"You surprise me," Auch said, and reached for the sword. "You're dedicated, skilled, smart, and yet you've abandoned every responsibility you've ever been tasked with —"
"And you're a defeated… unrecognized… fool," Athos said. "We all have… our shortcomings." He swallowed, glanced from the window to the door when the pounding started again. He met Auch's eyes.
Auch frowned, smiled, and shrugged. His casual step forward suddenly and aggressively changed as he reached for Athos' collar, and shoved him against the wall, and sent him crashing onto the firedog and burning logs. Auch turned suddenly when the door splintered. He reached for Athos again, but was rewarded with a kick to his hip which sent him wavering backward.
Athos crawled over the logs, struggled for leverage as he felt his right foot grabbed and twisted. He yelped, rolled to his back and kicked with his left foot. Auch grunted, fell forward onto his hands and knees. He reached for the sword, but turned back toward Athos, and reached for his arm. Athos swung his fist and met Auch's meaty jowl. Auch he fell to his side. Athos' kicked and connected with Auch's thigh, which earned him a yelp and then an angry scream as Auch rolled to his feet.
Auch grabbed Athos around his neck, pushed him against the wall and smiled, exposing bloodied teeth. Then Auch dug his fingers into Athos' right shoulder, listened to his cry of agony, and then sent two quick punches to bruised ribs. Athos stumbled to his left, was grabbed again, and tossed like a rag-doll against the left side of the chair and into the table. The oil lamp arched toward the door. The glass shattered, and the oil ignited. The table snapped apart, the chair tipped to its left side, and Athos landed with a grunt.
Auch bent forward, retrieved the sword, and limped toward Athos, who struggled to catch his breath and push himself away from the growing flames.
"Did you never wonder why your brother was always the favorite?" Auch took another step forward, pulled his bloodied hand away from his hip, and looked at the blood that had been smeared across his palm. "Your mother was a whore —"
The click of the hammer being pressed caused Auch to look up, turn, and meet the eyes of his killer.
D'Artagnan clenched his jaw, held his breath, and fired.
Auch fell backward, landed with a gasp, and scraped the heels of his boots on the tile floor. He gurgled, and blood escaped the sides of his mouth. He grasped momentarily at his chest, gasped like fish out of water, and looked toward the ceiling. He exhaled and surrendered to death.
D'Artagnan tossed his weapon to the floor, grabbed a blanket, and tossed it over the flames. He stomped it out, and then rushed toward Athos who had buried his head in his arms and struggled to get to his knees. D'Artagnan fell to his knees, and slipped his left hand beneath Athos' neck and encouraged him to lay back. "Breathe, Athos," he said, and listened to him wheeze and struggle for air. D'Artagnan looked toward the door, tightened his hold on the font of Athos' doublet, and pressed his palm to his forehead. "Please."
Athos grasped d'Artagnan's forearm and squeezed, he looked up with panicked eyes, and said, "Auch?"
"He's dead," d'Artagnan said, "he's really dead this time." He sighed, relaxed his shoulder, and looked toward the body.
The flames in the fireplace had died, but red coals still glowed. D'Artagnon sighed, and watched as the evening sky darkened to night, and the moon's bright light filtered in through the windows and shined across the floor. Smoke from the fire had filtered upward and hung above him like sheet in the wind. The curves and rolls were slow to depart.
Athos coughed, rolled to his left, and groaned as muscles and battered ribs protested. D'Artagnan slipped his arms beneath Athos' and helped him sit up.
"We need to get out of here," d'Artagnan said.
Athos pulled his knees toward himself, leaned to his left, and lowered himself to his elbow as he struggled for air. He rested his forehead in the curve of his left arm and pressed his right arm to his side. He could feel d'Artagnan's grip as he tried to lift him.
"Athos!" Porthos yelled from behind the battered wall and peered through the narrow section that had been beaten down. "D'Artagnan!"
"Wait!" d'Artagnan said. He got to his feet, and removed the iron rod that secured both doors in place.
Porthos choked as he inhaled smoke, and covered his face with his elbow. He squinted when the smoke hit his eyes. Porthos turned grabbed d'Artagnan's chin and looked at the gash above his eye, the blood that had dried across his cheekbone, and bridge of his nose. Aramis rushed past him, lowered his weapon, and knelt beside Athos.
"Auch," d'Artagnan said, "he was hiding." He wiped his nose with the back of his wrist and shrugged.
"Get the fire going — in the fireplace this time," Aramis said. He placed his hand on Athos' back, listened to him struggle for breath, and then finally succumb to his exhaustion and collapse onto his left side. Aramis lifted Athos upright and pulled him against his chest.
Porthos grasped d'Artagnan's arm and nodded. "You're both alive," he said, "that's all that matters." He slipped his pistol back onto his belt. "Open the windows — get some fresh air in 'ere," he said, and walked toward the fireplace.
D'Artagnan nodded. Looked toward Aramis as he held Athos, and pulled open his doublet to check the damage done to his shoulder and exposed the fresh bruising to his left side. D'Artagnan opened the windows, and inhaled deeply as he was met with cool air.
Porthos grabbed broken pieces of furniture, tossed them onto the hot coals, and added a small piece of cotton soaked in oil and watched the flames ignite. He added more wood, as the flames increased in size and strength, and then watched d'Artagnan leave the room. Porthos added another log, felt the heat against his skin, and slowly stood. He turned and walked toward Aramis.
