Authors note: I wrote this before I wrote 'Small Injuries' but could not get the ending right (it's still not very good!), there are some similarities between the two stories, but there are more differences I think.
All but d'Artagnan get whumped, and d'Artagnan gets a bit worried about a decision he made.
The Ravine
Chapter One
This had not been entirely unexpected, thought Porthos. The six men had been following them for some time. Despite being fairly sure they had shaken them off their trail the day before they had kept vigilant. It had been a good job. Had they not taken turns to keep watch during the night they would have been taken by surprise and probably beaten. As it was Aramis' yelled warning had only given them seconds to prepare.
Porthos brought his main gauche across to parry another attack from one of the two men who were eagerly trying to kill him. One man was slim and light on his feet, but his sword work was poor. The second, bigger man was good with his heavier sword and took advantage of his fellow bandit's speed to wield the bigger sword in harder wider arcs and thrusts. Porthos was, he had to admit, struggling to keep up with the two men. He had adopted a defensive method with the bigger man whilst he attacked the other. The smaller man, although quick would be easier to take out, once he had done away with him Porthos could concentrate on the bigger man.
Aramis was fighting with a man of equal build to himself, Porthos watched as his friend twisted the bandits parrying blade out of the enemy's hand with a flourish. Porthos knew Aramis would be by his side in no time. The ill trained man would not last much longer against his friend.
D'Artagnan had also been lucky enough to only be facing one man, the overweight thug was clearly in trouble. D'Artagnan had been glancing around as he fought and was clearly ready to help Athos once he had despatched the somewhat wobbly man.
Athos, unlike himself, was not struggling against the two men he was facing. But they had worked their way to the side of their encampment, which put them dangerously close to a ravine. A barely sloping drop which reached several yards down was only a few feet from Athos. It was obvious that Athos was aware how close he was to the danger as he was trying to turn the men he was fighting so that they were the ones on the dangerous side.
With a quick feint and a thrust of his main gauche Porthos took out the smaller man he was fighting. As the smaller man went down Porthos was pulled off balance, retrieving his main gauche from the man's side, leaving him exposed for a few seconds. The bigger man took advantage and smashed the hilt of his sword into Porthos' head.
As the pain exploded and he felt himself fall Porthos was also aware of a sharp sting across his arm. He hoped as the blackness took him that his brothers would be more successful than he had been.
MMMM
Aramis sliced across the man's throat with his main gauche ending the fight efficiently. Within a second he was crossing to Porthos who had just taken out one of the two men he was fighting. Aramis was still several yards away when his friend fell, the bigger fighter having smashed the hilt of his big sword hard into his friend's head. As Porthos crumpled to the floor the fighter straightened the sword quickly and sliced across Porthos' left bicep, cutting through the leather of his doublet with ease.
Aramis yelled at the man who had so viciously assaulted his friend. The man did not get a chance to turn Aramis pushed his sword into the man's back, not thinking it dishonerable for a second.
After a quick glance towards d'Artagnan who had killed his bandit and was rushing across to help Athos, Aramis turned his attention to Porthos.
His friend was lying awkwardly, one leg tucked under the other, his sword still held firmly in his hand, his arm outstretched. Aramis crouched down and straightened out Porthos' legs and eased the sword from his hand. Porthos did not move.
The sword hilt had left a few shallow cuts and grazes to his friend's temple and bruising was already evident. The cut to his arm was deep, Aramis pulled the fabric away as much as he could. It would need stitching. Much as he wanted to deal with the injury immediately he knew he would have to wait until the other bandits had been finished off. He reached up and gently pulled Porthos' bandana from his injured head and used it to wrap around the wound on his arm as a makeshift bandage to help stem the blood that was oozing.
He turned quickly when he heard d'Artagnan yell.
MMMM
The fat man had gone down easily, pulling the sword out from the man's gut was probably the hardest part of the fight.
He glanced around and saw Aramis rushing to Porthos who had clearly been injured. The big musketeer was lying, sprawled on the ground clearly unconscious. D'Artagnan knew as much as he would like to help his fallen brother, Athos was still fighting and in a dangerous position as he did so. Although Athos was a superior swordsman the two men had forced him ever closer to the edge of the ravine.
As d'Artagnan approached, Athos managed an upward swing of his sword slicing across one of the men's stomach. The mortally wounded man staggered back a few paces before folding to the ground. The other man, enraged at the ease with which his fellow bandit was taken out rushed at Athos who managed to pull his main gauche around in time to stab it into the man. But the forward momentum of the rushing man pushed them both backwards a few feet.
They teetered on the edge of the ravine. D'Artagnan was only seconds away from reaching them as the impaled man pushed away from Athos and fell backwards. Athos, however had nowhere to go. He swung his arms in a hopeless attempt to regain his balance. D'Artagnan watched in horror shouting his name as the swordsman fell backwards out of sight.
MMMM
Athos felt weightless for a few seconds, he flailed his arms but knew it would not work. He saw the man he had stabbed fall backwards as he did the same but in the opposite direction.
His foot scrapped across the edge of the ravine as he fell. For a couple of seconds there was nothing then a scratching and breaking and hopeless grabbing. Somewhere in his mind he knew he was falling though trees or bushes. They had looked into the ravine when they made camp deciding that they were at least protected from that side, the prickly bushes looked pretty formidable from the top of the ravine.
He was falling through them, he could feel them ripping at the skin on his cheek, on the back of his head and on an exposed piece of skin on his right wrist. His sword was pulled from his grasp as he continued to fall.
The fall felt slow, but he knew it was not. He knew when he landed it would hurt. Or he would not feel anything at all. He did not know which he preferred.
MMMM