor lad knows all that much."

Carlisle looked at Ward.

"Do you know what they're talking about?"

"Not a clue, sir. Shall I tell the men to stand down?"

The officer glanced at the foothills, listening for movement.

"Change it to a four man picket, and stand everyone else down. I don't want anyone left on their own if there's a risk of further action."

The Welshman gave his officer an appraising look, then nodded.

"Aye sir."

Over at the fire, the Indian rebel's eyes drooped, and he slumped into sleep. Elizabeth got to her feet and stretched, before walking back to the group.

"There are two more groups between here and Kasharim. If we swing to the east, we'll be able to avoid them."

Carlisle glanced over at the young man peacefully slumbering by the fire.

"What did you do to him?"

"You don't want to know."

"I rather think I do, Miss Cartwright." Carlisle said.

"I inserted a mental string into his mind and extracted everything he knew about the movements of the rebels. I then put him to sleep so that we could get away without him following us."

Carlisle and Ward glanced at each other, their faces confused.

"Gentlemen, I suggest you just accept that we have abilities that you're not quite equipped to understand." Nathaniel said calmly. "It'll make things a damn sight easier all round."

The officer and the sergeant rolled their eyes, and headed for their blankets. Elizabeth gestured to her two colleagues, and they walked few yards further into the darkness.

"What's up?" Callum asked.

"That kid is scared of Kasharim." She said. "Absolutely terrified."

# Chapter four.

Three uneventful days later, the small column rode across the final hill that barred their view of Kasharim. A long stretch of scrubland led up to the forts' gates, it's high sandstone walls reaching round in a curve like enfolding arms up to the cliff face behind it.

"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?"

She frowned, trying to think of the best way to explain a ward spell to the two soldiers.

"It's like sandbags at the edge of a trench." She said slowly. "The three of us built a defensive wall up to keep them out, but we can't hold it together indefinitely." She smiled wryly. "It drains us, you see. We're channeling the energy through ourselves, and there's only so long you can do that for."

"I imagine so. How well will it hold up to attack?"

She bit her lip.

"I don't know. It took all three of us to fight the sergeant off last time. It depends what he tries and how well we can react to it."

Mortimer and Ward shared a look, and sat down against the inside of the parapet.

"If you can't hold them, then we need to have a plan in place." Mortimer said. "Do you have to keep your spell solid, or can you open holes in it?"

Elizabeth looked doubtful.

"I probably can, but I don't know how long I can hold it steady. If you open a hole in a ward, it starts degrading outwards. It'll get wider the longer it's open."

Ward nodded.

"That shouldn't be a problem miss. If all those bastards are pouring through one hole, we'll be able to tear them to shreds."

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.

"I'll speak to Callum and Nathaniel. Maybe they can make it a bit more workable."

***

They moved deeper into the bowels of the fortress, their footsteps echoing in the dusty air. The seeker spell danced ahead of them, eagerly beckoning them forward. After what seemed an age, they stopped in front of a massive iron door, it's surface rusted and pitted.

"This has been here a long time." Callum murmured. He reached out and laid his hand on the surface of the metal. A slight tingle, like the lightest of electric currents, buzzed through his hands. He frowned, and brushed away the deep layers of grime that coated the door.

"They bound the door in silver." He said flatly.

"So?" Carlisle asked. "I know it's expensive, but there are a lot of these ornamental doors around the country."

"There are a few things that beings of magic are affected by. Silver is one of them." Nathaniel said. "If they bound this door in silver, it means they were trying to keep something in."

Callum pulled the door open. It was easily six inches thick. Silver, streaked with black tarnishes, was wrapped around the whole of the iron frame.

"Something dangerous." He said quietly.

# Chapter Five.

The three men stared into the gloom beyond the iron door, and, as one, drew their revolvers. Callum wished fervently that he'd followed Jim Ashwood's lead and packed a supply of silver bullets for this trip. As it was, lead would have to suffice. He took a deep breath, and concentrated, allowing the flame he'd made to hover in the air away from him. He glanced at Nathaniel.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Alright, stay close."

The seeker orb eagerly flicked around the chamber, darting into the nooks and crannies. From the light of his flame, Callum could see a massive stone block sitting in the centre of the room, steps leading from the floor to it's surface.

"Well, that doesn't look ominous at all." Nathaniel muttered. Callum shot him a glance.

"Be careful. I've got a bad feeling about this place."

"I'd be shocked if you didn't."

The three men moved carefully forwards, their weapons sweeping through the darkness. Carefully, they ascended the steps.

"What is it, Callum?" Carlisle asked, his eyes still focused on the shadows that danced at the edge of the room."

"It's a sarcophagus." He glanced around. "This is a sepulchre."

He looked up at the ceiling, and squinted. Suddenly he tossed the floating fireball upwards.

A hanging lantern burst into flame at the top of the room, spilling light out into the corners of the burial chamber. The stone sarcophagus sat on the altar, ominously inviting them to open it.

"Well, gentlemen, we won't solve anything standing here." Callum said. He placed his hands on the side of the tomb's lid, and pushed. With a grating sound, the lid shifted aside, then clattered to the floor. A warm glow filled the room, emanating from the coffin. Callum drew a startled breath through gritted teeth.

"Well that answers what they're coming after." he said quietly, his eyes wide.

A gem sat on the chest of the skeleton in the coffin, glowing with a pale white light.

"What is it?" Carlisle breathed.

"It's a void stone." Nathaniel responded.

***

Out on the plain, the heat haze began to shimmer once more. Dunwit snapped upright, and unshouldered his rifle, pushing a shell into the breach.

"Ring the bell will you, Miss? Looks like we might have company for tea." He said calmly.

Elizabeth sprinted to the great bell, and seized it's rope clapper. Swinging it as hard as she could, she set the bell to ringing, summoning the soldiers to battle.

To the surprise of none, Ward and Mortimer were the first to the wall. The two sergeants stood together, their rifles on the battlement in front of them. Ward glanced round at the troops as they spread out, their guns ready to face the enemy.

"Alright lads, you know what to do. We're going to put some lead in these bastards, you hear me?"

In the dusty scrubland, the phantom redcoats began to march, their ranks steadily moving towards the fortress walls. They stopped at the line in the dirt that marked the steady pressure of the ward spell.

The Sergeant stepped forward, and raised his hands. Elizabeth prepared herself.