"Where do you want him?" Porthos asked, squatted on his haunches, and rested his elbows on his knees. He grasped Athos' slack hand and met Aramis' eyes.
"Roll out the bedrolls —"
"They're wet, brother," Porthos said, and shook his head. He stood suddenly when d'Artagnan entered the room with an armload of blankets and pillows.
"I've knocked as much dust from them as I could," d'Artagnan said. He tossed them onto the settee, and then pushed it out of the way. He folded a blanket lengthwise, placed it on the floor a few feet from the fire, and tossed a pillow near the end. "This is all I could find that are in decent shape."
Porthos nodded, and together, he and Aramis carried Athos to the blanket, pulled off his boots, and slipped him out of his doublet before they covered him with additional blankets.
"Hang our bedrolls to dry — we'll need them, and search the rest of the house for supplies — I need light — he's ripped my needlework," Aramis said, unbuckled his weapons belt and rested it on the settee, and then removed his long jacket.
Porthos tossed the remaining furniture aside to provide additional room. He grabbed the bell shaped cauldron and left only to return with it full of water. He placed it on the hearth to warm, and then grabbed Auch's booted feet and dragged him from the house. A rail through the dust and spots of blood were left in his wake.
"What happened?" Aramis said, and looked up as he placed a cold cloth on Athos' forehead. Aramis pulled back the collar of Athos' shirt and exposed the popped stitches and fresh blood that seeped from his injury.
D'Artagnan explained what he knew, grabbed an unused oil lantern from the wall sconce and brought it closer to Aramis as he tended Athos' injuries. "I was upstairs when I heard Athos call my name — by the time I made it down the door had been secured."
Aramis reached for d'Artagnan's hand, turned it palm up and noticed the bloodied cuts.
"I couldn't get in — I broke apart a table and beat the door in until I was able to slip through."
"I'll bandage those for you," Aramis said. He stood, grabbed the lantern and walked around the room. "You think he was hiding in here?"
"Had to have been." D'Artagnan sighed. "I would have heard him otherwise."
Aramis turned as Porthos reentered the room and caught sight of a fire blazing through the window that overlooked the side of the house.
"He'll not be reawakenin' again," Porthos said, and cocked an eyebrow when Aramis nodded.
"Auch was hiding in here," Aramis walked toward the fireplace. He then noticed the quarter circle and scuff marks on the floor to the left. He raised the lantern higher and ran his hand along the wall. When he felt it give, he sighed, slipped his fingers between the crease, and pulled the false door open.
Porthos grabbed his weapon, and took the lantern from Aramis. "He needs you," he motioned toward Athos with a tilt of his head. "d'Artagnan," he said, "grab Aramis' pistol and follow me."
The narrow passage was lined with stone and mortar. The steps were shallow, and there were only a few before they stopped suddenly in an open space with a low ceiling. Porthos ducked and noticed bloodied rags on the stone tiles, fresh herbs lay wilted on the table's edge, and a half cup of brewed tea — now cold — had been placed on the edge of large earthenware pot. Wooden wall racks were filled with terra cotta pots.
Porthos stepped past d'Artagnan as he examined the pots, and squeezed by the end of the shelf. He paused a moment, and shoved a hidden door that open to the outside. Porthos shook his head, looked at the step downward, hidden with overgrown weeds and vines. The well was just a few feet from the opening, surrounded with tall grasses, bushes, and overlooking the vast valley and trees in the distance. The stars shimmered against the blackness of sky, and Porthos shook his head in disappointment as he turned and closed the door.
D'Artagnan removed the lid from a pot, sniffed and chuckled. "Tobacco," he said. He pulled another pot open and smiled. "Honey." He dipped his finger into the crystallized substance and sucked a small portion from the tip. "Never goes bad," he said, and placed it on the table. He checked a few more and found salt that he placed near the honey, and then grabbed a trammel hook that was hidden along the back edge of a shelf. He handed it to Porthos who frowned. "Trust me," he said, and checked a few more jars where he found beeswax candles and several bottles of wine.
It wasn't much, but a perfect hideout for someone who knew where to look. Most of the spices were of no use, and the dairy pots had long since dried. D'Artagnan grabbed a leather bucket, slipped his discoveries inside it, and followed Porthos from the confines of the room.
They found Aramis holding Athos upright as he coughed, groaned, and slumped back against Aramis' chest. Aramis looked up, shook his head, and pursed his lips. "I think he has the winter fever."
Porthos exhaled slowly, closed his eyes, and then rubbed the back of his neck. He nodded once, and immediately left the room.
D'Artagnan placed the bucket near the hearth. "What do you need?" He squatted next to Aramis and met his eyes.
"Cold water — we'll treat him like Sofie did, the herbs from my saddlebags, towels — I noticed gagweed growing near the juniper — it will help clear his lungs."
D'Artagnan pursed his lips, stood, and watched Porthos enter the room with Aramis' saddlebags, bedroll, and the carcass of a roe deer he had killed earlier. Porthos tossed the deer onto the gate-leg table, and placed the saddlebags on the settee. He removed his weapon's belt, placed it against the wall, and unbuttoned his doublet. He slipped it off, tossed it toward the armrest of a dusty fireside chair. Without being asked, he motioned for Aramis to move and Porthos took the place behind Athos, shifted him against his shoulder, and Porthos nodded toward Aramis.
"He'll get through this," Porthos said, "we've come too far… he'll get through this…"
Aramis nodded, clenched his jaw, and reached for his saddlebags.