A Rock and Hard Place
Chapter two
'Who said we were going to kill him. There are many ways we can harm your friend without killing him…'
The words were not ones d'Artagnan had expected to hear as he came around. Something Athos had said to him a while ago came to the front of his still addled mind. If you do not know what is happening keep quiet, and do not let them know you are aware. D'Artagnan was aware enough to know that there was an unfamiliar man standing over him, who was clearly a threat. He kept still and quiet as the adrenaline rushed through him helping him come fully to his senses.
He was aware of the man moving away and nearly shuddered when he heard him speak again.
'Now we can have some fun…and just think…when we are done with you, we are going to do this to your pretty friend over there.'
What were they going to do, and who were the talking with? D'Artagnan dared to open his eyes a crack, he realised no one was watching him so opened them fully but did not move otherwise. As he took in the sight before him he had to use all his willpower not to leap up.
Aramis was tied to a tree a few metres away; his arms were bound tightly behind him and what looked like a rope or strap had been fastened around his neck and the tree forcing him into what must have been an uncomfortable position. He did not appear hurt, but that looked like it was about to change.
The older of the two men pulled a small but sharp looking knife from his weapon belt. The metal glinted in the setting sun. He waved it about a bit close to Aramis' face. Aramis could not turn away from the blade. The man rested the edge of the blade on Aramis' cheek and with barely any pressure dragged it downwards causing a very shallow cut. D'Artagnan could tell that Aramis was forcing himself not to react to the assault, although he was breathing quickly.
'Your friend clearly wants us to get some decent practice in before we kill you,' said the other man as the older one took a step back, 'he is taking his time waking up.'
D'Artagnan quickly closed his eyes as their captors looked over at him. His blood ran cold at the statement, his mind racing as he put the information together. The men were waiting for him to wake up and when he did they would kill Aramis, but until he did it looked like they were going to assault him in some way. If he let them know he was awake Aramis would die, but if he stayed still Aramis was going to be hurt. There was no way he could get up and arm himself before the men either seriously harmed or killed Aramis. D'Artagnan knew his only option was to keep still and pray that Porthos returned soon.
He chanced opening his eyes again and watched as the taller man used the knife to cut open the front of Aramis' shirt with a sneer. Although he was trying to hide it Aramis was clearly scared, his breathing was quick which would not be helped by the strap around his neck. Although it was not tight enough to stop him breathing it was restricting the oxygen he was able to draw into his lungs.
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The knife was sharp, there had not been any pressure on his cheek as it had cut him and now it was being employed to slice open his shirt with barely any effort. He tried to remain calm, a difficult thing, when he felt so exposed, so helpless. This was not something he was used to. Normally his guns and sword were more than enough to prevent anyone bothering him. Even without his weapons he was good enough with his fists. But faced with the threat to one of his friends he had been disarmed, his weapons useless, his ability to fight even without them rendered impractical.
Could he have done anything to prevent this? His mind whirled as the knife continued to slice the fabric. Should he have been more attentive when he was returning to camp? Would this whole situation have been avoided if he had done what any good soldier should; remained on his guard? It was his fault, he should have noticed sooner that something was amiss in the camp. And now he was going to be killed and these sadistic men were going to do the same thing to d'Artagnan.
He managed to glance over at d'Artagnan who was still unconscious. A small part of his mind wanted the young man to wake up so that his ordeal would be over quicker, Aramis pushed that thought away. No, d'Artagnan must stay unaware for as long as possible, Porthos would be back soon and this would all be over. Where was Porthos, why was he not back already, had something happened to him?
Aramis realised his breathing had quickened, he was panicking. Musketeers did not panic. But then again, he was tied to a tree with a leather strap around his neck and two clearly deranged men were cutting his shirt off with a very sharp knife. Perhaps he could panic a little bit?
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Once Jean had cut open Aramis shirt he gently rested the tip of the knife against his exposed chest. D'Artagnan was really struggling to keep still. Even more so when the knife was put to use to cut into Aramis skin. The cut was shallow, much like the one on his friend's cheek. It did not bleed, it was not much more than a scratch but the implication that it could have been worse was clear.
Aramis did not react. He had managed to calm his breathing a little, which d'Artagnan took to be a good thing. The longer Aramis could hold out the better.
