Obry felt the balance of the blade and was pleased with his workmanship. He wiped the blade one last time with the soft leather cloth and looked at the entry of his shop as the musketeer stood before him. "This is one of the finest blades I've ever had the pleasure of repairing." He shifted the blade to a horizontal position and handed it to Porthos.

Porthos nodded, admired the polished shine, the straightness of the blade, and the gentle grip of the handle. "How much?"

"No charge, Monsieur," Obry said, "the count pays me by the day, not by the job." He took a deep breath and rubbed his hands together. "That blade is about 200 years old — the grip's been replaced a few times, but the steel itself," he shrugged and shook his head, "you don't see steel like that anymore — had a hard time getting the bend out of the center, had to fire up the forge several times to get enough heat to reshape it. I also," he pointed toward the end of the shaft and gently turned the blade and pointed toward the inscription — it's so old it's nearly worn down to nothing, but I cleaned it as best I could… Looks Latin, can't tell you what it reads, but it might mean something to the man it belongs to."

Porthos smiled and shook his head. "You did a fine job, Obry." He shook his hand and then handed him a few coins. "It's the least I can do."

"Your friend?" Obry said. "Is he the one that survived the fall and the river ride after?"

Porthos nodded.

Obry raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "Folks will talk about him for years — nobody survives that river. She's as fierce as she is wide."

"Then who better than a man who's twice as stubborn as he is tall," Porthos said with a chuckle. He nodded toward Obry, turned, and walked back toward the chateau. He held the blade by the grip and again admired the weight and the balance of the weapon. He quickly shoved the blade beneath his armpit and strolled toward the grass, where he spotted Athos sitting on the ground between the stables and the chateau.

Athos leaned back, arms extended behind him, and he chewed on a sprig of grass. His doublet was unbuttoned, and his ankles crossed as he soaked up the sun. He opened his eyes as Porthos took a seat beside him, and exhaled as he kicked his feet out, and rested his elbows on raised knees.

"Thought you'd be in bed," Porthos said, and plucked a piece of grass from a patch to his right, and slipped it between his teeth.

"I needed some air," Athos said, and took a deep breath. "The attention is beginning to suffocate me."

Porthos chuckled and slapped Athos' arm with the back of his hand. "We damn near lost you, brother." He shook his head and looked up as a groom exercised a horse. "Don't care to experience that again — Hell — I'd rather lose my leg than a brother."

Athos pushed himself forward and rested his left elbow on a raised knee. He hitched his breath when Porthos handed him the sword. "Where did you find it?" He stroked the blade and rested it across his thigh. The steel shined, and the inscription caught the light of the sun. "I haven't seen it look this good in years." He ran a finger over the words.

"Aramis found it in a collection of boulders when we went lookin' for you. Figure the sun must've caught it just right."

Athos huffed and ran his fingers over the hilt. "This has been in my family for generations… I didn't think I would see it again." He smiled when Porthos grasped the back of his neck and squeezed.

"What's the inscription read?"

"Fortitudinem et honorem et virtutem et pietatem," Athos said, "Strength, honor, devotion, and bravery."

Porthos chuckled and said, "Yeah… that about sums you up." He pushed himself to his feet and reached for Athos' arm. "I'm hungry, and if I walk into the kitchens with you next to me, they'll feed me." He pulled Athos to his feet. "So let's go."

Just a couple more chapters to go. Thank you all for your support and the wonderful feedback! I've enjoyed reading your thoughts and concerns as this story has progressed. Until tomorrow!