Chapter 35
26 August 149 Third Age
Carrack awoke with a jolt, the chill of cold sweat clinging to him as if he had been rudely dismounted from a horse in full gallop. The room lay shrouded in darkness, lit faintly by the last embers of a dying fire, the air dense with an unwelcome chill. He gasped and clutched at his chest, his heart pounding against his ribs as if threatening to escape. Closing his eyes, he attempted to steady the whirlwind of waking thoughts, still tainted by the dissipating echoes of dreams. Though the dreams themselves had vanished, they left a lingering discomfort in his mind.
Gradually, his breathing slowed, a fragile calm reclaiming him until a sudden knock at the door shattered the quiet.
“What!” his voice erupted, more a shriek of alarm than inquiry.
A brief silence ensued, followed by a timid reply from the other side. “Uh, shit, sorry sir, didn't mean to wake you.”
Carrack’s eyes narrowed, recognition dawning without a name to anchor it. “Who is that?”
“Pugh, sir. Uh, Private Walter Pugh, we talked when I was on radio duty a few days ago. Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, I'll leave you be.”
Carrack’s memory cleared with a brisk shake of his head, recalling the young private. He tossed aside the sheets, the cold air biting at his damp skin as he silently cursed the interruption. “Wait a moment, Pugh,” he called out, opening the door to find Pugh standing there, his face etched with nervous regret.
“Pugh,” Carrack’s voice softened slightly, recognizing the familiar face, “what’s going on? Anything wrong?”
“No, sir,” Pugh replied hesitantly. “Just finished my shift, that’s all.”
Carrack’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And you decided to stop by my quarters?”
“Well, it’s just that—”
“You do realize just how many people you just jumped over to come talk to me right?” Carrack asked in surprise, almost shock at the break in protocol, “Especially at my own quarters, I mean good God, I do like coming around and talkin’ with you all, but this is … If Crow found out you came up here just on you own accord …”
“Yes, sir,” Pugh nodded vigorously, “I’ll be mopping the top of the walls until the sun rises.”
“That’s right,” Carrack replied, his irritation subsiding into curiosity. He softened his tone and offered a more approachable demeanor. “Private, what’s going on, what can I do for you?”
“You’re right, sir, this is very … very out of line of me to be here. But I just got off my shift and I’ve been hearing a lot about tomorrow.” Pugh shifted uneasily, his arm rubbing its counterpart. “It’s just been all been a lot to deal with.”
Carrack leaned casually against the doorframe, nodding in understanding. “It’s a heavy load for everyone. Are the men feeling the same?”
“Many are anxious, sir. Most had never encountered a mage until Alaina arrived. And now, the prospect of detaining several tomorrow has some on edge. One of my buddies is worried about being turned inside out with a snap of a finger. Bit extreme, but still, something to consider I guess.”
Carrack let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, that is a little extreme, but sorcerers are not to be trifled with lightly. That’s why we have Alaina though, she’ll keep us all safe from the worst of the arcane.”
Pugh’s eyes searched Carrack’s face, seeking assurance. “She’ll really be able to keep us all safe?”
Carrack understood the gravity of the situation; he harbored no illusions about the peril they faced. Yet, in that moment, he chose reassurance over grim realities. With a nod and a wry smile, he affirmed, “You bet your ass she will. She's more than capable—might even turn a few of them inside out before they can touch a single one of us.”
Pugh’s gaze lingered on Carrack, carrying a mix of acceptance and skepticism. It was a look that hinted at understanding beyond the words spoken. Over the years, Carrack had become accustomed to the veil of half-truths and outright fabrications used to mask the harshness of reality. Sometimes, he found solace in the gentle fiction of reassurance, even when the weight of truth loomed large. He hoped Pugh would find a measure of comfort in his assurance, grasping the necessity of hope in their grim circumstances.
“Yeah,” Pugh murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor.
“Spread the word if it’ll help others rest easier,” Carrack advised, offering a reassuring pat on Pugh’s shoulder as a sign of conclusion. Yet, Pugh lingered, seemingly rooted to the spot. Carrack, sensing the hesitation, inquired further, “Is there something else on your mind, Private?”
Pugh exhaled, a hint of resolve firming his voice. “Well, yes, sir. Your reassurances are appreciated, truly, but that’s not the real reason I came to see you.”
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Carrack’s eyebrow lifted in a mix of surprise and intrigue. “And what might that reason be?”
“As I was making my way off my shift, wandering through the halls lost in thoughts about tomorrow,” Pugh began, his voice a blend of nostalgia and unease, “I heard something … It took me back to my childhood. A soft melody of a violin wafted through the air, seeming to come from up here.”
Carrack’s reaction was subtle, a slight twitch of the eye and curling of his fingers betraying his composure. Internally, however, he was in turmoil. The mention of a violin playing nearby sent a chill through him, his heart racing anew and a tightness clamping around his chest, making it hard to breathe.
“You must be mistaken,” Carrack managed to say, his words edged with an involuntary sharpness as he attempted a reassuring smile, “It was probably just the wind.”
But Pugh was insistent, his certainty unshaken. “No, sir, I know what I heard. It was a violin. I used to play; that sound is unmistakable.”
The faint smile vanished from Carrack’s face, supplanted by a stern, almost foreboding expression that visibly unsettled Pugh. “You’re mistaken. It was the wind.”
