Athos

The three men raced towards the tree where Porthos and Aramis had found the Captain. The musketeers had no problem following the hoofprints of Treville's horse from there. They were still clearly visible on the muddy ground.

We can see them at the moment. But night will soon be upon us.

Athos readied a torch. They had hoped to find the site of the skirmish before sunset, as it would be a challenge to search for the area in the dark. The dimming light had already made it quite difficult to follow the hoofprints. They were forced to go at a much slower pace. At times, d'Artagnan had to dismount in order to check the trail.

Aramis had been right in surmising that the Captain's wounds had gone untended for some time. Athos knew that the road was quite far from the estate. That distance had likely been to their advantage. In fact, it was probably the main reason they had been able to stay there for some time without being disturbed.

A row of leafless trees finally revealed the presence of the road. They could hear the squawks of scavenging birds - possibly crows. Athos glanced at Porthos, and could tell that his brother was thinking the same thing. The big man's dark eyes betrayed his relief that their marksman was not with them.

They cautiously approached the curve in the road. It was an ideal place for an ambush. The scent of blood and fresh corpses hung in the air. The fight had taken place several hours ago, and the smell of gunpowder had long since been dispersed by the wind.

When he spied the bodies, the swordsman signalled for them to halt. The dead men were scattered on the road. Some lay in the sparse vegetation that surrounded it. The musketeers dismounted, and went to check on the dead.

Athos knelt next to a body that was draped in a blue cloak. He gently touched the cold face, and recognized the man as one of them. As he closed the sightless eyes that stared up at him, Athos remembered that this particular musketeer had been commissioned three years ago. He could not recall if he had ever spoken with the man.

"I'll do my best to see you buried in the garrison cemetery," he promised.

"Athos!"

D'Artagnan's cry caused the lieutenant to unsheath his sword. As the ring of his blade still hung in the air, he prepared to defend his brother. However, Athos soon saw that d'Artagnan had not been attacked. The boy was kneeling near a musketeer's body. Sliding his sword back into his scabbard, the older man went to join his protege.

Athos recognized Henri at once. The man was an excellent soldier. However, although he was courageous, he lacked Aramis' recklessness. Henri was definitely not the type to think outside the box. He was a follower rather than a leader - but he embodied the loyalty and bravery that commanders cherished.

In the flickering torchlight, Athos could have sworn that he saw the victim's eyelids flutter.

The Gascon's fingers searched for a pulse at the wounded musketeer's neck. He glanced up at Athos. "He's still alive."

"Henri?" Athos knelt on the other side of the injured man. He started to unbutton the musketeer's doublet. The garment was stained crimson with blood. The man groaned, and tried to elude Athos' hands.

"Open your eyes!" the lieutenant ordered. "You must tell us what happened here!"

The injured man blinked sluggishly, his weakened body slow to obey. Athos gently touched a water skin to his lips. "Small sips."

If only Aramis were here…

Henri drank a little water.

"They took the Queen!" he whispered.

"Where did they go?"

"They rode off down the road… no idea where they went after that…"

He gasped in pain.

"Did you recognize the attackers?"

Henri tried to smile. It was a grotesque sight. His pale face was covered with splattered blood, which appeared nearly black in the torchlight.

"Some men were masked. And others… Red Guards. Traitors! Canvac and others… only the newly recruited children fought side by side with us... "

"Recruited children…?" Athos echoed, exchanging a look with d'Artagnan.

But Henri did not want to waste his breath talking about the Red Guards.

"Wanted her alive. Dauphin in Paris," he rasped.

Athos put a hand on his shoulder. "You've done well. We'll take you to the nearest inn." Having finally succeeded in unbuttoning the wounded musketeer's doublet, he ripped open his bloodied shirt. An ugly gash crossed the man's chest. Anticipating his lieutenant's request, d'Artagnan handed him a bandage. Athos gave him a grateful nod.

Henri needed professional help. Athos desperately wished that Aramis was with them.

He glanced up at the big man. "Porthos, we need to take him to the nearest inn."