"Ready arms!" Mortimer yelled. Along the battlements the British soldiers aimed down the sights of their rifles, picking their targets in the mass of redcoats.

"Alright, Miss Elizabeth, whenever you're ready."

She ignored him, and waited, holding her breath. She could feel the power building in the Sergeant's hands, the buzz of magical energy he would use to breach her barrier.

She felt the pulse begin just moments before he released it, and allowed the ward to take the brunt of the damage. Concentrating, she moulded the power, transforming it into a tunnel, a hole in the barrier that would allow their enemies through.

The red-coated Sergeant roared his triumph, and started to lead his regiment towards the fortress. On the battlements, Ward grinned.

"Stupid buggers, aren't they? Alright lads, give 'em what they came for!"

The air came alive with the sound of gunfire as the two-hundred survivors launched their counter-attack.

***

In the bowels of the fortress, Nathaniel and Callum felt the hole in the ward open. They glanced at each other, silent communication passing between them, and then Callum took off at a sprint for the door.

"What's going on?" Carlisle asked.

"The battles started. Elizabeth is trying to funnel the redcoats through a narrow gap."

"That'll be Ward's idea. He's used that tactic before."

Nathaniel shrugged, and turned back to his study of the jewel in the coffin. Carlisle reached out for it.

"No point leaving it here..."

"Don't touch it!"

The Lieutenant's hand froze in mid air. Nathaniel gently pulled him away from the void stone.

"The void stones are artefacts of pure energy, Carlisle. If you picked it up, there's every chance you'd burn out of your own skin."

"Probably best to leave it here then?"

"Definitely. When we've figured out how to stop these attacks, I'll send a message to the guild to come and collect it."

Carlisle shot a glance back at the jewel as they headed for the door.

"I think that might be a good idea."

***

As Callum sprinted into the courtyard, the sound of rifle fire greeted him, a constant crackle of leaden death. He ran for the stairs to the battlements, and took them two at a time.

Despite the withering fire from the British rifles, the redcoats were starting to break through. The Sergeant, his face a mask of fury, roared them on with incoherent yells.

Elizabeth worked the lever on her carbine, and re-sighted. She fired, missed, and reloaded. Maintaining the ward was beginning to  sap her, it's demands on her energy distracting from the rigours of combat. The phantom redcoats formed two ranks in front of the fort, and levelled their muskets.

"Everybody down!" Ward yelled, his command repeated along the length of the wall.

Elizabeth ducked behind the parapet as the coughing belches of the phantom regiment's weapons rippled across the plain. She felt the ripple of air as the volley passed over their heads, and glanced around the gap in the battlements.

The second ranks of the redcoats were taking aim, the first ranks reloading. She glanced over at Ward.

"What do we do?"

"Nothing we can do. They'll pelt us for a wee while, and then we'll take our shots. Whittle them down."

"But they'll just whittle us down as well – and I've got a horrible feeling they'll have more men the next time around."

The Welsh sergeant cast her a questioning look. She glanced at the stairs as Callum popped up, and sat down out of view of the enemy soldiers.

"I've got a bit of a theory." She said slowly. "I think that what that Sergeant out there is doing is summoning the souls of dead soldiers to fight for him. He'll have reserves of them."

"How big a reserve?" Mortimer asked darkly.

"How long has mankind been fighting wars?" Callum asked.

The two commanders were silent as the implications of that sunk in.

"I think we might be in trouble." Mortimer said.

"I thought we already knew that." Ward retorted

"That Sergeant is the key." Elizabeth said. "If we can find a way to stop him, we should be able to banish the captured souls."

"I'm open to suggestions." Callum said. "I'm not overly fond of the idea of being stuck here fighting every soldier that ever lived."

The musket fire on the other side of the wall began to tail off as the British soldiers crouched behind their defences. Callum stood, and peeked over the edge of the battlements.

The redcoats stood silently, their weapons lowered. The ranks of dead soldiers stared ahead, their eyes unseeing as their Sergeant stepped forward.

The Dragon-blood and the Red-coated Sergeant stared at each other across the empty space between them, their eyes locking in silent acknowledgement of the conflict to come.

The Sergeant drew an evil-looking serrated sword from his belt, and levelled it in Callum's direction. He drew is own sabre and returned the gesture, his eyes flickering with inner fire. Without breaking his gaze, the Sergeant sheathed his sword, and then he, and his troops, vanished.

No cheers sounded along the battlements, no sense of relief moved through the troops. They had seen the gesture the demonic Sergeant had made, and they knew that there would be no surrender, no quarter given, and no chance of retreat or escape.

This was a fight to the bitter end, one way or the other.

Callum sheathed his sabre, and sat down on the top of the stairs, his eyes haunted.

"They're not going to stop, are they?" Elizabeth asked.

"No. Not until they've got what they came for."

"And what is that exactly?" Mortimer asked.

Callum sighed.

"Behind this fortress, theres am old tomb. Whoever lies there was buried with something called a void stone." He ignored the hissed intake of Elizabeth's breath, and continued. "It's a source of tremendous power – the power to create worlds." He stared off into the distance. "...Or destroy them."

He got slowly to his feet, and helped Elizabeth up.

"Let's go talk to Nathaniel. We need to figure out our next move."

***

They found Nathaniel and Carlisle in the officers mess, their eyes hidden by the shadows as the sun retreated behind the horizon.

"Any casualties?" the Lieutenant asked Ward.

"None sir. This time." The Welshman responded. His usual good humour had faded with Callum's pronouncements, his eyes tinged red with irritation from the gunsmoke out on the battlefield. He took off his helmet, and ran his fingers through his grey hair, dust falling to the floor.

"You know, I'm starting to feel too old for this." he murmured.

Callum sat heavily across from Nathaniel.

"We can't hold out. He's just going to keep throwing troops at us until there's nothing left."

"So what about this void stone? What if we give him what he wants?" Carlisle asked.

"Sir!" Ward objected his face appalled. Carlisle held up a mollifying hand.

"I'm asking so that we know fully what we're getting into, sergeant. It seems our superiors have been less than forthcoming in that respect."

Nathaniel rolled his head on his neck, trying to shake the tiredness from his skull.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle, but we didn't really know what we were facing until we got here, either." He scowled. "I certainly wasn't expecting a void stone. That changes the game."

"You might not have, but I suspect Clarence did." Callum said darkly. Nathaniel gave him a piercing look, then shrugged.