“But sir—”
Carrack’s patience snapped, his voice rising in a rare outburst of anger, “It was the fucking wind, Private!” The sudden ferocity shocked both of them, the air thick with tension. “Now leave, before I have Sergeant Crow up here!”
Pugh recoiled, the shock and fear evident in his eyes as he quickly saluted and retreated, his footsteps hastening down the stairs.
Carrack stood frozen, his breaths coming in heavy gasps, his eyes wide with a mix of rage and fear. His body quaked slightly, betraying the terror that lay beneath the furious facade. His hands, trembling, tapped against the wall in an erratic rhythm as he pivoted back into his room, the door closing with a definitive thud behind him.
Alone now, surrounded by the chill and silence, he found his gaze drifting involuntarily towards his bed, his mind desperately trying to shut out the creeping dread. But resistance faltered, and as his eyes unwillingly shifted to the corner of the room, the stark reality hit him. There, on the desk, lay a small chest, its lid agape. Beside it rested the violin, as if silently accusing him with its mere presence. He was certain he hadn’t touched it, hadn’t even remembered it was on the desk until now. Yet, unmistakably, there it lay.
His gaze shifted next to the overturned teacup on the floor next to his bed that war filled with the brew Alaina had brought him earlier. He strained to recall whether he’d consumed it or accidentally knocked it over. Doubt gnawed at him, his memory a frustrating blur, and as uncertainty swelled, a pounding headache began to build.
“What the hell is happening?” he murmured, the question echoing silently in the room.
Though his eyes were heavy with fatigue, the urge for sleep clawing insistently, Carrack resisted. Seized by a surge of frustration, he grasped the violin, his intention clear as he aimed it towards the fireplace, ready to cast it into the flames. Yet, in the midst of his resolve, a flicker of hesitation, like lightning splitting the sky, pierced his determination. It stilled his hand, halting the impending act of destruction.
His resolve dissolved into further anger at his own hesitation. With a resentful motion, he returned the violin to its chest, slamming the lid closed with a definitive thud and shoving it out of sight under his bed. Then, moving almost mechanically, he gathered a few logs, feeding them to the fireplace to breathe life back into the waning embers. There, he sat, silently stoking the flames, waiting for the inevitable moment when he would have to confront the day ahead.
***
Each blink Carrack took grew longer and more laborious, each one a battle against the enticing pull of sleep. Yet, he resisted, jerking his head up to let the raindrops splash against his face, a cold reminder to stay vigilant. Around him, the courtyard buzzed with a subdued energy; members of the garrison assigned to today’s mission assembled in silent determination. The air was thick with anticipation, each soldier moving through the mud in quiet contemplation, no doubt lost in their last-minute checks and the what ifs about what was coming.
Many of the men surrounding him were part of Captain Foeham’s ill-fated mission just a few days prior, their faces familiar to Carrack. He suspected Crow had chosen them for this very reason, perhaps as a testament to their resilience or experience. Carrack harbored doubts, wondering if it might have been wiser to select those not recently shaken by trauma. Yet, despite his reservations, he placed his trust in Crow’s judgment.
As the soldiers formed up, Carrack’s gaze landed on Pugh, who was undergoing an inspection. The young man’s anxiety was palpable, his eyes betraying the fragile veneer of calm with underlying fear. Such is the way of soldierly at times, Carrack thought.
Crow assembled the men, issuing last-minute instructions and ensuring a unified understanding of the plan. Once briefed, they formed a line in front of the gate, each soldier either staring ahead with determination or down at the mud in quiet reflection. The mood shifted subtly as Alaina emerged from the fort. As the sole woman amongst them, her presence invariably drew glances. Yet, while her appearance commanded attention, it was her arcane nature that stirred a deeper mix of curiosity, suspicion, and unease among the ranks.
Her presence this time was particularly commanding. Alaina was clad in a long, deep jade jacket, complemented by a black cloak that bore the marks of wear and tear, its edges trailing through the mud. A hood shrouded her head, casting her face into shadow and sheltering it from the rain. To those watching, she bore the ethereal aura of a wraith, her figure a stark contrast against the dreary backdrop.
Alaina stood to the side, her gaze fixed on the soldiers as they secured the cauldron of Soma onto a cart, her hands nonchalantly tucked into her pockets. The concoction’s weight necessitated the use of a portable wheeled engine, disdainfully referred to as a “Thomas” amongst the men. Its presence was met with collective disapproval; the engine was notoriously difficult to operate, frequently malfunctioned, poorly suited to the muddy terrain, and emanated a perpetual threat of malfunction or worse—explosion.
Carrack positioned himself towards the rear of the line, his eyes fixed on Crow for the commencement signal. A series of muted thuds resonated down the ranks, the men’s soft pats against their gear serving as a wordless readiness confirmation. Crow’s head then emerged from the front, his eyes searching until they locked with Carrack’s. A subtle nod from Carrack set everything in motion.
The gates groaned open, peeling back layers of mud as they scraped against the uneven terrain. The soldiers began their march, each step a heavy splash in the mire. Amidst the movement, the Thomas engine sputtered to life, its grind and pops piercing the air as it trudged forward. As the line ahead surged forward, Carrack remained momentarily rooted, the muscles in his legs tensing with the urge to proceed yet hesitating. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he overcame the momentary stillness and took his determined first step into the fray.