Pulling the nasty-tasting,sweaty cloth from his mouth, Aramis flung it away from him, before untying his ankles, again a slow process as his hands were still rather numb from the tightness of the ropes. Then, he reached over and began untying d'Artagnan. When they were both finally free, they collectively heaved a silent sigh of relief.
Now, to get out of the wagon without being observed, Aramis thought to himself. Moving as silently as possible, he pulled up the blanket towards the back of the wagon, and looked out. No men were behind the conveyance, which was a very good thing for them. The road was empty for as far as he could see.
Just as he turned to let d'Artagnan know, the wagon went over another large, nasty rut, but this time, they could feel the vehicle beginning to tip dangerously to the side. Throwing caution to the wind, they both threw the blanket off and jumped. Looking back, they saw the wagon rolling rapidly towards the edge of the road, where it looked like there might be a steep drop.
Deciding to take off in the opposite direction as fast as their half-numb legs would take them, they looked back when they heard a cracking sound. The wagon had gone over the edge of the road, and they could hear crashing sounds as it hit the side of whatever precipice it was now tumbling down. But they didn't know if any of their kidnappers had made it off the wagon before it began its descent, so it behooved them to move as fast as possible to get away in case they had.
Aramis' feet and legs were beginning to have strong tingling sensations as the blood began to flow through them again. He knew d'Artagnan had to be feeling them, too. But they needed to keep moving,regardless of the discomfort.
Aramis' thoughts were with Angelique as he ran. Did she survive the accident? Was she injured? And did Jean make it out alive, or his men? Troubling questions, with no answers yet. He would just as soon not find out they were alive by getting a bullet in the back, so he kept forcing himself forward down the road.
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Just when they thought they could run no further, they froze at the sounds of horses coming towards them. Since it was coming from the direction they had already traveled while in the cart, it could just be some travelers along the road. But Aramis and d'Artagnan had learned the hard way not to trust in good fortune right now, so they moved off the side of the road, and crouched down in the abundant brush lining it.
When the riders came into view, however, Aramis and d'Artagnan could have cried for joy. Leaping to their feet, they emerged from the brush with smiles as Athos and Porthos returned the joy they saw in their faces.
The smiles disappeared, though, and they both leaped from their horses in a rush when they saw the exhaustion on Aramis and d'Artagnan's faces. Their steps had faltered as the adrenalin that had been carrying them suddenly wore off. Athos and Porthos reached them just as the two exhausted Musketeers' legs crumpled from weariness, Porthos grabbing Aramis and Athos doing the same for d'Artagnan. They gently lowered them to the ground, crouching down beside their newly-found brothers.
Aramis was the first to speak. "Keep an eye out...for Jean and his don't...know what became of them. Their wagon overturned and tumbled down...an embankment of some kind. We didn't stay to find out...any more, but just ran." He ran out of breath, his speech petering out towards the end of his explanation.
Then, d'Artagnan took up the tale. "They had us...tied in the back of a wagon. Aramis had some bullets given him... for a favor, and we started dropping them, hoping... you would find them. It...looks like it worked," he said with a grin at his brothers. "We didn't stop...to see what happened to Jean and his men, but just ran."
Aramis, his brief breather giving him the ability to carry on, said, "We don't know what happened to Angelique, either," his face drawn and anxious as he told them.
Athos and Porthos, seeing the shape their brothers were in, shushed them, wanting them to get some of their breath and energy back, even though Aramis insisted he was just fine. Athos' eyebrow lifted as he looked at him, saying, "Aramis, you and d'Artagnan are anything but fine. Please humor us and just rest for a while."
They knew they couldn't stay very long, as Jean and his men could very well have either jumped before the wagon ditched over the embankment, or climbed back up the hill again, and they knew Aramis and d'Artagnan weren't yet in any shape to be fighting.
After letting them rest for a brief time, Athos and Porthos assisted their brothers to their feet and over to their horses. The two extra horses brought with the hope that their brothers would be riding back with them would be brought along riderless, as neither Musketeer looked like they would stay awake in the saddle to ride them themselves. Athos took d'Artagnan up before him in the saddle, Porthos doing the same for Aramis. Both leaned their heads back against their brothers' shoulders, still extremely tired.
But just as they turned their horses around, they heard a movement behind them, and a soft cry. Aramis, recognizing the voice, opened his eyes, searching for the source. Dragging herself forward, her leg obviously injured, came Angelique. Her dress was torn and dirty, her hair a tangled mess, but he thought the sight of her was a dream come true.
Sliding down from the horse, he went to her and wrapped his arms around her, overcome with emotion that she had survived. Angelique laid her head on his shoulder and wept with relief.
Athos said, "We need to leave as soon as possible. If you have survived, chances are rather good that your father and his men did, as well. We should put as much distance as possible between us quickly."
Since d'Artagnan was in the better shape of the rescued Musketeers he volunteered to ride his own horse, and Angelique was taken up before Athos in his saddle. Then, they turned once more and galloped down the road towards Paris. Since it was so late in the day and their brothers weren't in any shape to be riding great distances yet, Athos knew they would need to stop somewhere for the night, somewhere sheltered and hopefully as hidden as possible from possible pursuers.
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Back where the wagon had been torn to pieces by its slide downhill, movement began, first to the left of the wreck and then at the base of the embankment. Jean sat up dazedly, looking around for a moment before realizing what had happened. Dragging himself to his feet, he called to his men. Two of them responded, but faintly and as if they had just awakened as he had.
Still moving slowly, he made his way to the wagon, wondering what shape his daughter and his captives were in. Were any of them even alive? He didn't much care whether the Musketeers had made it, as his plan had been to kill them when he reached his destination. But where was Angelique? She belonged to him, at his side.
Looking in the wagon, his frown deepened when he realized that neither Musketeer was there. He grew angry when he saw the frayed ropes, and realized his captives had got away. He looked around. He saw no sign of them anywhere around the wreckage, meaning they had freed themselves at some point before the accident.
Well, they couldn't have gone far in their condition, he thought confidently. We will hunt them down and make them sorry they tried to escape.
But where was Angelique? There was no sign of his golden-haired daughter. Had she managed to climb the embankment? He would find her, too.
Yelling at his men to follow, they dragged themselves up the embankment and began to look for any signs of a trail. He would finish the work he had set out to do, one way or the other.