"You're probably right. Clarence knows a lot of things – and keeps a lot of them to himself. But at the moment, that's neither here nor there." He looked around the table at the assembly.

"If that sergeant gets its hands on the void stone, it'll have access to unlimited power. We can't allow that to happen. Our role here is clear. We must protect to our dying breath."

"Nathaniel..." Elizabeth began.

"I won't brook any argument Elizabeth."

"You can't demand this of them!" Callum said. "You can't demand they die for the sake of that bloody stone!"

Nathaniel rounded on him.

"Then what would you have me do Callum? If that thing out there gets it's hands on the stone, then it could destroy the world!" He looked at Carlisle. "That's what it is, Lieutenant. It's the key to destroying the world. It's ultimate power."

"Then we stay." Carlisle said.

"Sir..." Ward began.

"That's an order Sergeant."

"Wait." Callum said, his mind racing.

"Callum, Nathaniel's right." Elizabeth said.

"I know, but... We can have our cake and eat it too." Callum said.

Nathaniel stared at him for a moment. Carlisle moved to speak, but the lead agent waved him to silence. Callum's eyes were moving back and forth rapidly, as if reading a book the other couldn't see. Finally, his eyes snapped up, focusing on his colleagues.

"I've got a plan."

***

A hundred and fifty men lined up by the gates of the fort, their rifles slung over their shoulders. Fifty stood on the walls, the chosen few who had elected to remain and fight.

Carlisle strode in front of the assembled troops and saluted. Smartly, as one, the men returned the gesture.

"Men, you have your orders. Your job is to get word back to Bombay as quickly as possible, and get reinforcements to return here. Once you leave the fort, split into groups and head out to the nearest forts – we'll try and be here when you get back."

Sergeant Mortimer stood by the door, his face a mask. He'd not been impressed when Carlisle had told him that he would be one of the men leaving. He'd fought for Kasharim from the very beginning, and he'd wanted to be there at the end.

Carlisle had decided to send him before he'd looked at anyone else. He'd seen the madness that was starting to creep into the man's eyes, the desperation of a dead man walking. If he'd allowed Mortimer to stay, Mortimer would have died – no matter the outcome.

"Please don't make me do this, sir." The sergeant said quietly as the Lieutenant approached. Carlisle looked at him with sympathy, then steeled his heart.

"You have your orders, Sergeant. You are relieved."

Mortimer's brown eyes went cold, and he snapped off a stiffly formal salute.

"I stand relieved, Sir."

He turned away, and signalled to the men at the gate. They pulled the barring beam free, and pulled the gates open. The hundred and fifty men of the British army marched out onto the plain, and headed for the hills.

Callum and Nathaniel walked to stand beside the Lieutenant.

"This is the right thing to do." Callum said.

"I know. But this is a dangerous position Callum. We can't hold this fortress."

Callum grinned at him.

"I don't intend to hold it."

***

Elizabeth and Ward glanced at the far right end of the wall, their rifles ready and loaded. She glanced across at the far left, and waved. Callum crouched next to Corporal Dunwit.

"So, you think this is going to work?" Ward said.

"I have no idea. But I know that standing on these walls trying to fight all those buggers off wasn't getting us anywhere."

She laid her hand on the stone of the wall, and focused. Reaching out, she joined her mind with Nathaniel's and Callum's, communicating across the distance.

"Are you really sure this is a good idea?" Nathaniel asked.

"Of course I'm not." Callum replied.

"Oh, that just fills me with confidence Callum."

Nevertheless, she felt them start to push energy into the stones of the wall.

"How's it holding, Elizabeth?" Nathaniel asked.

"It's keeping together. We should be able to take a bit more."

She felt them oblige, filling the stones with raw magical power. As she reinforced the barrier against the rear of the wall, she felt the energy strain against it.

"A little more... There!" She carefully disengaged her mind from the work at hand, allowing the barrier ward to take the weight of the magically charged stones in front.

"Will it hold?" Callum asked, walking over from his end of the wall.

"You'd better hope so." She snapped. "This is an awfully big risk."

"No risk, no reward." He grinned at her. Movement out in the scrubland caught his eye.

"Nathaniel! Ring the bell!"

The British soldiers ran to the wall as the army of the dead began to form ranks once more. Callum drew his revolver as Carlisle ran to join him.

"Are you ready for this, Roger?"

"Fighting off an army of the dead? Of course I'm not ready. What a stupid bloody question." He grinned. "Alright everyone, you know what to do! Keep these bastards back from the wall!"

The demonic Sergeant appeared in front of the ranks of red-coated dead. He drew the serrated sword from his belt, and silently motioned for the charge.

A volley of rifle shots spat from the walls as the fifty defenders began their work. Carlisle had picked the best of the remaining men – men who would stand their ground and shoot until they had nothing left to fire. Shot after shot blazed from the wall to fell the ranks of dead soldiers who ran at the huge sandstone bulwark. A second row of soldiers appeared from the haze, carrying ladders. Callum squinted down the sights of his revolver, and fired. A dead eyed soldier fell to the ground, and faded away. Around him, the rifles of the British soldiers continued their rapid barrage.

The Sergeant let loose a mighty roar as the tide began to turn, the withering fire from the battlements driving his troops back, even as they charged mindlessly into the hail of bullets. Sergeant  Ward squinted down his rifle's barrel at the leader of their opposition, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet flew out from the walls, over the heads of the charging redcoats. As the demonic Sergeant turned to look at the walls, the bullet took him high in the forehead. His head snapped back, and he vanished in a flash. The redcoats shimmered and faded, the attack dying in an instant.

Corporal Dunwit clapped Sergeant Ward on the back.

"Good shot Sarge!"

"Not bad for an old fella, you mean!" He grinned.

Carlisle reloaded, then holstered his revolver.

"Alright, Sergeant. Send half the men to get some food, and get the rest to..." He caught the look in Ward's eye, and smiled. "You know what to do."

"Aye sir! Alright lads, stand down."

As the soldiers began to move in different directions, Nathaniel leant on the wall, and conjured up a seeker spell. The glowing globe hovered over his palm, then vanished.

"Anything at all?" Callum asked.

"No. I think we're alright for now."

Callum nodded, and sat next to his friend. He opened the cylinder on his revolver, and began to reload the spent shells.

"How long do you think we'll have to wait?" Elizabeth asked.

