The sound of the chapel bell ringing out five woke me in the morning, as it did every morning. The barracks of the Queen's Guards was set adjacent to the palace itself, and the clear tolls carried beautifully through the still morning air.

It was still with no small measure of pride that I donned my uniform in the mornings: The Queen's Guard Regiment, 2nd Company. One of only two standing companies in Nachberg, and the only company in the empire that selected solely on merit. Positions in the 1st Queen's Guard were often political appointments, given to children of the lower nobility or wealthy merchants as show of acknowledgment from the crown, but the 2nd Queen's Guard wasn't weighed down with such burdens. The only paths in were exemplary service or outstanding performance. We were the real iron fist inside the velvet glove, and so I always felt a few inches taller when I was dressed in the black and charcoal regimental colours.

The days alternated between "camp" duties, patrol and watch duties, and training, with a few rest days scattered in or Saint's days or other reasons. That day the 3rd Company -- in which I was a private -- was on watch duties. After breakfast in the infantry mess, I fell in with my sergeant fully armed: arquebus, infantry scimitar, and twenty rounds of paper cartridge.

Watch duty in the capital was a terribly boring business, whose main danger was posed by the weather. In winter, the wind roared off the glaciers in the Freibergen west of the city, and snow gathered in the upturned brims of our bicorns and our turned-back cuffs. In spring the rain fell torrentially until even our thick felt coats were soaked through, and stubbornly refused to dry in the miserably damp barracks, condemning us to put them on damp again in the morning. In summer the sun beat down mercilessly until men passed out from heatstroke in the worst of it, and autumn gave the new Soldaten recruited after the harvest a cruel false hope that watch duty might not be so bad.

Today, for my sins, it was spring. The Immerfluss roared through the centre of the city, bolstered by snowmelt from the mountains, high cloud painted the world in light greys, and gentle drizzle dripped from my hat and blew in my face every time the breeze shifted. The muzzle of my arquebus was conscientiously plugged with a tube of waxed cloth, but the water trickled down the barrel and my hands so I was sure the flash pan must be sodden, reducing the height of Immerlander technology to nothing more than a beautiful five kilogram bludgeon of walnut and highly polished steel.

It was in this miserable milieu that I glanced up to curse at the overcast sky, and watched a red line slash from the ground what looked like hundreds of metres up, casting a pink glow over the clouds. I tried to blink the water from my eyes, failed, and wiped at them with a sodden cuff, which at least spread it around.

It was still there, and the glow at the base was stronger.

"Sergeant," I got out, "What under the heavens is that?" I broke my parade rest to point. It looked for all the world like someone had, dead in the central square of the city, run a razor across reality and held it up against a lowing ember.

Sergeant Dietrich stared for a long moment, going through the same eye-wiping routine as I.

"I haven't a bleeding clue, gefreiter. Report to the Captain of the Watch, on the double.”

I saluted and set off at a run, cartridge pouch banging and left hand keeping my sword clear of my legs. Over the splashing of my boots through the omnipresent puddles -- even here just outside the palace -- I heard the sergeant giving orders to make ready to load and fire if needed.

A strange humming noise was starting to pervade the air, coming from the city square, like the sound of a poorly-rosined bow being dragged across the strings of the world’s largest fiddle. I pushed harder, skidding to a halt at the palace gatehouse in a splash of water and mud and barely catching myself from falling. From here, the spires of the palace blocked the view of whatever peculiar thing was happening, and though the guards looked concerned, there was little action. I intended to change that.

“Report for the Captain of the Watch, sir!” I bellowed at the top of my lungs, standing to attention and holding a salute. Rain began to run down my sleeve, but I held the position.

The captain emerged from the gatehouse mercifully quickly, ramming his own hat onto his head against the rain.

“At ease, gefreiter. Report.”

I cleared my throat and dropped the salute. “Sir, there’s a giant beam of light that looks to be over the main square, sir. It appeared less than a minute ago by my count, sir. If you step this way you can see it past the palace roof, sir.” I gestured vaguely out into the main street into the palace proper.

Boots splashing through the puddle like mine had a minute ago, the captain trudged out to take a look. Like me, he had knee-length cavalry boots—more symbolic than practical, for a regiment largely confined to the city—and I suppressed a smile when I saw that, also like me, he was flouting dress regulations to keep his breeches untucked enough to mushroom over the top of the boots. Keeping one’s boots free of dripping water was the great leveller down the chain of command, it seemed.

My moment of levity was shattered a moment later when the captain cursed under his breath.

“Thank you, Gefreiter. Dismissed.” He turned and strode back to the gates with far more intent than before, calling out more orders in a loud voice as he went. “Leutnant Heidemann, sound the general alarm. Leutnant Hoffmann, my compliments to the Scholar in Residence and his presence is urgently requested in the War Room. Bauer, take five men…”

His voice disappeared into the gatehouse under the splashing of lower officers rushing off to carry out his orders as I rounded the corner, returning to my squad just as the piercing sound of a silver bugle called the general alarm, high tones cutting over the top of the terrible keening that still echoed from the rooftops.

