Order of Britain: The Devil's Regiment

By Ben Myatt

The First Novella in the Order of Britain series:

Callum Drake, a half-dragon mage, is recruited into the Order of Britain - a special branch of Britain's Guild of Mages. As their first mission, the members of the Order are dispatched to a remote fort in India, where British soldiers are under siege from a force of demonic redcoats.

Callum and his companions, Elizabeth and Nathaniel, must use all their wits and abilities to survive and defeat the Devil's own Regiment!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Myatt
• Release date: Nov 16, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311891136

Ben Myatt

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 releasing regular Novellas on Kindle, with Printed Omnibuses also available In his spare time, Ben is an avid gamer, a fan of Rugby, and an unfortunate supporter of both the England Cricket Team and Gillingham Football Club. He currently lives in Liverpool with his Wife and their two pet birds - both of whom will have eaten at least one copy of his books by the time you read this.

Book preview

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.