Callum frowned, and squinted up at the sun. It was high overhead, shining down onto the courtyard.

"I think he'll wait for sunset – come at us with the sun at his back. Whoever that Sergeant is, he doesn't seem to have a grasp of modern tactics; he's trying the good old fashioned ones."

Elizabeth nodded, and pushed a bullet into the breach of her carbine.

"How are we off for supplies?" she asked Nathaniel.

"We can hold. Without the troops we've sent off, we've got enough ammunition and food to hold for weeks."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Callum said. He levered himself up to his feet, and stared out into the scrublands.

"How's the ward holding up?"

"It's taking the strain – we'll be able to use the spell at any time."

Nathaniel smiled wryly.

"We don't really have anything more to do at the moment, do we?"

Callum gave him a dark look.

"I wouldn't say that."

***

The burial chamber was shrouded in darkness when the agents entered. Elizabeth gave Callum a worried look.

"Are you sure about this?"

"No. But we need to find out anyway. Make sure you keep your protective wards up."

"You don't need to tell me twice."

They walked up to the dais, and Nathaniel placed his hands on the sarcophagus. He looked questioningly at Callum, who nodded. With one hard shove, the lid was pushed off of the Sarcophagus, revealing the bright glow of the void stone within.

"Callum..." Nathaniel said, "I'm not sure about this. Every human who has picked up a void stone has either been killed or corrupted. We don't know if your dragon blood will be enough to protect you."

"Only one way to find out." Callum murmured. "We don't have any other options, Nathaniel."

His friend opened his mouth to object once more, then sighed.

"Alright. Good luck, my friend." He beckoned to Elizabeth, and the pair retreated to the doorway. Elizabeth raised her hand, and cast a ward spell, a protective spell enclosing the two human agents.

Callum reached into the Sarcophagus, and gripped the void stone.

# Chapter Six.

It was like sticking his hand into a bucketful of ice. Then it was like sticking his hand into hot coals.

The sensation flashed up his arm in an instant, agony flaring in his mind as the void stone tried to bond with his body. He could feel the energy of the void trying to push into him, to burn into his very core.

He reached deep into his own blood, to the power his father had granted him. As a dragon, Gorton was a creature of the void, a being tied to the essential substance of the universe. Callum tapped into that power now, looking to oppose the force of the void with it's own heightened energy.

Within Callum's soul,the two titanic forces clashed together, seeking for dominance over the halfblood's body. A part of the young man was detached, watching the battle inside, curious as to which side would win.

And then, time stopped.

"That, Callum, was a gamble."

He turned his head as a girl in white strolled from the shadows, her eyes faintly amused as she crossed the room towards the dais. He watched her carefully, unable to move his body.

"You're..."

"Yes. Your father sends his regards by the way. He's back with the rest of the clan now."

"Is he alright?"

"Recovering. Being controlled by an external force is a difficult thing for a dragon of his power to deal with."

She walked to the sarcophagus, and tapped her finger lightly on the back of the hand gripping the void stone.

"This, however, could go one of two ways – it could either burn you to a cinder, or it could become the single greatest power you'll ever wield. The choice is yours."

"Mine? How is the choice mine?" he said. "It's an artefact of pure power – it'll either destroy me or it won't!"

She smiled slightly, and sat on the edge of the sarcophagus, one leg crossed over the other. She looked around sixteen, her brown hair held at the nape of her neck in a long ponytail. Her white robe was clasped at the shoulder by an elaborately designed brooch.

"The choice is always yours Callum. It was your choice to pick the stone up, now it's your choice whether to wield it or let it destroy you. A human wouldn't have the opportunity to make that choice, but you have advantages, don't you. But be careful – Time is always on my side, it isn't necessarily on yours."

The world moved again, and Callum focused on the stone, his eyes boring into it's white depths. He felt the dragonpower rise up inside him, seeking to overwhelm the power of the void.

He pulled it back, seeking instead to find the balancing point between the two, the point where the two energies would form harmony, not chaos. Gradually, the pain in his arm subsided, to be replaced by a warm glow. Gently, he lifted the stone from it's resting place, and held it before him. The light inside danced, almost happily, at his touch.

"Good lord." Nathaniel said, his voice awed. Elizabeth carefully let the ward down and walked over to the dais.

"Are you alright?"

"Perfectly." he said. She leaned over, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I'm glad. Now please never do anything like that again."

He shot her a wry grin, and laid the stone gently back into the sarcophagus.

"Are you not taking it with you?" Nathaniel asked.

"No. We don't need it right now."

"Don't you want to use it?"

"Yes, but it's not overwhelming. Come on, I could really do with a cup of tea."

Nathaniel glanced at Elizabeth, his face relieved.

"Infinite power in his hands, and he wants a cup of tea."

"And a biscuit, if there are any left." The dragon-blood added.

"Yes, he's clearly gone power mad. We should lock him in here." Elizabeth grinned.

Callum laughed, and headed for the door.

***

They found Carlisle and Ward sitting in the mess hall, their helmets on the table before them, and sheets of paper spread out to the side.

"How are we holding up?"

"We're all right. Just going over the inventory whilst we've got a moment." Carlisle looked up, his eyes tired as they sat down opposite him.

"You look awful." Elizabeth said critically.

"Thankyou, I was rather sure I did."

"How about we take over here, and you go and get a couple of hours sleep."

"I really need to do this work Elizabeth. It's part of my responsibility as an officer."

"It's also part of your responsibility to be ready to fight when the time comes. Go and get some sleep Roger." Nathaniel said.

Carlisle gave him a wry grin.

"Is than an order, Mr Wittington-Smythe?"

"I thought you didn't want me in command?"

"I don't but on this occasion I'll happily make an exception."

"Then I order you to go and get some bloody sleep."

Carlisle grinned, saluted, and headed off in the direction of the barracks. Callum gave Sergeant Ward an appraising look.

"What about you, Sarge?"

"Sarge, is it now Callum?" He grinned. "I'm quite alright, thankyou very much. I've done all this before." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes distant.

"This is the difficult bit of it all, if I'm honest. Fighting, that's easy. When you're fighting, everything is just focused on bloody survival, and making sure the man next to you survives. This shite..." he tossed a wad of paper onto the table. "It's bugger all to do with being in the army. It's just busy work for officers. I've been a sergeant for fifteen years. I've fought in Africa, India and every other bloody place the armies sent me, and I'll tell you something – I'm not going to die at the hands of some devilish bugger who wants a shiny rock to add to his collection."

