Dogtanian and the Three Muskehounds is copyrighted to BRB Internacional.
The story will include some minor OC/OC het, but other than that it's completely pairing-free.
THE LOST PATH
Chapter 1
He was late.
The thick forest around him was silent safe for the click of his horse's hooves and the occasional rustle from the bushes. It was the night of the full moon, but the branches above the small forest path let barely any light through them, leaving the forest shrouded in darkness.
This didn't trouble the lone traveller. His horse was trained to find its way even in pitch black nights, and he trusted the animal completely. What he was more worried about was that he should have arrived at a town by sunset. It meant that either he was lost or the people in the previous town had lied to him, neither of which was an option to his liking.
Count Rochefort growled under his breath when the next turn of the road didn't reveal even the slightest sign of him getting closer to something resembling civilization. He had been on the road for three days now since departing from the previous town, and he was quickly growing tired of sleeping out in the open.
It was almost two weeks since he had left Paris and retired his sword. The first was a decision he didn't regret, as it had got him away from Cardinal Richelieu and Dogtanian who both annoyed him, though for completely different reasons. Giving up his sword was another matter, and there were times when he thought the decision, and especially the loud declaration in front of the Musketeers had been too rash, a mistake made in a foolish outburst of feeling and hurt honour.
There was no way of going back though, and his honour, or what was left of it, would become even more stained if he took back his word and picked up his sword again. No, he would have to come up with something else now. That was the main reason of his travel; he needed to clear his head after what had happened in Paris and find a new direction for his life, preferably something that had nothing to do with the King's Musketeers.
When his thoughts started circling around that topic again, he quickly pushed them away and concentrated on the dark road ahead of him. The Musketeers were something he didn't want to think about for reasons that he couldn't even begin to admit to himself. Maybe he would ponder them and his own actions in the past once he felt his life was stable again, but right now he had too many other problems in mind.
Finding that cursed town was currently the prominent one. It was on moments like this when Rochefort regretted sending his squire back home. Not having anyone to give orders to when things got difficult made him feel like he wasn't in charge of the situation.
His horse suddenly slowed down and Rochefort realised that there was someone on the road ahead of him. He hadn't even noticed the other traveller in the dark.
"Who's there? Get out of my way! I'm busy," he called out. Now that he was closer, even he could recognise the form of a small wagon, pulled by another horse.
"I'm sorry, there's no room," a voice replied back. It was male and sounded young, maybe a little over twenty years old.
"I hate these country roads," Rochefort muttered, but he had to admit that the man ahead of him was right; there really was no way to move the wagon anywhere but forwards. He would just have to follow it at this painfully slow speed.
"What's your name, traveller?" the other man asked him.
"I'm Henri Fort," Rochefort replied automatically. It was a stupid alias and anyone who knew who he really was would have laughed at it, but it was the first thing that had popped into his mind when he had realised that he couldn't travel using his real name. Better yet, it was fairly common and wouldn't make anyone suspicious.
"My name is Didier Abrial. Nice to meet you. I rarely see other travellers on this road, especially at night," the younger man said. A hesitant tone crept into his voice and Rochefort realised that the lad probably thought he was a bandit of some sort.
"I'm an accountant on my way to serve my master in Spain," Rochefort said. That was part of the little story he had cooked up to justify his adventure whenever some overly curious soul asked him about it.
"I should have arrived to a town by now, but I think I'm lost," he continued.
"Oh, it's not far from here. I'm also going there. It's where I live," Didier said.
Well, at least there was one good point about being stuck in the forest with some country bumpkin. By following him, Rochefort would find his way to the town he had been looking for and could finally have a decent meal and sleep well.
"And what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" he asked.
"I'm the blacksmith's apprentice, and I was selling our goods in the next town. I wanted to get back home before sunset, but I'm awfully late," Didier said.