“Schreiner,” Sergeant Dietrich greeted me. “Load and make ready. I think we’re about to have company.” He tapped his ear, and in the partial quiet left by the bugle falling silent I caught the sound of marching feet beating a counterrhythm to the steady drip of the rain and the otherworldly wail.

“Quickly, gefreiter!” Dietrich snapped at me, and I hastened back to the familiar routine from hours and hours of drilling. Half-cock, check the priming pan… distressingly damp. I fished a wad of fibres from my cartridge pouch, praying I could wipe the pan dry enough for the powder to catch and that none of the water had leaked through into the breech.

Return the fibre, remove a cartridge, bite the end and rip it off—a sudden breeze gave me a hearty whiff of fresh powder, nearly making me sneeze—prime, close the pan and pray it stays dry, bring the arquebus down—

I realised I had forgotten the waxed plug in the muzzle. After a moment of freezing up, I bit down on the end of the cartridge, adding “salted mouth” to my list of complaints, and pulled it free before swapping it for the cartridge. And then it was back to mechanical routine—

Charge the arquebus, followed by the cartridge, remove ramrod—nearly dropped it. The rain had my hands as shriveled as a midwinter apple—ram, tamp firmly, replace ramrod, return waxed plug and pray I remember it’s there, return arquebus to rest.

Despite my stalls, I managed to load before either Sergeant Dietrich decided to curse me out or anything more happened. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves and swallow down the acrid taste of powder. The demented viola played on, fraying away at my nerves. The waist-height wall we stood guard behind felt suddenly very inadequate in the face of a true enemy. Drills were one thing, and I had unshakeable faith in the Queen’s Guard, but I had never faced the lead head-on before.

Sergeant Dietrich must have noticed I didn’t, because he suddenly spoke uncharacteristically quietly: “Clear your muzzles.”

Though it was quiet, there was no uncertainty there, and I immediately removed the plug and fumbled it back into the cartridge pouch. I’d barely got it back before Dietrich called the order to prepare to fire. I brought the arquebus to full cock with slightly shaking hands.

“Present.”

With the dead silence from the squad and the Sergeant’s low voice, it felt like everything should be still, in a calm before the storm, but the rain kept falling and the sky kept screaming. We stared out over the killing field outside the walls—I’d always thought of it as just a wide road around the palace but that thought seemed naive now—and waited for an enemy to emerge from one of the streets or alleys. The palace was set atop a hill, as was fitting, and though the enemy would be tired from advancing uphill, it also meant we wouldn’t see them until they were nearly upon us.

My arm began threatening to shake. It felt as though I’d been standing at the ready for hours, rain dripping down my sleeve from my left hand as it supported the arquebus, splashing on my right elbow as it poured off my hat.

“Down!”

Something flashed across the street and Dietrich yelled immediately. Training habits kicked in, and I reflexively dropped like a puppet with its strings cut as something hot roared overhead, momentarily turning the drizzle into a steam bath. Coughing on the steam, I scrambled into a more stable crouching kneel.

“What was that, sergeant?” I heard Klein ask from the other side of the line. It looked like everyone had ducked in time, but I didn’t have time to be sure before Dietrich snapped the next order.

“Get back and present. On my call, kneel above the wall, but hold your fire.”

I readied my arquebus, praying the drop hadn’t knocked the charge loose. As soon as we were in a semblance of order, Dietrich barked “Up!” and I popped up, staring down the barrel at… I didn’t know what. It was man-like, but with deep red skin and taller than even the tallest Guards. Something about its gait was wrong, and I suddenly realised it had three legs. Someone whispered a prayer, or a blasphemy—I wasn’t sure which.

Behind the creature, a single short rank of arquebusiers marched, but they seemed so… unimportant by comparison.

Sergeant Dietrich’s calm voice cut through everything again. “Present. Aim for the legs.” He paused for a second. “Fire.”

I pulled the trigger, and the bark of gunfire echoed across the street as a cloud of white powder smoke blossomed around us. Immediately Dietrich was shouting over not just the sawing scream but the ringing in my ears.

“Stand! Left face, forward march! On the double, before the smoke clears!”

I scrambled to my feet and followed the squad, running behind the wall at a jog. Moments later the sound of more guns answered us from across the cobbled killing ground, and a few whining sounds passed us. I suddenly felt lighter, and realised a shot had snatched my hat off. Inches lower and I would have been dead. I sped up as much as I could, but Schmid was right in front of me and if I got any closer I’d risk tripping both of us.

The powder smoke had forbidden any sight of the creature we’d fired at, and now I didn’t dare to look back lest I lose my footing on the wet stone, but I prayed we had at least put it down. Klein apparently was thinking the same thing, because he spoke up again.