"Then we should get on the road. There are no other survivors, and there is no sign of the Queen's coach. They must have taken it with them."

"I expect they've abandoned it by now," Athos murmured.

After an hour's ride at a fast pace, they reached an inn. Athos paid the innkeeper in advance for Henri's care.

As the swordsman prepared to leave, he asked. "Monsieur, did you happen to see a fancy coach pass by recently?"

After having received such a generous payment, the innkeeper was more than happy to answer the question. "Yes, sir. Such a coach did pass our humble establishment a number of hours ago. Unfortunately, it did not stop, but continued on towards Chartres."

Athos did not expect any more information to be forthcoming. He thanked the man, and handed him an envelope that contained a coded message for Aramis.

"It is likely that more musketeers will follow us. Please give them this letter, and tell them about our injured comrade."

They left, and rode on by the light of the torches. D'Artagnan, who was in the lead, suddenly signaled for them to stop.

He dismounted, and inspected the trail more closely.

"The coach went this way." He pointed at a trail which entered the forest.

Athos motioned for them to follow it, but he already knew what they would find. They continued on the road until it caught the edge of a deep ravine. The wheel tracks led to the edge, but dense vegetation below hid any trace of the coach.

"I'll go take a look," said d'Artagnan. Dismounting, he carefully made his way down the edge of the ravine.

"I'm guessing he will find the coach empty," muttered Porthos.

"I expect so. They probably had a cart waiting. It would be too dangerous to travel in a luxurious coach with the Queen as a captive - even if she was well disguised."

As they waited, d'Artagnan disappeared from sight. Athos felt a pang of worry. By the time the shaky flame of a torch reappeared between the trees, it seemed as if they had been waiting for hours.

"The coach sustained severe damage from the fall," the Gascon reported. "There was no sign of anyone - living or dead. The horses were gone, and there was no trace of the Queen's jewellery. I did find her dresses. One had been torn, and was covered with mud and blood. The corset had been cut."

Athos nodded. It was just as he had expected, but they had been obligated to check the area in case a clue had been left behind.

They returned to the main road, and rode on into the darkness. Athos knew that it would be difficult to pick up a trail at this point. As long as the bandits were travelling on the main road, it would be almost impossible to find them. A simple cart would attract no attention, so interviewing villagers along the way was almost certain to be of no use.

As these men were able to successfully kidnap the queen, they are intelligent as well as daring. Their plan was well thought out. More than likely, they have the Queen well hidden - in a safe place which is sure not to attract attention.

That, or they plan to leave France… and we are hours behind them.

As they approached an inn, Porthos stifled a yawn. "I think we should call it a night."

Athos hesitated. There was no doubt that their mission was of the utmost importance. However, at this point, they were significantly sleep deprived. They could not risk missing an important clue due to their fatigue.

He sighed. "I hate to do it, but the horses need to rest-and so do we if we are going to be at our best."

They rode into the courtyard. As they dismounted, a stable boy appeared. Porthos slipped him a coin, and the boy beamed. He promptly led their horses away, promising that they would be well cared for.

Porthos ordered some food and wine. Athos was surprised to hear d'Artagnan order a mug of hot water. When the it was placed in front of him, the boy took a packet of ground herbs out of his pocket. He dumped a portion in the water, then stirred it with his main gauche. Athos scowled at the familiar smell.

The Gascon caught his gaze, and gave him a narrow look. "Don't be difficult, Athos. Aramis gave me these herbs before we left, with strict instructions that you take them as directed before each meal."

"Then I'm not going to eat," Athos muttered.

D'Artagnan poured a measure of wine into the concoction, and exchanged a look with Porthos. The big man smirked, and cracked his knuckles.

"Yes, you are," replied the Gascon calmly. "Because Aramis also gave me-and Porthos-permission to-" he glanced at Porthos, who appeared to be thoroughly amused. "Porthos, how shall I put this?"

"Encourage?" offered Porthos.

D'Artagnan saluted Porthos with the cup. "Thank you! That's just the word I was looking for. " He turned back to Athos, and smiled. "We were to encourage you to take it if you refused."