With a horse like that, it's no surprise, Rochefort thought to himself. He didn't say anything else, and Didier didn't seem to be the talkative type either. It suited Rochefort just fine because he wasn't interested in making friends with everyone he came across. Unfortunately, most people he met were somehow drawn to him and enjoyed his company, even when he was being downright rude to scare them off.
After about a half an hour, they got out of the forest and Rochefort could spot the lights of the town. There weren't many, and he was a little disappointed to see how small the town was. He had been expecting something a little more glamorous.
"Do you have an inn here?" he asked. He would rather go back to the forest than sleep in some peasant's house.
"Yes, just follow me. I'm going there, too," Didier said. He led Rochefort onwards on the narrow streets. On closer inspection, the town didn't look that bad. It seemed like they had some stores, a small marketplace, and the reason everything had seemed to little was that most houses didn't have light in their windows.
The inn Didier led him to was a fairly large building, and it was one of the few lit ones they had come across. The minute they arrived to the front yard, the door was thrown open and a young woman dashed out.
"Didier! Where have you been?" she asked with a mixture of annoyance and relief in her voice.
"The trip back took longer than I expected, that's all," Didier said reassuringly and smiled down at her.
Rochefort dismounted his horse and in the light pouring from the in, he could finally take a good look at the man who had accompanied him from the forest.
Didier was indeed a young man, as he had expected. His pointy years, large eyes and black-and-white fur made him look joyful and carefree, and he was dressed in simple clothing. He was strongly built, and Rochefort had no trouble imagining him in a smithy. All in all, he wouldn't have stood out in any of the rural towns Rochefort had visited.
The woman by his side was by no means a special sight, either. She was dark brown, probably some kind of spaniel, and while she couldn't exactly be described as round, she had the figure of someone who had never had to starve in her life. She appeared to be about the same age as Didier.
"Oh! You've brought a guest!" the woman exclaimed, finally tearing her attention from Didier and turning it to Rochefort. Immediately, she called out to someone inside the inn, "Hey, Paul! Get in here and get the monsieur's horse into the stable!"
"Do you have free rooms?" Rochefort asked after a young stable boy had taken his horse away.
"Of course, come right in. I'll get everything ready in a minute," the woman said.
"I have to get home or Picard is going to kill me. I'll probably see you tomorrow, alright?" Didier said to the woman as he turned the horse and the wagon around. "Goodnight, monsieur Fort!"
"Bye!" the woman called out after him. Then she turned to Rochefort and asked him to follow her inside.
The inn was filled with people, almost all of them seemingly peasants. Rochefort didn't particularly enjoy the idea of spending a night among them, but he reminded himself that tomorrow morning he would be on his way towards other places. And this was better than the forest, after all.
"My name is Amélie. My father owns the inn," the woman leading him said. She pointed at a round man who was laughing among the guests, oblivious to anything else that was going on.
"I'm Henri Fort. I would like to have a room for one night. And something to eat before I go to bed," Rochefort said.
Amélie nodded at him. "Right away. You can pick yourself a table and I'll bring you today's meal," she said. At that exact moment, one of the guests called out to her and she rushed over to hear their order. For a while, Rochefort watched how she took orders from at least three people at the same time, joked with an old man, avoided the kiss of a drunkard and giggled when someone slapped her on the bum.
She's very effective with her work, he thought once he'd had enough and decided to sit down. He chose a lone table near the edges of the room, but not the farthest one. He had quickly learnt that sitting alone in the loneliest corner made people curious and someone would always come over to talk to him. No, it was better to appear completely normal.
Unfortunately, that didn't seem to work in this inn. He had barely had the time to sit down and take off his hat when the innkeeper was already towering over him and flashing him the most disarming smile in the world. Had he been a more naïve person, Rochefort would have believed he had just made a new best friend.
"Welcome to my inn! I'm Philippe Gagne and I hope you'll enjoy your stay," the man said. Despite the fact that he and Amélie were of completely different colour, they were obviously the same breed and clearly related.
"I'm not planning to stay for long," Rochefort said.