The fire in the Welshman's eyes burned bright, leaving them in no doubt of his intention to fight to the end. Then, he settled back down into his chair, his face calm.

"How many attacks do you think we need to repel?" he asked Callum.

"We need three days. After that, things are going to get a little interesting."

"Well, I do like interesting things my lad. But I'm worried, you see. I spoke to Mortimer before he left, and the bastards have never tried to bring ladders to the wall before." He drummed his fingers on the table. "Now, if you were trying to get into this fortress, what would you use next?"

Callum frowned.

"I'd look at some way to scale the walls without ladders. Grapples, maybe?"

"Don't be bloody stupid, lad. He's going to bring siege towers. And if that don't work, he'll try something else. After all, if you magical lot are right, he's got all the tactics of history to choose from."

***

Callum floated in darkness, his mind soaring free from his body and drifting towards the distant light on the horizon. It pulsed a welcome to him as he approached, wrapping him in tender warmth. It seeped into his mind, searching his memories.

A curious kind of consciousness joined with his, a distinct personality that sought his, searching for something it couldn't define, but would recognise instantly if found.

He welcomed it, and began to search in return, studying with a detached eye.

He was wrenched away by the sound of the bells.

***

Callum rolled from his bed and onto his feet in one flowing motion. He glanced at the candle on his bedside, and saw that barely an hour had passed since his exhausted retirement.

Out in the courtyard, the warning bell rang in the night. Hefting his sabre, Callum sprinted towards the wall, a strangely buoyant energy filling his muscles.

Out in the scrublands, two-storey tall towers were rolling on wooden wheels towards the walls. Callum joined Ward as they watched the ponderous progress of the siege towers.

"So, you were right. I suppose I owe you a shilling."

"Pay me if we get out of this." The Welshman snapped. Carlisle, his eyes still shrouded with sleep, moved to join them, his sabre in hand.

"Your orders, Sergeant?"

Ward shot him a surprised look, then nodded.

"I'll take the right, you take the left sir. Callum, you hold here in the centre. Fix bayonets and be ready to use them lads!"

He marched off to cover his side of the wall. Carlisle clapped Callum on the shoulder, and sprinted off to the left. The dragon-blood drew his revolver, and readied himself. Along the wall, the remaining soldiers fixed the socket bayonets onto the barrels of their rifles. Unlike the dead men in the siege towers, they would have no need to remove the razor-sharp blades in order to reload.

Watching from the main building, Elizabeth and Nathaniel focused on maintaining the barrier ward at the rear of the wall.

The towers rolled slowly up the walls, and their wooden panelled doors began to drop. The drawbridges hit the top of the wall with a crash, and the soldiers peered into the towers.

What charged from the black depths of the siege towers was not the dead soldiers they had come to expect, but grey, malformed creatures that scuttled on all fours, fangs and claws sliding from sheaths beneath the skin as they moved. The lead creature took a running leap at Callum, who ducked under it's path of flight and slashed at it with his sabre. The blade sheared through the monsters skin like paper, splattering blood across the sandstone of the wall.

"Use bayonets! Save your bullets!" he shouted at his detachment of men. To the sides, he could hear Ward and Carlisle repeated the command. A second creature barrelled into his chest, slashing at his side with razor claws.

He was saved by Corporal Dunwit, who lanced the beast with his bayonet, and kicked it off the wall. The corporal pulled Callum to his feet.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Let's sort these buggers out."

They turned back to the grisly work at hand, hacking and stabbing the foul creatures as they leapt from the towers.

Callum felt a surge of energy inside his head, and aimed his hand at the inside of the tower. A gout of flame surged up inside the tower, to the sound of bestial screaming from within.

Callum and Dunwit shared a look, then the dragon-blood turned his attention to the other towers. One by one, they burst into flame, the conflagration gouting up to incinerate them. The soldiers fell into a reverent silence as the flames crackled up the inside of the wooden towers, which slowly collapsed in upon themselves and vanished. Ward, his face awed, walked over to them.

"A neat trick, boyo, but I'd rather you did it a bit sooner next time." He grinned.

Callum smiled slightly

"If I'd known I could, I would have done Ward. Seems I'm learning new things all the time." His smile faded. "...Did we lose anyone."

Ward's smile vanished as Carlisle joined them.

"One of the lads who was already here, Coker... And Private Cavill." He laid a gentle hand on Dunwit's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Reg. I know you two joined together."

Dunwit slumped, his eyes misting.

"Jesus. I've known him since we were lads. I know his mum... What will I tell her, when we get back, Sarge?"

"What we always tell them, lad. That her son died a hero."

He looked out into the distance, his eyes far away.

"That's what we always tell them..."

***

Callum slowly dismounted the steps from the battlements, and walked unsteadily towards the main building. Elizabeth and Nathaniel came out to meet him. As they saw the glazed look in the dragon-blood's eyes, Nathaniel reached out to take his arm.

"No!"

The lead agent's hand froze halfway to his.

"The soldiers are watching. If they see me pass out, it'll ruin everything we've just accomplished. Get me inside first."

He walked through the door, then staggered as his legs failed to bear his weight. His friends grabbed his arms, holding him up on his feet as they half carried him back to the mess hall.

"God almighty Callum, how much energy did you burn?"

"A lot. I hope we've got time before the bastard comes again."

Elizabeth came over from the kitchen, wielding a cup of tea and a mug of brandy. She handed them to the exhausted mage, who drank gratefully.

"That'll pick you up a bit." she said flatly.

"Thanks."

"What possessed you to do that, you stupid sod?" she snapped.

"It was instinct. When those things came out of the towers, it all got a bit complicated."

She glared at him, then sighed, and glanced at Nathaniel.

"What were they? I've not come across them before."

"Bogtrolls." he said primly. "It seems our enemy has a long arm. They're offshoots of goblins, and they're usually only found in eastern Europe. I'd never have expected to see them here – they need swamps to survive."

"I don't think survival was the goal." Callum said "It just wanted to whittle us down. And it's working."

"Do you think we can hold out for another two days?"

"I don't know, Nathaniel, I truly don't." He sipped at the tea. "All I know is that we have to. That spell we built into the wall won't reach terminal mass until then."

The three agents sat in silence, and then Callum slowly got to his feet.

"I need to get some rest..."

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 solid 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.