Again Jean sliced at Aramis, again not much more than a scratch. Again Aramis did not react. He was staring defiantly at Jean. But d'Artagnan could read the fear, he knew Aramis well enough to know when he was hiding his emotions. There were things that Aramis hid all the time, things that d'Artagnan could not even guess at, but they were there, so he knew there were layers to his friends emotions. And now fear was bubbling to the surface. Not an emotion often seen in the musketeer.
The slicing continued. A couple of the cuts were a bit deeper and had bled. But nothing serious, yet. Jean clearly enjoying his assault of the helpless man. The knife was passed between the two and each took turns with their torturous game. But as it continued Phillipe appeared to be getting bored, his turns with the knife were always deeper, not as controlled or considered as Jean's were. When Phillipe spoke, it filled d'Artagnan with dread.
'Can't we just kill him and get the other one ready?'
'Not yet, there is something I want to try, I did it to a cat I caught years ago with really quite satisfying results,' replied Jean sneering at Aramis, 'but I want to see how he reacts before we try it on the pretty one…here,' he handed the knife to Phillipe, 'since you seem incapable of cutting him without making him bleed put a couple of deeper slices into him, enough to bleed and open up the skin a bit but don't go too far, we need him to last a bit longer.'
Jean took the knife with a grin and turned back towards Aramis who had started breathing quickly again. D'Artagnan was trying to make eye contact with Aramis, but he was too focused on the men in front of him. D'Artagnan watched as Phillipe walked over to the bag and pulled out a small jar. He picked up Aramis' discarded shirt and ripped off a section fabric. He soaked the fabric with water then upended the small jar onto the wet fabric with a smile. A hiss of pain drew d'Artagnan's attention back to Aramis. Phillipe had sliced across the bound man's chest, but this time the knife had cut deeper. The cut would not need stitching but it was still deep enough to bleed. Phillipe cut Aramis again with the same result.
Aramis was panting now, clearly panicking, he was trying to pull at the rope around his wrists, which only put pressure on the strap around his neck. Aramis was watching Jean, he appeared to know what was in the jar and had anticipated what was to come. D'Artagnan hated not being able to do anything. Their options were limited and he knew their time was running out.
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Aramis could not contain the panic now, he pulled at his binding, despite knowing that doing so put pressure on his neck. He wanted to get away, needed to get away. What they were about to do to him was barbaric.
Jean looked positively happy as he approached his captive. The damp rag in his hands wielded like a weapon.
'You know what this is?' he asked Aramis, 'the look on your face tells me you do.' He turned to Phillipe, 'you will enjoy this, watch him squirm. A musketeer. Full of bravado, when he is armed and has his friends with him. Get him alone and he is nothing more than a frightened animal…and animals can be used for our entertainment. In this case with the aid a little salt,' he turned back to Aramis. 'You have held out well, I have to say I am impressed, but your time is up, and you will go out screaming.'
Jean pushed the salted rag onto Aramis skin directly onto the wounds Phillipe had just made. The reaction was instant and only intensified as Jean rubbed the damp rag along the wounds.
Aramis screamed, he did not even try to withhold it. He could not get away, he wanted to curl up, he wanted to writhe in agony but he could not. He could not escape the searing pain that flashed through him.
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There was no choice now, d'Artagnan had to do something, the screams from Aramis were too much to bear. He pushed himself up and then found the world spinning, he had forgotten the blow to the head he had received. His vision blurred and he was disorientated.
The two men had not noticed d'Artagnan sitting up, they were busy admiring their handiwork. Aramis was still crying out in pain as Jean continued to rub the salt into his wounds.
'I think it is time to shut him up,' said the older man as he finally stepped back.
The younger man nodded and d'Artagnan watched as he reached behind the tree and fiddled with the strap, he was tightening it. Aramis' cries of pain were replaced by the sound of him choking as he now struggled to breathe at all.
D'Artagnan tried to stand, he was unsteady, but he was up and looking for a weapon, he knew that he could not take both men out in a physical fight, they would quickly overpower him in his concussed state, but he could at least take out one with a gunshot, that would even out the odds. But he had to act quickly.
Aramis' discarded guns were closest, he knew they would be loaded. Aramis always kept them loaded. Grabbing the guns, he turned back toward the men who were watching his friends tormented struggle for breath.
He must have made a noise as they both turned towards him. The younger of the two men smiled and began to advance towards d'Artagnan.
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