Gagne continued smiling, like he hadn't even heard the impatient tone in Rochefort's voice. He invited himself over to the Count's table and sat down, laying his hands on the table. The idea of telling him to get lost crossed Rochefort's mind, but he decided that being rude to the owner would only get him into unwanted trouble, and he didn't want to risk his meal and warm bed.
"Most people don't stay in our town, I'm sad to say," Gagne said. "So, where are you going?"
"Spain," Rochefort replied. When Gagne shot a curious glance at him, he continued, "My master bought some farmland there and needs me to measure how much it's worth."
"Well, you've got a long way to go, then. Be sure to ask my Amélie to get you some of our wine. It's on me," Gagne said.
"I appreciate the offer, but I have to be on my way early," Rochefort said.
"Nonsense! Hey, Amélie! Bring this gentleman some wine, will you?" Gagne said to his daughter who was just coming over with Rochefort's food.
"Yes, papa," she said as she put the plate down on the table. "Papa, Uncle Jean is drunk again. Maybe you should do something about him," she said then.
"I don't think there's anything that can be done about that old drunkard," Gagne sighed but got up. "Enjoy your food, monsieur Fort."
Rochefort thanked the man briefly, glad that he could at least have his meal in peace. As he ate, he looked at the rest of the inn from the corner of his eye, careful to make it seem like he was only interested in his food. The other guests were drinking in groups, but there was little of the usual laughter and joking that he had learnt to expect in inns. It seemed like everyone had something serious to discuss with each other, and Rochefort guessed that there was something going on in the local area.
He was brought back from his thoughts when Amélie appeared with the wine. Rochefort thought about asking her if the atmosphere in the inn was that gloomy every night, but at the last moment, he decided that he didn't want to know about the problems these peasants had.
"Hope you like the wine. It's our best," she said as she poured some into his mug.
Rochefort suspected that it wouldn't come even close to what he had drunk in Paris and at home, but he thanked her nevertheless.
"Do you always offer free drinks to strangers?" he asked after taking a sip. He was surprised to notice that the wine was actually good, and that eased his sour mood a little.
Amélie giggled. "Papa is very generous and he likes to see new faces around here. If I wasn't here, he'd probably ruin us by not accepting money from the customers," she said.
Just then, the door flew open and three dogs stepped inside. In an instant, the inn became silent as a grave and everyone turned away from the newcomers, not wanting to do anything to get their attention.
"Oh, dear," Amélie muttered under her breath.
Rochefort looked at the strangers and it took him only a second to see that the three of them were troublemakers. The tallest one, obviously the leader, was a slim dog with short brownish fur and black spots. The other two, a black dog with pointy ears and a curly tail and a smaller brown dog, were following him like shadows. All three had swords hanging on their belts. The way they marched into the inn, grinning like they owned the place, told Rochefort that they were used to getting whatever they wanted.
Probably bandits, he thought to himself and continued eating. He wasn't interested in getting involved in this mess as long as it didn't concern him.
The three dogs found themselves an empty table and sat down. The leader tipped his hat at Gagne whose smile had finally vanished from his face.
"Amélie, darling, get over here!" the leading dog called out.
The woman didn't waste one second. "What I can get you, monsieur Diarra?" she asked.
"How many times have I told you that you can call me Marcel?" the man said, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.
"You know I don't get personal with customers, monsieur Diarra," Amélie said, squirming a little but not pulling away from Marcel.
"Daddy doesn't like it, huh?" the black dog said with a chuckle, earning a glare from Marcel.
"Shut up, Laurent," he snapped. "Nobody asked you."
He gave Amélie a little slap and pushed her away. "One day you'll call me whatever I tell you, but tonight I'll be happy if you get us something to drink. We've been working all day," he said.
Rochefort glanced at Gagne, wondering if he was going to say anything about someone touching his daughter like that, but it seemed like the man was rooted to his place. Nobody else in the inn had made a move or said anything either.