"There's an awful lot of them, isn't there?" she said, a grin on her face.

"Seems to be that way, doesn't it?" He smiled in return.

"We're going to have to fall back – we can't put enough rounds into this corridor to stop them reaching the barricades."

Callum nodded, and took another glance at their attackers.

"Alright, get everyone moving. I'll cover you."

"I'll help." Nathaniel said. "I've got a little spell I've been saving for this occasion."

"Ward!" Callum yelled. "Back to the mess hall!"

The Welsh sergeant glanced at him, nodded, and shouted the order. The rearguard kept up their rapid fire as they covered the escape of their colleagues.

"Ready?" Callum asked Nathaniel.

"As ever."

The two stood, and levelled their revolvers. As one, they fired, emptying the chambers into the mass of enemies that pressed shoulder to shoulder in the corridor. As the hammers clicked on empty Nathaniel raised his left hand. A bolt of lightning arced over his hand, jumping from man to man. At Callum's shouted command, the rearguard ran for the door to the mess hall.

A volley of musket fire flared from the doorway, felling the soldiers as they ran. A chip of stone spat from the wall and slashed at Callum's face, drawing blood. He flinched, and stumbled. Tripping over the body of a dead soldier, he slid headlong on the tiled floor and rolled to his back, winded.

Nathaniel stopped by his friend and reached down to pull him to his feet.

The bullet took him in the shoulder, spinning him round, blood fountaining from  the wound. Callum watched him fall, his mind filling with rage. He pointed his right arm at the entrance, and shouted a wordless shout as the dead-eyed redcoats began to file in. The tattoo on his arm flashed briefly, a flare of energy lancing from his hand and into the corridor, obliterating the enemy.

"Get that door barred!" Ward shouted, running back across the room towards the two mages. Dunwit and Perkins sprinted past them, slammed the door shut, and pushed a table across to hold it closed.

Nathaniel's face was pale as they lifted him to his feet.

"Well, that was bloody stupid." he said quietly. Sweat was breaking out on his forehead as Ward lifted his wounded arm over his shoulder and helped him towards the barricade.

They set the agent down on the floor behind the upturned tables, and Elizabeth carefully opened his shirt at the shoulder.

"The bullet went clean through, but the bleeding isn't stopping. I need bandages."

Wordlessly, Carlisle handed her a dishcloth from the kitchen.

"All we've got, I'm afraid."

"It'll have to do."

"I'm no doctor, but is it meant to be doing that?" Callum asked.

The flesh around the bullet hole in Nathaniel's shoulder was beginning to change colour, the veins around it turning an angry, pulsing red. Nathaniel glanced at the wound, then thankfully passed out.

Elizabeth and Callum shared a dark look.

"They really don't intend for anyone to get out of here, do they?"

Callum stared down at Nathaniel's face for a moment, then smiled at her.

"I suppose I should go and disabuse them of that image." He reached out and touched her lightly on the face. "Take care of him."

"Of course."

He got slowly to his feet, and walked over to Ward and Carlisle.

"Well, gentlemen, how are we feeling?"

Ward cast him a withering look out of the corner of his eyes, then returned his attention to the door.

"Don't know about you boyo, but I didn't expect it to come to this. I'm really starting to think we shouldn't have sent those other lads away."

"They're better off out of it." Carlisle said.

"Oh, I agree. I just bloody wish we were as well. You got any tricks left to get us out of this predicament Callum?"

"No tricks. But I intend to go out fighting – and not hiding behind these tables like a mouse in a hole."

A blow hit the blocked door as the attackers began their assault. Callum turned to the remaining defenders.

"Alright everyone, we've been through a lot these past few days, and we're about to go through a lot more – but if I'm going to go down, I'm going to go down fighting. It's your choice, but when they come through that door, I'm going to be there to face them. Anyone who wants to join me is more than welcome."

Silence greeted his speech as he turned to the door and stepped out from behind the barricade. He drew his sabre.

"Alright lads, you heard the man!" Ward said. "Fix bayonets, and prepare for combat!"

Carlisle grinned at the sergeant.

"You know what, Mr Ward? If we make it through this, I'm going to suggest you be promoted to Sergeant-Major."

Ward looked at him in surprise, then smiled.

"I may just hold you to that Sir."

Another bang came from the door as Callum approached it. He pushed the table out of the way, and opened the door.

The group of redcoats carrying a battering ram almost looked surprised, although that might have been his imagination. His left hand drew his revolver, and shot the lead man between the eyes. The rest of the redcoats scrabbled for their weapons as he charged them, his sabre whistling through the air. The curved sword slashed into the neck of an enemy, and he ducked under the thrust of a bayonet, lancing his blade into the belly of another. His blade lodged in the redcoat's stomach, and he tried to wrench it free. Another dead-eyed enemy dived in, the blade attached to his musket sweeping up to disembowel the dragon-blood.

And then Carlisle was there, leading the charge. He parried the musket with a quick roll of his wrist, and slashed a ripping riposte that cut through the redcoat's throat. Blood spurted, and the man fell.

"Get on your feet Callum, we've got work to do." The Lieutenant said tersely.

Callum scrambled to his feet, parrying a hasty bayonet thrust, and kicking the redcoat in the belly. Behind him, Perkins lanced his rifle forward, his bayonet pushing deep into the redcoat's heart. Callum nodded his thanks, and turned back to the work at hand.

Inch by precious inch, they drove the redcoats back. With their outdated weaponry, and in the tight confines of the corridor, the enemy troops had nowhere to go other than the demolished front of the fortress, where their leader waited.

Callum's sabre worked double time as he slashed at the defenders, cutting at eyes, hands, any piece of exposed flesh he could see. Blood whipped from the tip of his sabre as it danced across an enemy's chest, forcing the redcoat back with a silent scream of agony. He brought his revolver up, and emptied the cylinder into the packed redcoats, before throwing the gun in their faces.

"That's army property!" Carlisle said, a manic grin on his face as he thrust his blade into the chest of an enemy, recovering just in time to parry a strike from another opponent.

"Send the guild the bill!" Callum laughed. The adrenaline was coursing through his system, pushing him to new limits. He smashed the hilt of his sabre into the face of an enemy, then lashed a cut downwards into the man's neck, slicing the jugular.

"Get down!" Ward yelled.

They dropped, as Ward and the remainder of the British soldiers  levelled their rifles. The gunfire was like thunder in the enclosed space, the .45 calibre bullets tearing through the redcoats.

