D'Artagnan dropped to the ground, lay on his right side, grasped at the rope around his neck to loosen it as he choked and gasped for breath. Dust blew upward as he exhaled in short, erratic bursts and then inhaled painfully. Blood, spit and saliva seeped between his lips. Sweat beaded his brow, hair clung to his forehead, and around his neck. The exertion of starved lungs evident through his sweat-soaked shirt. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and continued to fight for air.
Athos struggled harder once he felt his head and hands released. He heard a musket fired, and pushed himself to his hand and knees, and received two quick kicks to his left side. He grabbed the assailant's foot and yanked him off his feet. Athos battled and reached for his sword. He glanced toward d'Artagnan who struggled, and then toward the children who cried in terror. Athos craned his neck in search of the shooter and sagged suddenly when a solid fist connected with his jaw.
Evan wiped blood from his nose after his collision with Athos' head. He pulled his sword from his belt and pointed it toward him. "I'm going to enjoy killing you." He lunged forward, blades struck and the sharp strike of metal echoed, even as the firing of the musket reverberated.
Both Spaniards mounted their horses and fled. Two stable hands grabbed the children and forced them away from the chaos. Men fired their pistols toward the second-story window, and Aramis quickly stepped away, only to reappear, take aim, and fire at his target. He grabbed the next musket, while Felix continued to reload.
Athos lunged, deflected a blow, and lunged again.
Evan backed away, swung his sword to deflect the quick succession of strikes, but fell to his backside. He rolled to his belly, and pushed himself up, but caught the end of Athos' blade between ribs.
Athos paused, took a deep breath, and ignored the sweat that rolled down his face, and felt the heft of the blade in his grasp. There was no mercy. The life ending wound would act fast as blood filled Evan's punctured lung.
"Why?" Athos asked.
Evan dropped his sword as he lay on the ground. He struggled to catch his breath. "I don't know." He twitched his lips into a defiant smile, raised his eyebrows, and allowed his hands to fall by his sides. "At first… I thought it was right… what we were doing was right," he exhaled, looked at the sky, "Tomas… had ideas… I wanted to be a part of… them…" His eyes glazed, his breathing stopped, and his body stilled.
Porthos charged, growled, and fired into the crowd, then struck the shoulder of a guard who fell beneath a confusion of legs and arms of men still fighting. Porthos tossed his pistol into the air, caught the shaft, swung the handle, and hit another guard in the back of the head. He watched Athos stumble forward when hit from the back.
Athos looked over his shoulder, pushed himself to his feet, and then caught sight of Tomas as he raised his weapon to fire at the baron, who — still seated — shielded his face with his arms. Athos pushed himself to his feet and ran. He tackled Tomas, and they both fell to the ground.
Athos grunted, felt the impact as Tomas shoved his elbow against Athos' collarbone, and reached frantically for the pistol. Dust billowed as hands and feet scraped the dried ground. Tomas pushed himself to his feet, kicked Athos' left side, and dove for the pistol that lay out of reach and had skidded to a stop near the leg of the chair. Athos grabbed Tomas' leg, yanked him back, and sent a solid punch to his left kidney. Tomas fell forward onto all fours, reached for the weapon, grabbed the handle and twisted to his rump toward Athos.
"He advised me you were resourceful," Tomas said, and took aim.
"Who?" Athos demanded.
The musket fired. Athos watched Tomas grasped his chest, look at the blood on his hands, and then the pistol that lay forgotten in the dirt by his side. He grabbed his chest again as blood spilled between fingers. He raised his eyebrows, fell backward, exhaled, and stilled.
Athos painfully stood and turned in time to avoid the collision as a guard charged him. He swung his fist and collided with the man's jaw. Athos grunted when hit from the left, and he fell hard to the right. He landed with a "humph," raised his arm to cover his head when the guard raised the butt of his pistol to swing, but Porthos — stopping suddenly behind him — grabbed the weapon from him and swung it. The guard's head twisted left, and blood spewed from his mouth along with two teeth. He fell with a moan and landed on his hands and knees. Porthos grabbed the back of the guard's doublet and shoved him with a kick toward two other men who sat defeated in the center of the carnage.
Porthos looked at Athos and lowered a hand to him. "Are you hurt?" He clutched Athos' hand and pulled him to unsteady feet.
Athos pressed his right hand to his left side as ribs protested. He leaned forward, braced his hands above his knees and slowly nodded. "Just… give me a moment," he said, and then wiped his mouth with the back of his right wrist. Bracing his hand against his side again he stood, looked at the carnage around him and sighed.