No common bandits, then, he decided and took another gulp of the wine. It was then that he noticed the three dogs staring at him.
Marcel waved Gagne over and finally got some reaction out of the man. "Who's that?" he asked loudly enough for Rochefort to hear and nodded at the Count's direction. Rochefort pretended that he hadn't noticed.
"Just a traveller on his way to Spain. He won't cause any trouble to Governor Enguerrand. Don't worry," Gagne explained quickly.
"Hmm. You sure somebody didn't ask him to come here and report to Paris?" Marcel asked, and Gagne grew a grey shade of pale.
"Of course! He's no trouble at all, I swear!" he said.
Marcel laughed a little, and Laurent joined in. The third member of their group didn't seem to find anything funny about the situation. He only rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Don't worry, old man! I know you people are too stupid to do anything like that!" Marcel said cheerfully. Next he turned to his companions and said, "Stay here. I'll go and talk to the stranger."
"I think he looks suspicious," the third man in their group muttered.
"Everything looks suspicious to you! Don't worry so much, Piers," Marcel said, giving his friend a slap to the shoulder. Piers only snorted at that.
Rochefort didn't lift his eyes from his food when Marcel arrived, not even when the man sat down in front of him. Marcel didn't speak to him either, and they sat in complete silence until Rochefort was done eating. The other customers in the inn were looking at the two of them all the while trying to look like they were busy talking to each other.
"I take it you wish to speak to me," Rochefort finally said, putting down his empty mug.
"What's your business here, stranger?" Marcel asked. He was leaning back in his chair and resting his hand on the hilt of his sword, appearing very relaxed and at ease. Rochefort didn't let the act fool him, though. He had seen men like Marcel numerous times before, and he knew that if needed, the tall dog could leap into action and draw his sword in a blink.
It was a pity he didn't have his own sword anymore. He would have very much liked to see how good Marcel really was.
"I think the innkeeper already informed you of that. I'm on my way to Spain," Rochefort replied coldly.
"I hope you're speaking the truth. Me and my friends, we don't like people who stick their nose into matters that aren't their business," Marcel said. As he did this, he took a long glance behind his shoulder and everyone he looked at quickly turned away.
"Done showing off?" Rochefort asked. It was obvious to him that Marcel didn't consider him a real threat but simply wanted to remind these peasants of his might. Pathetic, but it was to be expected from simple-minded fools.
"I'd watch my words if I were you," Marcel said as he stood up. "This isn't a safe area for those who make enemies with me. Especially if they're travelling alone." With that, he returned to his companions, just in time to receive the drinks Amélie was bringing them.
Rochefort was ready to get up and go to bed, but it looked like Amélie would be busy until Marcel and his friends left, so he would have to wait until she had the time to tell which room was his. He kept an eye on the group of three and this time he didn't even try to hide his piercing stare from them. They soon realised that he was watching, but the only one bothered by it seemed to be the smallest one, Piers.
It was a good thing he was leaving the next morning, he mused. There was obviously something going on in the town, otherwise three men would never have been able to act like that and get such a reaction out of everyone. He was mildly curious, but not enough to get involved and be delayed even further. Not that he his journey had a specific goal in the first place, but principles were principles.
As the night grew later, the other customers started leaving in small groups. Marcel and his gang followed the example after a few more drinks, none of which they paid for. At the door Marcel turned back once more and blew a kiss at Amélie, making the young woman shift uncomfortably.
"Haha! I told you she doesn't like you!" from Laurent was the last thing Rochefort could hear from them before they closed the door.
He stood up and picked up his hat. "I'd like to get into my room now," he said.
"Right, I'm sorry. I already prepared it earlier. Here's the key," Amélie said and handed him a key. She seemed a little shaken and didn't even properly look at Rochefort as she spoke. She quickly turned her attention to the mugs Marcel and his group had left behind and busied herself with taking them away.
Rochefort turned away to leave, but Gagne's hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Yes?" the Count asked.