Athos merely glared at him.

The Gascon inquired, "So, do you want to take the easy route, or the hard one?"

When no response was forthcoming, he leaned over, and murmured, "It's entirely your choice, but Porthos has been spoiling for some action. It could get ugly."

The swordsman muttered under his breath, then reached for the cup.

Porthos let out a booming laugh. "I thought you'd see it our way in the end."

The swordsman ignored him, took a cautious sip of the tea. Although he detested the taste, he was touched that Aramis, in the midst of battling to save the Captain, had taken the time to provide for his well being.

They talked to the innkeeper, but did not learn anything new. Athos was right-the bandits had taken the time to craft a cunning plan. It would not be easy to best them.

Porthos and d'Artagnan were eager to catch up on their sleep, and wasted no time heading for their room. Athos found a place in a dark corner of the tavern, and positioned his hat so that it obscured most of his face. Porthos had made him promise not to drink too much. Athos intended to keep that promise, so he merely sipped his wine as he kept a watchful eye on the room.

After he had been sitting there for about an hour, two men entered. Their clothes were soiled with mud. They appeared to be in a rush, and paid well to have some food and wine quickly packed for the road. The men tried to appear relaxed as they waited, but Athos noticed there was a subtle tension in the way they glanced around the tavern. It was definitely suspicious.

Finally, the innkeeper handed them a large bundle. The men nodded curtly, and left. By the time Athos was headed up the staircase to fetch Porthos and Aramis, the men were already saddling their horses. The swordsman rushed up the steps, taking them two at a time.

Bursting into the room, he called out, "D'Artagnan! Porthos! We have to go. NOW!"

The two men jumped out of bed, and donned their breeches and doublets without asking any questions. To their credit, both were ready to ride within a few minutes. They slipped out to the stable, mounting their horses just in time to catch a glimpse of the suspects riding out of the courtyard. The musketeers followed them into the dark night, following at a distance so that they would not be seen. It was not too difficult to stay hidden, as the men travelled only by the light of the torches.

As they rode, Athos lost track of time. The musketeers were careful not to do anything that would cause the bandits to realize they were being followed. He could almost feel the tension that radiated from his two friends. Suddenly, their quarry veered off the main road. As the path led into the dense forest, it was much harder to remain concealed. Just the sound of one of the musketeers' horses stepping on a dry branch could serve to alert their prey of their presence.

Athos signaled for them to halt.

D'Artagnan slipped from his horse. "I'll scout ahead," he hissed.

Athos knew that the Gascon was the stealthiest of all of them in the forest. He nodded his assent, ignoring the spike of fear for his little brother. He reached for Nuit's reins, watching as the boy disappeared into the darkness.

Silence reigned, disturbed only by their breathing. The musketeers guided their mounts off the road, allowing the darkness to envelope them.

As they waited, Athos struggled not to think of all the mishaps which could have befallen their youngest. When dawn arrived, they withdrew a bit further into the forest in order to remain concealed.

Suddenly, Nuit flicked her ears, and took a step in the direction of the road. Athos handed Porthos the reins, and motioned for him to stay behind with the horses. He moved forward quietly. A few minutes later, he nearly ran headlong into a slightly confused d'Artagnan.

"What took you so long?" the swordsman growled.

"Well, I couldn't exactly rush into their camp!" replied the boy, an exasperated expression on his face. "But I did confirm that they are our men."

"Did you see the Queen?"

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No. But from the snatches of conversation that I overheard, she is there now-or soon will be."

He bent over to catch his breath for a moment, then said in a rush, "We have a major problem, Athos. They have nearly fifty men. Their camp is located at the site of an old church or castle. The building is partially in ruins, but much of it is still intact. I climbed up into a tree to get a better look at it. The bandits definitely knew what they were doing when they chose this place. The building was constructed out of thick stone, and is easily defended. It also appears to offer an excellent view of the surrounding area. It will be very difficult for us to approach without being detected."

Athos gave him a thoughtful look. "Well, I think we can all agree that it makes no sense to attack until we are sure the Queen is there." He was silent for a moment, then asked, "Can you sketch out a plan of their camp?"

