Summary: Athos and Porthos have been captured, and Aramis and d'Artagnan have to get…creative, with the rescue.
A/N: Thank you Laureleaf, Jmp, UKGuest, and Uia for your reviews of last chapter!
For Uia, who asked for "older bros" Athos & Porthos being captured and their "younger prankster bros" having to rescue them.
"Clever and Fiendish"
D'Artagnan and Aramis slipped through the darkened forest, careful to step softly over the bed of leaves beneath their feet. Mist curled in and around the trees in lazy tendrils, making the ground and air damp. Aramis ducked behind some bushes and crouched down. D'Artagnan followed suit. Peering through the thin branches, they surveyed the enemy camp. It was set at the mouth of a cave, though they hadn't ventured inside. A fire flickered in the center with over a dozen men milling about or taking some rest. And several feet away on the cave side sat Athos and Porthos, back to back on the ground and bound with rope. They didn't seem too badly injured, more put-out than anything.
"What do we do?" d'Artagnan whispered. They were sorely outnumbered.
Aramis's gaze was fierce and hard as he evaluated the situation. He didn't answer, probably because he didn't have one.
The snap of a twig alerted them to two sentries coming near, and they darted back behind a large oak. Both of their hands went to the hilts of their swords, though they waited to see if their presence would be discovered.
"We shouldna made camp 'ere," one of the guards muttered. "These woods are haunted."
The second man scoffed. "Old wives' tales."
"How do you explain this fog, eh? It's unnatural."
"It's fog."
"Jus' ask the others," the first insisted. "Luc knows. His cousin went missin' in these woods."
"Stop jumpin' out of yer skin. Yer makin' me nervous."
As their voices retreated, d'Artagnan chanced a peek around the tree and watched their shapes veer back toward the camp. He sighed and turned to Aramis, their original problem still unsolved. The marksman had broken into a devious looking smile.
D'Artagnan frowned. "What?"
"I have an idea."
The devilish gleam in his friend's eye did not fill him with confidence. "What idea?" he asked a tad nervously.
"We'll better even our odds if we can scare some of these men off. And since some of them are already aware of the superstitions surrounding these woods, we just have to convince them the tales are true."
D'Artagnan arched his brows dubiously. "And how exactly are we supposed to do that?"
"The fog will give us some cover," Aramis said, looking around in consideration. "We can pick off a couple of sentries one by one, take their clothes and hang them in the trees to look like headless figures."
D'Artagnan pulled a face. "That's rather…fiendish."
Aramis pursed his mouth as he canted his head. "I was going to go with clever, but alright."
They hunkered down again and waited for the guards to make another round, meanwhile occasionally stealing glances toward the camp to make sure Athos and Porthos were still okay. Fortunately, their captors hadn't seen fit to torment them. It was unclear what they wanted exactly, but best not to wait too long to find out.
Aramis tapped d'Artagnan's shoulder and pointed to where a lone man was heading into the trees, probably to relieve himself. The two musketeers crept around to intercept him, the mist definitely giving them more cover. They came up behind the man swiftly, Aramis clobbering him with the butt of his pistol before he could even turn around. Grabbing his arms, they dragged him further away from the camp and began to divest him of his shirt. While d'Artagnan rolled the unconscious bandit against a log, Aramis tied the sleeves of the shirt around some low hanging branches so the article fluttered slightly. D'Artagnan still had his doubts about this, but he quickly sprinted back with Aramis toward their previous hiding place.
A few minutes later one of the sentries was making another pass. D'Artagnan and Aramis surged from the bushes to grab him, Aramis clamping a firm hand around the man's mouth to keep him from sounding the alarm. They wrestled him behind a tree where Aramis put him in a headlock, holding fast until he went limp in their grips.
As d'Artagnan tugged his sleeve off, Aramis picked up a crossbow he'd been carrying.
"Mm, this will come in handy," he said cheerfully. "Hang up the coat in the branches but keep the shirt."
D'Artagnan just shook his head and did as he was told.
Aramis dropped the unconscious man behind a tree and then started picking up some small stones. He handed a few to d'Artagnan. "Time to spook them."
They spread out a bit, and then with an exchanged nod, began to throw the rocks into the forest away from their position. Some of the men near the edge of camp perked up at the faint sounds, their eyes narrowed against the slinking mist.
"Oi, Brice! That you?"
Silence responded.
"Hey, where's Fabien?"
More men got to their feet, shifting anxiously.
Aramis gestured to d'Artagnan. "Hold up the shirt, but as lightly as you can without dropping it." He crouched down on his knees and began checking the crossbow before lifting it to take aim.
"Um…" D'Artagnan scrunched his face up as he held the shirt out by his fingertips, the fabric heavy with that slightest grip.
"To your left," Aramis said, angling the crossbow upward.
