Then, disaster struck him a second time. His horse leaped over a pile of old cut tree trunks that had been laying directly in its path, losing its balance and landing on its knees, sending Aramis flying over its head onto another pile, this one of logs cut from the trunks. When he landed, he could feel his shoulder and ribs violently hit the logs, and from the impact he knew one or both could be cracked or broken. He was dazed, and couldn't seem to move while his breath came in great shuddering gasps. HIs whole body seemed to be on fire with the pain.
He was intensely dizzy and he was having trouble focusing. He vaguely realized he needed to try to get up and find some shelter where he could treat his wounds, but his traumatized body was screaming out its protest in spasms of excruciating pain. He was having trouble controlling his breathing, and he tried not to panic, which would make it worse.
To make matters worse, the rain was coming down steadily, the heavily overcast skies had significantly lowered the temperatures of the once pleasant weather.
Aramis stayed very still for a little, trying to give his body a few moments to quiet itself, before attempting to exert himself again to get up. He knew he couldn't use his right shoulder, as the intensity of the pain was telling him it was broken, so he pushed himself slowly up with his left arm, finally gaining his feet on his second try. He could see some sort of building a relatively short distance away, and thought maybe there might be someone there who could help him. He grabbed a broken piece of branch from the pile in front of him to steady himself with, and took an wobbly step, then another. Each time he moved, he felt spasms throughout his body, but he kept going. The storm didn't help, as it was now coming down in sheets, and the wind was blowing straight at him, soaking him to the bone and chilling him at the same time.
It seemed to take forever, but finally he reached the front of what turned out to be a cottage. He leaned heavily against the door, then knocked. No one answered. He tried again. Nothing. He pushed the door open, and stumbled inside.
Looking around, he saw that it was deserted. The cupboards were open and empty, dust covered what little furniture there was, and a strong musty odor permeated the air. His hopes for someone who could help him or take a message to the garrison were dashed.
He did see that there was a pile of kindling in front of the fireplace, and nearly wept for joy. His tiny tinderbox was about the only thing he hadn't lost when his horse took off. After having been stranded one or two times in the past in the midst of winter, he kept it now in a pocket in his doublet.
He set to work making a fire, as he knew he was probably going to lose consciousness soon. The pain was becoming unbearable, with dizziness and wavering vision making it difficult to see well enough to finish.
When he finally accomplished the task, he slowly rose to his feet, moaning with the constant, unremitting pain he was experiencing. Staggering over to a bed set against the wall, he laid down. His body was shaking from the movement he had put it through, with fine tremors coursing through all his limbs. He closed his eyes for a moment to calm himself, and lost consciousness almost immediately.
Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan had been sitting in the garrison dining area for well over an hour. Aramis had been expected to return by mid-afternoon, and it was evening now. It had begun to rain in the early afternoon, and it was now pouring its heart out, with a strong wind added, as well. They were concerned, as it wasn't like Aramis to be late, knowing they would be concerned.
Porthos said, "Maybe he decided to call it a night, and stopped at an inn along the way."
None of them thought that was really a possibility, but none of them wanted to voice aloud their concern that something might have happened. After waiting another hour, Athos said, "If he isn't back by morning, I will ask Treville for permission to go find him." They hoped he would be there with a laugh and an excuse in the morning, but were very much afraid he wouldn't. The thought of their beloved brother being out alone somewhere in this storm was worrying them all.
The stocky, tow-headed man was furious with himself. His brothers tried to calm him down, but he wasn't accepting his failure to kill the man who had caused his youngest brother's death. "Albert, you had a good shot at him, and you did hit him,"said his next oldest brother, Julien.
Albert was having none of it. "He was able to ride away. We didn't kill him like we promised our brother on his grave."
Jean tried a different tack. "Why don't we follow the trail, and see if we can find him then? How hard can it be? He is wounded, after all."
Albert agreed, replying, "He is a King's Musketeer. He is a witness to what we tried to do to him. He could bring the law down on us and get us hung. We can't let him live. And we can't let our brother's death remain unavenged. Let's find him, brothers," as they all nodded in agreement and mounted their horses.
