by Ben Myatt
“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?” Carli
sle 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.