Something shook in the faces of the redcoats, something that overrode the control the demonic Sergeant was exerting over them. As a group, they broke, and ran. Callum sprinted after them, his sabre held low.

"We can't let them get away!" he yelled over his shoulder.

He tore into the courtyard, and dodged to the side as a volley of musket fire greeted him.

The Sergeant had desperately marshalled his defences, but in trying to stop Callum, his troops had wasted their volley, and the British soldiers burst from the entrance of the keep like vengeance incarnate. The soldiers, led by Sergeant Ward and Lieutenant Carlisle, rushed towards the redcoats, their bayonets held low, then rising sharply to plunge into their enemies.

The redcoats were in disarray, their attack foiled by the mad charge of the defenders. The British soldiers slashed, stabbed, and shot their way through the reanimated ranks.

Corporal Dunwit spun, and found himself face to face with the resurrected Harry Cavill. He paused for a moment as his friend advanced towards him, his face cold above the stiff neck of the redcoat uniform. Cavill thrust the musket towards his former friend, the bayonet gleaming in the sunlight.

Dunwit knocked the bayonet aside with the stock of his rifle, twisted the weapon, and drove his own blade into Cavill's chest. He stood silently as a faint look of thanks crossed Cavill's face and he dropped to the floor, and lay still.

A bayonet thrust took him under the left arm, driving upwards towards his heart. Dunwit collapsed and lay on the dusty floor next to Cavill.

***

Callum's eyes scanned the crowd as he fought, searching for the Sergeant. His vision settled on the enemy commander, and he pushed his way through the melee.

The Sergeant saw him coming, and drew the wickedly serrated sword as he came.

"Mongrel." he said, contempt filling his voice. It was a surprisingly urbane voice, in sharp contract with the harsh fixtures and wild eyes of the Sergeant. There was madness in those eyes, the madness born of blind hatred. As Callum advanced, his blade held low, the features seemed to flicker like an image on water, revealing a hint of scales and insect-like mandibles beneath.

""What are you?" Callum asked.

"Something pure. Something deserving of this world – and as soon as I have the stone, I and my children shall feed on all of mankind."

The serrated blade lashed up, and Callum's sabre leapt to meet it.

***

Nathaniel's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at Elizabeth. Her long black hair was tied back as she dug in his wounded shoulder with a knife, looking for any traces of the bullet the redcoats had shot him with.

"It's... not working..." he whispered.

"What isn't?" she said, not looking up from her grisly work.

"The Sergeant – need to... both hearts... Chitin."

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing, but he'd already lapsed back into unconsciousness. She got slowly to her feet, lifted her carbine, and headed for the door

***

The combatants moved back and forth amid the battle, their blades dancing in the air before them. Callum thrust and parried, slashed and blocked as he looked for a gap in the Sergeant's defence. There was something about the Sergeant's eyes that unsettled him, some hint of insect-like hatred. It made him feel small, like a bug waiting to be crushed under the heel of an elephant.

He blocked a wild cut, and lashed a riposte at the Sergeant's stomach, trying to slice open the creature's belly. The Sergeant grabbed his arm, and wrenched, twisting the limb back on itself. Callum grunted in pain as his fingers began to loosen on the hilt of the sabre. The Sergeant increased the pressure, and the sword dropped to the floor with a steely clatter.

The demonic Sergeant smiled, a hint of fang and mandible flickering behind his face, and raised the sword.

Whatever the Sergeant had prepared for though, he was not prepared for five-foot-ten-inches of angry Welshman barrelling into him.

Sergeant Ward hit the redcoat leader at a dead run, lowering his shoulder and slamming into the demon, knocking it off balance. He lifted his rifle, the bayonet at the end dripping blood, as the Sergeant raised himself to his full height.

"How sweet, a little human defending it's friend."

Ward stood his ground, and levelled the rifle.

"That's Sergeant to you, you little bastard."

He charged, jabbing with the bayonet, forcing the demonic officer to parry.

"You come in here..."

He flicked the blade upwards, opening a cut on his enemy's face. The Sergeant growled, and stepped backwards.

"You kill my lads..."

Ward ducked under a swing of the serrated sword, and slammed the stock of his gun into the Sergeant's belly, drawing a pained grunt.

"And you do it while wearing a sergeant's stripes! I can't be having that, boyo!"

Ward dropped low, swinging the bayoneted rifle up in a lethal arc, the blade plunging towards the creature's chest.

The Sergeant backhanded Ward across the face as Elizabeth ran across the battlefield towards Callum.

"Callum, Nathaniel says it's a Chitin. It's a mimicker that has two hearts, one on either side." she said, sliding to a stop by his side. She lifted her carbine and fired at one of the redcoats, shooting him between the eyes. "It's spell spreads a poison – if you don't kill both it's hearts, anyone wounded today will die, slowly."

"Well, that makes things simple."

He got back to his feet, and picked up the sabre in his left hand, he walked painfully to where Ward was fighting the devilish Sergeant. The Welshman was starting to fare badly, fending off massive blows from the serrated sword with the chipped and battered body of his rifle. Callum moved up behind the Sergeant, and kicked the back of his knee as hard as he could.

The demon roared, and turned to face him.

"You didn't think I'd finished with you, did you?"

The Sergeant swung his sword in a massive overhead arc, his rage blinding him to his peril. Callum parried the blow plumb on the sabre's blade, and flicked his right wrist.

The silver sword sprung to life in his hand. He drew it back, and plunged it into the left side of the demonic Sergeant's chest.

"Ward!" He yelled.

The Welsh soldier acted on instinct at Callum's yell, and drove his bayonet into the other side of the Sergeant's chest. The demon stiffened, his eyes going wide with shock. Then, his face seemed to melt, running from the flesh like water to reveal multi-faceted, insect-like eyes, and a wide, fanged jaw. Black hair bristled from the creatures flesh as it's hands transformed into claws. With it's spell of concealment banished Callum saw that the serrated blade wasn't a sword, but a stinger attached to the creatures arm.

It roared at the sky, then toppled backwards to lie still in the dust. Across the field of battle, the redcoats began to collapse, their reanimated forms no longer held by the magic that sustained them.

On the hills above the fort, a horn sounded. Callum looked up, and saw cavalry marching into view, their numbers lining up across the skyline. He glanced at Ward.

"Looks like reinforcements are here."