“What was that, sergeant?” He asked.

“Less talking more running, gefreiter,” Sergeant Dietrich immediately replied. “Shoot first, ask questions later.”

We had barely covered five metres before Dietrich called again and we ducked behind the walls. Either he was less shy of looking back than I or his timing was impeccable, because a bare second after his call a volley rattled out across the street and smoke bloomed again.

“Up!” The sergeant yelled. “Load! Cartridge! Close hammer! Charge! Ram! Return! Present!”

The loading procedure went by at a blazing pace, and it was only due to the many, many days of tiresome drilling that we were able to remotely keep up. Unexpectedly, the rote movements with the whole squad were calming, the world briefly shrinking to the well-practiced movements and the enemy fading into the back of my consciousness.

I looked back to the foe for the first time when I raised my arquebus to the present. A cloud of powder smoke partially obscured the men, but the monster had been running ahead and I could see it clearly: writhing on the cobbles, thank the heavens, not charging forwards to muster more of whatever devilry that had been the first time.

“Aim for the soldiers, lads, not the monster.” Dietrich paused for a beat. “Fire!”

I pulled the trigger and flames blossomed across the line. The sound of flintlocks was echoing through the streets everywhere, now, not just here, but I could still hear the order that ended battles one way or another:

“Sling arquebuses, draw swords. Over the wall, give ‘em hell!”

We vaulted the wall with scimitars drawn, someone whooped a wordless cry, and someone followed it up with a cry of “Immerland, Immerland!” We all took it up as we charged, crossing out of the haze of smoke through a few metres of clear and rainy air back into the smoke of the enemy.

The invaders broke and ran ahead of us, unwilling to meet steel with steel, and I whooped again. Klein and Fischer kept running until Sergeant Dietrich called them back, and we reformed our line -- on the other side of the road to where we started.

“Schreiner,” Dietrich called, and I started.

“Sergeant?”

“Go see if that… thing is dead. Everyone else, reload.”

I gulped, snapped out of the adrenaline rush like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over me. In fact, I was uncomfortably aware that with the loss of my hat the rain was trickling from my hair right down into my eyes.

I bore down on the knot of panic I felt and started moving before I could do anything stupid, snapping a salute and stepping out into the road.

“Mind that sword, gefreiter! Could take a man’s eye out quick as blinking,” Schmid quipped at me, breaking some of the tension. I’d absently saluted with the scimitar, though it hadn’t been a danger to anyone else in the line.

“That’s the idea, Schmid,” I shot back, “Though I know you prefer using it as a shaving mirror.”

Before he could get the last word, I quickened my pace out into the square, blade at the ready. I had no idea what to expect, but I still feared the worst.

The fears were quickly allayed when I discovered the creature to be lying unmoving where it had fallen, the rainwater puddled around it steadily turning pink. Slowly circling it, I tried to get a good look at its chest and wait to be sure it wasn’t breathing before getting closer, taking my first proper look at it.

The most striking things about it were the ones I had noticed first: its size and its colour. It must have stood well clear of eight feet, maybe nine, and its skin where it was visible was the deep red of a well-ripened cherry. It was clothed in a ragged assortment of tattered pieces, some stitched and some tied, forming a kind of robe that left its arms bare, had a rope belt knotted at the waist, and hung down to its knees.

All three of them.

The longer I looked at it, the less it seemed like something that should exist. Magical creatures were rare and known to vex physicians and men of science endlessly, but at least on a basic level I felt they were right, a being that was part of the world and that the world accepted. They had, in some way, come to be, and they continued to exist. I couldn’t imagine what demented god would make an ogre like this, and with the way it had walked I had difficulty thinking how it would have lived to reach this size.

I gave it a tentative prod with the end of my scimitar. No response. I squatted down and reached to check for a pulse or breath, but then I pulled my hand back with a yelp.

“Sergeant!” I called back, “I think it’s dead, but it’s burning hot. Like a kettle, even in this weather.”

In fact, as the smoke cleared from the battlefield, blown by the wind or washed down by the rain, I could see curls of steam rising where the drizzle dampened the creature’s skin. I turned to where Dietrich and the rest of the line had stopped just behind me -- Klein, Fischer, Bauer, pale in the face and clutching his arm as well as his flintlock, and Schmid watching the rear.

“Leave it, Schreiner,” He said. “I think I know what it is, but it’s not rightly my place to say. Like as not the Oberst will have a lot to lecture us on, soon enough.”

He was barely done speaking when another round of gunfire rattled around the palace, and the bugle called again.

“Battle’s not done, gefreitern! To the guardhouse, on the double.” The sergeant set off at a cracking pace, and I fell in at the back of the line, leaving the steaming abomination behind me.

And all the while, the sky screamed out its distorted cry while the beam of light lit the clouds red.