D'Artagnan crouched on the ground, and brushed away some dry leaves. Taking up a stick, he quickly made a rough sketch of the enemy camp, showing them how the tents were arranged around the wall of the former fortress. Keeping his voice low, he gave them a quick description of the patrol route that the sentries followed.

Athos did not heard of a castle in the area. He guessed it was an old church, built for worship, but also in order to afford the local people some measure of protection in case of an attack. Perhaps there had been a small monastery there for monks who sought solitude in the wilderness - or perhaps a noble had decided to built an adjoining guard tower. The lands had belonged to the Crown for some time, but surely had a long history that predated their acquisition by the King.

Athos felt his heart sink as he looked over the sketch. He could not see any viable option for leading a successful attack with just three men. Even Aramis' expert marksmanship would not have changed the odds. Not when the bandits had such a precious hostage.

"D'Artagnan, ride to the estate," commanded Athos. "Ride as hard as you can. The reinforcements should have arrived by now. Bring them here. If they are not there, then head for the garrison."

He knew that if the musketeers had failed to reach the estate, it could mean only one thing. Constance had been intercepted-and probably killed. His protege seemed to know this as well. Fear flashed in the Gascon's eyes for an instant, but he dispelled it with a fierce look.

"She made it. I know she did."

Athos sensed that d'Artagnan spoke with a certainty that he did not feel. The Gascon nodded a farewell to his brothers. The unspoken promise in his eyes caused Athos' gaze to soften.

"Be safe," he murmured.

D'Artagnan summoned his trademark cocky grin, and led his horse out from their hiding place. Athos wished he had enough faith to believe that God would protect the boy.

Dismissing the thought, he turned to Porthos. "Our first order of business is to find a secure vantage point that overlooks the camp. We need to keep a close eye on their operations."

They secured the horses. Athos decided that he would take the first watch. Porthos would rest near their horses.

The swordsman stole through the trees, and finally found a good place to hide. D'Artagnan had been right. The camp was well secured. As he watched the guards rotate, the method that they used reminded him of a Spanish strategy he had read about once. This could be significant-or might just mean that their leader had read the same military history books that he had.

Athos took up a comfortable position, and settled in for a long watch. He tracked the movements of the sentries, and observed the way their enemies behaved in the camp.

They are much too disciplined to be run of the mill bandits.

Most of the men were masked. Others wore red cloaks. The man he recognized as the leader of the True Musketeers headed for the central building, which was well guarded. The rounded arches of the ruined church betrayed its early medieval origin. Several crumbling statues guarded the entrance. Part of the tower had been destroyed. There was no cross displayed on it - nor on the roof. The building was low, and its walls thick. However, it was large enough to comfortably fit twenty people inside.

The bandits' commander entered the building. Athos scanned the camp one more time, then stretched, deciding that it was time to change positions with Porthos.

It was then that he heard it.

The terrible scream of a woman, suddenly muffled, then silenced completely.

Athos felt his blood run cold. The Queen was there. She was being tortured, and he could do nothing. Well, that was not quite true. He could choose to charge the enemy position, and lay down his life for his queen. Death would hurt less than knowing that the woman he had sworn to protect was being tormented just yards from his position.

So close...and yet fifty men too far.

He felt anger washing over him, its tide taking him to places that he was not sure he knew how to return from. A mocking voice echoed in his brain, and he shook his head vigorously.

You cannot save anyone, can you? You only bring death and misery to those you love -the ones who look to you for protection. Your love is tainted. It kills. It killed Thomas. It destroyed Anne, because you were too weak to kill her. It damned Aramis. You was not there for him in his hour of need...but the Queen was...

Aramis… if he were here, he would find a way to save her…or he would die trying, not hiding in the trees listening to her cries of agony.

Athos could feel the harsh gaze of his betrayed brother. It had always been an unspoken rule that if any of them ever fell in love, the others would give their lives to protect his sweetheart.

But he had broke their unspoken vow.

He was a failure.

Riversidewren, thank you for betaing!