"And too bloody late to be of any use. Fucking typical if you ask me."

Callum grinned and reached over. The welsh man shook his proffered hand, a broad grin on his face. Carlisle joined them, his own sabre bloody and dented.

"Well, shall we go to meet them lads?" he asked.

Callum sat on the dusty ground.

"Sod that Roger." He said mildly. "They can come to us."

Ward and Carlisle sat next to him as the reinforcements began to ride towards the fort.

***

"I have to say, Mr Drake, you seem to have made an awful mess of my fort." Major Thomas said lightly as he dismounted from his horse and walked towards them. The twenty survivors of the siege got to their feet, and stood wearily to attention. Thomas surveyed them thoughtfully.

"At ease, gentlemen. I can see you've had a difficult time of it. Is Mr Wittington-Smythe around?"

"Wounded, Sir." Carlisle said. Thomas nodded.

"I've bought surgeons. We'll attend to him immediately." He glanced down at the hideous body of the Chitin that lay steaming in the cooling afternoon air. "Ugly bugger, isn't he?"

"Powerful, though." Callum said.

"That's the way of it sometimes."

"If you don't mind me asking, sir, how did you get here so quickly?" Carlisle asked.

"What do you mean?"

"We only sent the other men to get you two days ago. It's at least a week's travel to Bombay and back."

Thomas raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"We had a messenger from Mr Drake's organisation. Young girl, dressed in white."

Callum and Elizabeth shared a glance. Thomas caught their look.

"I take it she wasn't entirely what she seemed?"

"Far from it, Major." Elizabeth said. "But it's probably best not to probe too deeply into that."

Thomas looked like he was going to question her further for a moment, then shrugged.

"You're probably right about that, Miss Cartwright."

He gave them all a broad smile.

"You know, I haven't been out in the field in years, and when I finally get here, you've finished already. Terribly rude of you. I suppose we'll just have to get you back to Bombay. Captain Carlisle?"

Carlisle blinked in astonishment, then snapped to attention.

"Sir!"

"Form your men up. I've got a feeling they can't wait to leave this damned place."

"Yes sir!"

"What will you do with the fort?" Callum asked as Ward and Carlisle moved off to give their orders.

"I'm going to have it demolished, Mr Drake. Too many bad rumours associated with it. Bad for morale. This won't happen again."

Elizabeth nodded her approval.

"Make sure you seal it up well Major. Just to be on the safe side."

***

Clarence tapped his fingers on the round table, his eyes flicking from one agent to the other. Nathaniel, his arm in a sling, stared back, his irritation showing clearly on his face.

"Did you know there was a void stone in that fort, Clarence?"

"We had our suspicions." the guild's chief responded vaguely.

Far from cooling on the long trip from Bombay, Nathaniel's irritation had grown more towering by the day on the ship back – to the point where the usually respectful mage had stormed into the reception area of the Star Chamber and demanded to see Clarence instantly.

Clarence's eyes went to Callum's arm, and the black tattoo winding across his flesh.

"And you knew what would happen if I came into contact with it, didn't you?" the dragon-blood said.

"...We had our suspicions."

Nathaniel slammed his hand down on the table.

"Well, next time Clarence, you can damned well tell us your suspicions before you send us into a situation." He glared at the head of the Guild, his eyes filled with fire. "We agreed to join the Order. What we didn't agree to do was be your pawns. If you want us to do this job, from now on, I want full disclosure from you."

Clarence raised an eyebrow, and shrugged his shoulders, sending a ripple through his portly frame.

"As you will. I certainly wouldn't want to lose you after such good work." he smiled. "From now on, you shall be fully briefed. Now, I'm sure you have other places to be."

He turned back to the pile of work before him, clearly ignoring them. The three agents shared a look, then headed for the door.

Outside in the corridor Callum smiled.

"I think that went about as well as could be expected."

Nathaniel shrugged.

"I wanted him to know where we stand. I have no problem with doing missions for the Guild, but I refuse to be Clarence's catspaw."

"I think he understands that." Elizabeth added. "So, what now?"

Callum grinned, and threw his arms around their shoulders, ignoring the slight flinch from Nathaniel.

"For now, I say we go and have a drink. Its been a long few weeks."

She laughed.

"I can live with that."

***

After the door had clicked shut behind the three agents of the Order, Clarence counted to ten under his breath. Then, he leaned back in his chair and lit his pipe.

"Was that," He said to the empty room, "what you intended?"

The girl in white smiled at him from the next seat, her eyes mischievous.

"It certainly doesn't go against my plans. Not too badly done, Clarence, not too badly done at all."

The head of the mages council blew a long stream of fragrant smoke, watching the patterns it formed in the air.

"You're putting a terrible burden on them."

"They're strong enough. I should know. And there are worse things coming than the Chitin, my old friend."

"Really?"

"I've known you since you were six years old. Have I ever lied to you?"

"No. But you haven't always told me the whole truth either."

The girl smiled, and pushed back her chair.

"I'm sure you'll survive that." Her face turned serious, her strangely old eyes glinting in her youthful face. "There are enemies moving, Clarence, both here, and in America. I trust you've kept in contact with X-division?"

"Of course. Their methods differ from mine, but they seem to get results."

"I'm keeping abreast of the situation. Make sure you do the same." She looked up at the mural of King Arthur's court that decorated the walls. "Dark days are coming Clarence, and we all need to be ready to meet them."

She vanished between one instant and the next. Clarence raised an eyebrow at the spot where the girl had stood, and then, puffing lightly on his pipe, he turned back to his work.

Books By Ben Myatt

The Jim Ashwood Series:

1: High Moon Rising: Blood and Fang

2: High Moon Rising: Hungry Mountains

3: High Moon Rising: The Serpents Fangs

Collected edition:

 High Moon Rising Volume One.

The Callum Drake Series:

1: The Order of Britain: The Devil's Regiment - Coming October 27th
Ben Myatt is an English author, transplanted to Liverpool from the suburbs of Kent.

After studying Imaginative Writing at Liverpool John Moores University, Ben is launching his books monthly in Kindle format, and regularly in Paperback omnibuses.

He currently lives in Liverpool with his Wife and their two pet birds.

Find more about Ben's works at www.benmyattwriter.co.uk

Follow Ben on twitter: www.twitter.com/@bendanarama

Like Ben's Facebook page: www.facebook.com/benmyattwriter
