Thank you all for your lovely reviews on the last chapter!
I am very sorry to have you kept waiting for so long... again. But eventhough I've got the plot laid out and ready, these chapters are hard work for me. I don't know why.
Nevertheless, here is something.
At first, Porthos made sure to cover any trace that could leadri into the direction Athos and the others had taken. Blurring the tracks of the horses and covering them up with leaves and getting rid of broken branches. As he feared that he hadn't as much time left as necessary, he only covered the traces for a good hundred feet – praying that the Red Guards would be too lazy to search further away.
Then, he rushed back to the camp, climbing through the trees to not make any traces himself, where his horse still waited patiently. He risked a glance towards Paris, cursing that he hadn't Aramis' sharp eyes. He didn't see anyone yet – but that didn't mean anything. The high walls of the town were nothing but a blur to his eyes and he couldn't be sure to not mistake a person with a tree.
But even if he did see right and there were no one following them until now, it didn't mean they would not come soon enough. He hurriedly mounted his horse and followed Treville's traces, pushing his horse to it's limits. He rode on until they were about twenty minutes away from the camp before deciding that it was far enough for the start. He then lead the animal back into the forest, covering their tracks behind them. He needed twice the time to get back.
Back at their camp he once again looked out for the Guards and wasn't disappointed now. Of course they had found their tracks, following them directly towards their camp – the place he was right now. They weren't that far away anymore, maybe fifteen minutes behind. He cursed. He needed more time, but it was running thin.
He turned his horse around harshly, now following d'Artagnan's path. It was harder this time as he had to make sure that he couldn't be seen at the sae moment he had to make sure that the were two well visible tracks into d'Artagnan's direction.
The Guards had to think that they've splitted into two groups instead of three in order to keep Aramis safe. Porthos just hoped that the Guards were stupid enough to follow the tracks and to not search for more once his own tracks got lost.
They HAD to get suspicious once there was only one track left in each direction. After all, horses didn't just vanish. He followed d'Artagnan's trace before turning back around. He had to follow Athos, Constance and Aramis now. Making sure that there were no traces to be found at all, and covering their backs. It would have been so easy to get back undetected hadn't it been for his horse. It was one thing for a human to climb through a forest without leaving any traces. But it was a completely different challenge for a horse. He had to lead the animal and stop every few metres to go back and cover their tracks. It was slow work.
Somewhere southern from Paris
D'Artagnan spurred Justine on and on. It's fur was sweat soaked and glistened in the afternoon sun. He barely heard the puffing breaths of the animal over the sound of his own panting. D'Artagnan's hair was, just as the fur of the horse, wet and stuck to his brows, leaving him to wipe a drop away every few minutes to stop it from falling into his eyes. He glanced back too often, making the horse skittish. D'Artagnan cursed himself, he knew better than to make animals nervous. Especially the animal his and his brothers life's depended on. But he couldn't stoop looking back, searching for the Red Guards he knew would be coming after him. Porthos would make sure they did. Except something happened to Porthos… except he was seen… No. D'Artagnan shook his head to clear the dark thoughts from his mind. He would not dare to think like this.
They've come so far, they couldn't – would not stop now. They would make it. All of them.
He slowed down his horse a little as he noticed how it got weaker with each passing minute.
"Hold on, beauty. Just a little bit longer." He assured gently, patting the neck of Justine. She was a fine horse for sure, well trained, fast and strong. But racing for such a long distance would have taken it's toll on every horse. Justine was no exception.
D'Artagnan's heart arched as he thought of what he may have to do. Give her up to some random farmer to change to a new, fresh horse. But if they didn't get enough distance between Paris and themselves soon he would have to leave her behind. And as their plan didn't involve to ever return to Paris, he would not be able to get her back. Such a fine horse given away to some lonely farmer. It would be a shame.
Somewhere eastern from Paris.
Treville had just passed Noisy-le-Grand, making sure to not take a road too close to the village and instead rode a big curve around it. The village was one of the last ones before Paris and so was a common place for travellers if they knew they would not make it till Paris before the sun set. And a place common for travellers was a place common for soldiers, Red Guards or Musketeers to gather when they returned from a mission. He could not risk meeting anyone of these kind yet.