Gagne took a quick glance around, and once he was sure that all remaining customers were friends, he leant closer. "I wouldn't try my luck with Diarra and his gang. They have powerful friends in this area," he whispered.
"I know how to take care of myself," Rochefort pointed out.
"I don't think you quite understand. They work for the local Governor and they can get away with anything. They terrorize the townspeople and --" the innkeeper continued, but Rochefort had no patience for such stories.
"And why should that be any concern of mine?" he demanded in irritation.
Fortunately, Gagne seemed to get the hint. "Very well," he agreed with a nod. "Goodnight, monsieur Fort."
Rochefort thought he could finally be alone and rid of these peasants, but as he reached the second floor, he found himself face to face with a young pup. She was maybe thirteen years old and her fur was a light shade of caramel, but despite this she was obviously related to Gagne and Amélie. The girl was leaning against the wall and didn't seem at all startled when Rochefort arrived.
He tried to walk past her without getting into a conversation, but she looked up to him in curiosity and said, "I heard you talking to Marcel."
"You shouldn't listen to other people's conversations, young lady," Rochefort said. He didn't stop walking, so the girl had to follow him in order to keep talking.
"You were really rude to him. He's not going to like that," the girl said. As an afterthought she added, "But I do. It's about time someone does something about him."
"I'm not going to do anything about him. Do you parents know you're standing up here, listening to what goes on downstairs?" Rochefort asked. He had found the door to his room, but he wasn't going to open it until he had got rid of the brat.
The girl shrugged like it was no problem. "Papa doesn't like me downstairs this late. He thinks he needs to protect me, or something. But he doesn't know that I eavesdrop on them every night," she said with a mischievous smirk.
"Maybe I'll tell him, then," Rochefort said.
"Nah, you wouldn't. You aren't like these boring country people. You're mysterious," the girl said.
"I think you have too much imagination for your own good. Now leave me, I have no time to stand in corridors, speaking to foolish girls," Rochefort said.
"Just call me Ninette. It's shorter," the girl laughed and took a few skips away. When she was about to disappear through a small side door, she turned back to take one last look at Rochefort, but the Count paid her no more attention.
I wouldn't want to be monsieur Gagne when that girl gets a little older, he mused as he stepped into his room.
The room wasn't anything spectacular. There was a bed, a small table and a chair, and all of them were simple and even ugly. On the other hand, everything was clean and at least the room didn't smell bad, unlike in the previous town where he had almost decided to join his horse in the stables.
In fact, the room reminded him very much of the one in that inn where he had first duelled with Dogtanian. It seemed like it was ages since that night, and he felt tired just thinking about it. He sometimes found himself wondering what would have happened if he hadn't met Dogtanian that day on the road. They would have probably still fought later in Paris, but there wouldn't have been any special rivalry between them.
Then again, it probably didn't matter in the long run. The result of that final duel between them would have been the same whether they were rivals or not. The only difference was that maybe the blow to his honour would have stung a little less if it had happened in front of someone else. Whether he liked it or not, Rochefort had to respect the Cadet – no, he was a Musketeer now – and Dogtanian's opinion wasn't completely meaningless to him.
The young cavalier had shown him what being honourable was really like, but instead of making him see the light, this had only managed to confuse the Count. The only thing he knew for certain was that Milady's actions in the duel had shamed him, but he wasn't sure whether that was in any way worse than what he had done himself. After all, he had accepted Widimer destroying the bridge when the Musketeers had been on their way to Spain. Wasn't that just as bad as shooting someone in a duel or attempting to poison them?
He didn't know what to think of himself, and that was the reason to his continuing bad spirits. He wasn't certain if it had been Milady who had destroyed his honour or whether he had been doing a good job at it himself for years.
Thinking about Paris and his actions in Richelieu's service made him feel weary, so he decided to go to bed and forget all about Dogtanian and his own former allies, at least for the night.
To be continued...