D'Artagnan tried not to flinch as he shifted, the crossbow not pointed directly at him but a tad too close for comfort. Not that Aramis would miss.
The marksman waited a beat as he lined up the sight, and then he squeezed the trigger. The bolt shot from the bow, snagging the shirt on the way, and d'Artagnan yanked his hand back as the projectile soared up in an arc, flying the white shroud through the mist. A ripple of gasps went through the campsite.
"Did you see that?"
"Don' be ridiculous."
"Look, there's another one!" Someone pointed urgently toward where one of the jackets was swaying from the branches.
Aramis arched a pointed brow at d'Artagnan, who just shook his head. But he had to admit this crazy plan seemed to be working and now he was feeling inspired.
"I'll sneak around to the cave," he said. "I can throw my voice from inside, make it echo." He'd done it with Vadim in the tunnels beneath the palace.
Aramis's face cracked into a wide grin. "That's the spirit."
D'Artagnan found the smile contagious, and the two split up, Aramis weaving through the mist as d'Artagnan made his way toward the cave. At the moment, the mercenaries' attention was focused the opposite direction where Aramis's ghostly apparition had made its flight. Several had drawn their swords and started forward to where Aramis was darting around. This was a dangerous game the two musketeers were playing.
"There it is again!" someone shouted and pointed wildly at the other coat hanging in the trees.
D'Artagnan had to admit that from this distance and shrouded in fog, it did look rather ghostly. He slipped into the cave unnoticed and cupped his hands, pitching his voice into a low rasp, first with unintelligible words that slithered along the stone walls and into the forest. Those standing closest to the cave immediately whirled. D'Artagnan smiled at their eyes wide with fright.
"Trespassers," he whispered in his most sinister tone. "You're coming too close."
Athos arched a brow, looking more curious than perturbed, but Porthos was fidgeting where he sat, twisting back and forth trying to see what had everyone else on their toes and jostling Athos in the process.
D'Artagnan felt slightly bad for what he was about to do next. "Take the big one," he whispered with a thread of a cackle. "Yes, we want the big one."
Porthos's eyes blew wide. "Aw, hell no! Athos!"
"Let us go!" Athos shouted at their captors, sounding oddly desperate. Perhaps he'd caught on quicker than Porthos had. "Untie us! Don't leave us here!"
Two men promptly bolted from the campsite, fleeing into the hazy trees. That left seven in the camp. Still not great odds. D'Artagnan had lost sight of the ones who'd ventured into the fog, though he hadn't heard any commotion. Hopefully Aramis was picking them off one by one.
D'Artagnan picked up a pebble and chucked it at one of the remaining men, hitting him right behind the ear. The man yelped and whipped around, eyes round as his hand went to his ear. D'Artagnan ducked down in the shadow of the cave.
"We need to leave," another said urgently. "We need to leave now."
"Stay put!" someone snapped, perhaps the leader.
D'Artagnan was debating throwing his whispers again with some of their attention his way, but then an eerie call went up from the trees, a whistle somewhere between an owl's hoot and a bat's screech. D'Artagnan wondered how Aramis managed that.
Three more men abandoned the camp, leaving four. Those that had ventured deeper into the woods had yet to return, though a startled yelp echoed out from somewhere.
"There's no such thing as ghosts!" the leader bellowed.
Aramis strode out from the mist, rapier drawn. "Leastways not here," he said jauntily.
The leader snarled and surged forward with his weapon, but Aramis pulled his pistol and fired. The man went down with a scream.
D'Artagnan drew his sword and rushed out of the cave to join the fight. He and Aramis made quick work of the remaining three men, and then they paused to listen if any of the deserters might have been drawn back by the sounds of the fight. But for all those superstitious men knew, their comrades had been fighting ghosts.
D'Artagnan moved to Athos and Porthos and cut them free.
Porthos scrambled to his feet, expression incredulous as he took them in. "That was all you?"
"And it was quite the performance," Aramis beamed, clapping a hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder.
Porthos rounded on d'Artagnan. "Take the big one!" he hollered.
D'Artagnan grimaced under the fury. "I was trying to save your life."
"Which we appreciate," Athos interrupted. "But I suggest we vacate the area before the others come to their senses and return."
Aramis gave a short nod in agreement, and the four of them headed off. As they passed the clothes hanging in the branches, Athos arched a mild brow.
"Clever."
Aramis flashed d'Artagnan a pleased grin. "Told you."
D'Artagnan shook his head. "Clever and fiendish."
"What's the fun in having one and not the other?"
D'Artagnan broke into a grin as Porthos continued to grumble under his breath about it, threatening them not to make fun of him over this. D'Artagnan crossed his heart in silent promise, but a shared look with Aramis once Porthos's back was turned only made him bust out laughing anyway.