He knew that it would be inevitable that Red Guards would cross their way sometime. He was not a stupid man, even liked to think of himself as intelligent when it came to military knowledge. And so he was not gullible enough to think that their plan would work without any sacrifices. It was the real reason why he had offered himself to ride instead of Athos. He knew he could not save anyone and he dearly hoped that d'Artagnan would be fine – but he at least tried. And when he could at least safe dear Athos, he would do it. Not that d'Artagnan wasn't as dearly to him as Athos, oh he loved each of these men, but it wouldn't have worked anyway. D'Artagnan was their best horseman, without any concurrence close by and so it wasn't even debatable if he would ride or not. But Athos, Athos he could safe.
Treville hadn't ridden as hard and fast as possible. His horse sweating, but still far away from being too exhausted to keep going. He told himself that he wanted to keep it going as long as possible, told himself that he wasn't giving up, but deep down, buried in his heart, he knew. He would rather give himself up than these four men he called sons (of course he only called them in his thoughts like this, in his heart. He would never dare to say this out aloud, but he guessed they knew it nevertheless. He hoped they did. Aramis surely knew. Had known at least – many years ago, before Savoy ripped them apart. He hoped Aramis still knew.).
The Minister had no doubt in Porthos ability to cover up Aramis', Athos' and Constance's traces. After all he was the best of them to read tracks, so he was the best choice to cover them as well. Neither he doubted Porthos ability to stay hidden. But what he doubted was d'Artagnan's luck. The boy was a magnet for trouble and Treville feared that the Red Guards would rather follow d'Artagnan than himself. And then he feared for Porthos too. Because if the man saw the Red Guards following d'Artagnan, noticed them coming too close – because they would eventually – he would endanger himself. Porthos would not let d'Artagnan fight this battle alone, of course he would not. None of them would. So all he could do was to pray that the Red Guards would find his tracks better, follow him rather than d'Artagnan.
Treville wasn't scared of what could happen if they got to him. Not because he was the First Minister (he was damn sure he had lost this title anyway), but because he was ready to give himself for his Musketeers, the sons he never had. It didn't matter if the Guards would kill him right away, or interrogate him more forcefully than necessary or drag him back to the feet of the King. It didn't matter what happened to him as long as the others were safe. And it would not matter what they did to him. He would just grin and wait, wait till it's over. Knowing that he had done the only right thing. That he had done something right for once.
Somewhere southeastern from Paris.
Athos frowned at the sky as if it was insulting him personally. The sun was setting, turning the blue into an orange shade and threatened to wrap them in darkness too soon. They hadn't gotten as far as hoped. Constance's horse had soon shown signs of tiring, taking two passengers with it showed too much for the animal. So they had swapped horses, but didn't dare to ride as fast as before so that the other horse would hold out longer. Aramis had fallen asleep – or unconsciousness (who really knew?) soon after their departure, being a dead weight behind Constance since the beginning. They had soon transferred him to the front of the saddle, so Constance hold him upright better. Even though she was one of the strongest women Athos knew, he soon noticed signs of exhaustion written in tight lines on her face. But they could only switch when it really didn't work like this any longer, they had to keep the horses as fresh as possible. The many pauses to switch horses and replace Aramis had taken too much time.
Athos didn't doubt that Porthos had done a good job with covering their tracks, but still it was best to get as much distance as possible between them and Paris.
"We will have to search for place to rest soon." He announced, noticing how a floc of birds flew towards a nearby forest, probably returning to their nests for the night.
Constance nodded while readjusting her grip on Aramis who had once again slipped further down.
"We have to look after his injuries as well." Athos agreed before spurring his horse on a little it more. If they would rest soon anyway there was no reason to why not ride a little faster for a while longer.
He knew Constance followed his example by the sound of the hooves hammering against the dirt beneath them.
Searching for a place to sleep, he hoped that they would get through the night without further incidents.